JOURNAL ENTRY, MARCH 1955: Well, Squirrel, it wasn’t the best of beginnings. Labor was really just a dimly lit room with cots to lie down on. There were five other women when I arrived, all in various stages, screaming, moaning, and crying out in English, Spanish, and what I think was Chinese. Nurses came every so often to measure my dilation and to ask if I wanted anything for the pain. I’d decided on being alert and awake for your arrival, so I kept telling them no, which for some reason they seemed to take personally. The book had talked about breathing, so I tried it. As the pain grew worse, I started to moan and then to swear, surprising myself as much as anyone. I won’t repeat what came out of my mouth, but I will say it didn’t improve my standing with the nurses.

Finally they said I was dilated enough, and I was wheeled into Delivery. Well, one look at that place and I wanted to go back to my cot in the other room. First they strapped me to a table. Next they placed my feet in stirrups and hoisted my legs above the rest of me. Really, they only could have been less helpful if they’d hung me upside down. Then, just as the doctor said I was crowning, someone placed a mask over my face. I wanted to tear it off, but my arms were tied down, and they were giving me gas, and of course I passed out.

In the split second before the gas knocked me out, I was angrier than I’ve ever been; but then I woke up, and there you were. According to the nurses, three weeks is not too early after all. As you seem perfectly fine, I’m inclined, this once, to trust them.

There are hardly any pictures between my arrival and the library show, which proves how tired Lillian was. The only other time she went through so little film was right after the Lacuna Gallery show. Even during her two rounds of chemo, she took more pictures.