The Story Behind the Book
  The essence of All the Numbers is rooted in the fears that
every parent has, shoved as far below the surface as we can push
them, but present nonetheless.
Its plotline came to me at my friend Patty’s lakehouse while we sat
on the dock sipping wine, relaxing, and watching our kids play in
the lake. As jet skiers buzzed just beyond them I thought: what if?
What if one of the kids was out just a bit too deep? What if one of
the jet skiers lost control? And, so it all played out in my mind,
like memories unfolding as they happened. Even before I knew the
whole plot, I had a clear image of the final painful but redemptive,
scene.
So, I spent a year thinking and wondering and jotting down notes
that would eventually turn into pages, but I never lost sight of
that final scene.
For me, those universal fears of all parents first bubbled to the
surface the night, four weeks before his due date, that my oldest
son was born by emergency caesarean section. Up until the last
twenty minutes of it, my pregnancy had been textbook perfect. I’d
eaten cottage cheese by the bucketful and not a drop of caffeine or
wine had crossed my lips. I’d exercised the appropriate amount, put
my feet up when necessary, and taken my vitamins. But still, in
spite of my care, with no warning, we both nearly died because my
placenta separated from the uterine wall. Nothing could have
prevented it; nothing could have predicted it. And I learned one of
the immutable truths of parenting--no matter how cautious, loving,
protective and concerned we are, no matter how long we breastfeed,
how many books we read aloud, or how much we limit TV time, bad
things can happen. And then what?
When I forced myself to imagine the worst, I always wondered if I
would rise to the occasion or sink into the abyss. When I explored
these possibilities through Ellen--who is sarcastic and impatient
and cluttered--and madly in love with her kids, I tried to be as
fair as I could. I wanted her to eventually rise to the occasion (as
I hoped I would), but not until she had wallowed in the depths (as I
knew I would).
No matter how mundane we think our lives are, many of us will face
extraordinary events at least once in our lives. And when we do, it
is easy to think, why me? I played by the rules, I’m not a bad
person, so why this? Why the illness or the unfaithful spouse or the
tornado? When I read about mothers who have faced catastrophe, I
always wish I could get a six-month follow-up. How’d they get out of
bed the next day? How long before they started making supper? Did
they ever genuinely laugh again?
These were the questions I tried to answer for myself through Ellen.
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