Wednesday, July 19, 1978

No horrifying dreams of losing the baby tormented my sleep, thanks to the sedatives that had slipped me into a dreamless sleep. It was the only aspect of having been drugged that I appreciated. As my eyes fluttered open and I tried to orient myself to my surroundings, a soft rumbling that was as familiar to me as my own breathing filtered into my ears.

I tilted my head to the left—to the source of the noise—and studied Al's sleeping form. He was slumped in the chair, his head hanging forward so that his chin was tucked against his chest. Because of his odd position, his snoring didn't have quite the same quality that it did in our bedroom, but it was a comforting sound nonetheless. I had to smile, recognizing that I often nudged him into a new position to make him stop snoring at home. And now, here I was practically reveling in the sound.

As I watched him, he grunted and shifted in his sleep, trying to find a more comfortable position. When he settled his body into a slightly different arrangement he moaned softly. He was a bit more sideways and slouched lower in the chair now, and his head tilted away from his chest and then tipped sharply backwards. The sudden drop caused him to snort awake, and he groaned as stiff muscles lodged their protest. He stretched, and a series of cracking noises sounded from his spine and various joints.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I told him, smiling lightly at him.

"Good morning," he returned with a yawn, instantly leaning forward to caress my cheekbone. "Nice to see you awake. Did you rest well?"

"Mmm, I guess so," I nodded. "Not that I had much choice in the matter."

"Well, if it's any consolation, when they checked on you last night, your blood pressure had started to go back down. It was almost normal by the middle of the night."

"Did they say anything about the baby?"

Al sighed, "Nothing really changed much. But it didn't get any worse, either. And if I understand the way that contraption works," he gestured at the fetal monitor, "the contractions seemed to be slowing down. It was a few hours between them the last time."

I cradled my belly in my hands, flinching as I encountered still sensitive bruises. Determined to reassure our baby, I endured the discomfort and rubbed my hands along its rounded curve. Al bit his lip, seeing the pain in my eyes. Rather than touch my black-and-blue stomach, he settled for lightly laying his hand atop my fingers, thus traveling piggyback across my affirming journey. As I had the day before, I focused my attention inward, trying to mentally reach our baby. Simultaneously, I softly spoke out loud, "It's going to be all right, Little One. Mommy and Daddy are right here."

"Yes, we are," Al echoed. "We're always going to be here for you."

My stomach growled and a brief fluttering sensation accompanied it.

"Do you want me to have the nurses bring you up a breakfast tray?" asked Al.

"Wait." The fluttering had happened again, only no audible growl accompanied it this time. As I concentrated, I realized that the fluttering was slightly lower and to the left of my stomach. Taking Al's hand in mine, I flattened it over the spot. "Can you feel that?" I asked breathlessly.

He closed his eyes and sat utterly still, every ounce of his attention fixated on the palm of his hand. He barely drew in air, and just when I was beginning to suspect that I'd imagined the sensation, or misinterpreted a gastric bubble, a soft kick thudded against the wall of my womb. Al's eyes popped open and he beamed at me, joy and relief surging through him.

"The baby moved! Al, it moved!" I was jubilant, ecstatic, and happy tears flooded my eyes. "Oh, dear God, thank You!"

Tears coated Al's eyes as well, but he made no move to wipe them away. Closing his eyes, letting the drops fall unimpeded down his cheeks, Al said, "Grazie, Dio. Vi devo uno. Grazie. Grazie per conservare il nostro bambino. Grazie mille volte sopra."

I didn't know much Italian, but I understood enough to know that Al was thanking God. The same God he'd turned his back on as a child when he'd lost his father. The One to Whom Al had cracked open his heart, even if only out of desperation, while trapped in Vietnam for so many long years; a second chance being both offered and received, culminating in his return to me and a tenuous restoration of the devout faith he'd held as a child. And now, it seemed, with this answer to our pleas, that faith was intensifying even more. In the language of his father, Al prayed his gratitude.

Neither of us moved our hands from my stomach, shifting position as needed to continue feeling the baby's turns and kicks. Each time we did, I sucked my breath in at the soreness; though it wasn't as sensitive as it had been yesterday. Even if it had been, I wouldn't have minded the aching—I rejoiced anew each time our baby moved.

Dr. Winter knocked on the door and came in, a smile spreading across her concerned face when she saw the elation on ours. Her gaze moved to our hands on my stomach and her smile widened.

"I don't even have to ask what's happened. When did the baby start moving again?"

Al and I looked helplessly at each other, realizing that in our giddiness, we hadn't kept track of time. I had no idea what time it had been when I woke up, nor how long we'd been following the baby's motion.

"Beth first noticed it about fifteen or twenty minutes ago," estimated Al.

"Wonderful," she enthused. She checked the report on the fetal monitor, and then retrieved a fetal stethoscope. Al backed out of her way and reached to grasp my hand as Dr. Winter pressed the device to my abdomen and listened intently. She looked up at me and smiled. "I think we may be out of the woods, Beth."

I let out a tense breath and beamed at Al. "Did you hear that, hon?"

He grinned at me and kissed my forehead. "I told you everything would be fine, angel."

Dr. Winter reached next for the blood pressure cuff and fastened it around my bicep, switching the fetal stethoscope for a traditional model, and pressing it against the vessel in my arm. "Now I want to see how Mama's doing."

I closed my eyes and hoped the reading would be better—even though Al had told me the nurses had reported it to him as nearing normal last night. Al stroked my cheek while the doctor checked me.

"One-twenty-two over sixty-three. Not perfect, but good enough for me." She didn't take the stethoscope out of her ears, but proceeded to check my heart rate and breathing. Dr. Winter nodded and smiled, finally removing the stethoscope and hanging it around her neck.

"I want to keep you here for a few more hours, Beth, just to make sure everything's fine. Let's project releasing you before noon, and I want you to stay on complete bed rest for at least the next couple of weeks." She directed her next words at Al. "I want you to make sure she follows my instructions to the letter."

"I am here and listening, you know," I commented.

"Then listen up good. Beth, you're not to get up except to use the bathroom. Every other day you can bathe, but I'd prefer you to not take showers the first week. I don't want you on your feet that much. You can shower in the second week—and when you do, keep it under ten minutes. Always make sure Al or someone else is there to help you in and out of the tub."

He grinned wickedly at me at that, and I swatted him. "Behave yourself, flyboy, or she'll change the rules to say anyone but you."

"Actually," Dr. Winter broke in, "I'm going to advise that you two abstain from intimacy during this time." She went into explicit detail of what was and was not allowed. The prohibited list was much longer.

I expected Al to protest, but he very seriously said, "Okay. Absolutely. Whatever's best for the baby."

"Finally, Beth, even though you'll be home, keep sending the twins to daycare."

"All right."

She smiled at both of us. "If things continue to improve, I'll see about loosening some of these restrictions after this time is over. The most important thing is bringing this baby to term."

I caressed my belly. "Whatever you say, Doctor."

Al walked so closely behind me as we made our way from the car to the house that I was surprised he didn't stub his toes on my heels. Once inside, he immediately made me recline on the sofa, moving to remove my shoes.

"Do you want anything to drink, baby?" he asked me as his strong fingers massaged my feet.

"No, thank you." I closed my eyes and let myself relax while Al kneaded the soles of my feet, then began gently caressing the tops. "Ohhh," I groaned in pleasure. "Bed rest won't be too bad if I can have you do this every day."

Al grinned at me. "I'll be sure and take care of it every night. I wish I could stay with you tomorrow, but now that you're home…"

"You have to report back," I finished, a wistful smile on my face.

"0800 tomorrow," he confirmed. "I'll drop the twins off at nursery school and pick them up on my way home. The CO knows about our situation, so he said he'll work with me about being able to get them."

"Thanks for taking care of that."

"No problem." He reached for the afghan draped across the back of the sofa and spread it over me. "I'm gonna take a shower, Beth. I'll be quick, so you holler if you need me."

I smiled as he bent to kiss me on the cheek, still avoiding my bruised lips. "Okay. It's not fair, though. I have to wait til tomorrow to bathe."

Al grinned. "I'd wait and bathe with you, but for two things. One, I'd get written up for uncleanliness, and two—well, I'd be sorely tempted to do some things on Dr. Winter's no-no list." He waggled his eyebrows at me and I burst out laughing.

"Just bring the phone over before you go, if you wouldn't mind," I requested. "I need to call Mom."

He brought me the phone, pulling it to the extent of its long cord. Once he was pleased with the relative convenience for me, he kissed me again before retreating upstairs. It wasn't long until I heard the shower running. Off-key singing soon followed and I laughed as I dialed my parents' number.

True to her word, Dr. Winter arranged for the police to take my complaint in addition to the charges pressed by the hospital. A uniformed officer came by later that afternoon and filled out a report while Al sat fidgeting nearby. As I described the incident, Al got to his feet and started pacing—a release of energy that was far preferable to what I knew he wanted to do, which probably involved punching a wall before driving to the jail to beat the living daylights out of the man. Pausing in my statement, I asked Al to fix me some warm milk, diverting him from his thoughts by giving him something to do for me.

Though he may have suspected what I was up to, Al didn't argue, and retreated to the kitchen. His rage at what I'd been through showed itself through a couple of slammed cabinet doors.

I hadn't wanted to get emotional, but I couldn't help tearing up through the process. Finally, the policeman completed the form and began photographing my injuries. Al returned with a steaming mug and I could see his anger rushing back as pictures were taken of my bruised stomach.

"Thank you, honey," I said lightly, reaching a hand for the mug. When he handed it to me, I switched it to my left hand and stretched out my right again for him to hold.

Lt. Fillmore finished with the camera and Al reached to adjust my shirt with his free hand.

"The perp won't get away with this, Mrs. Calavicci," the lieutenant assured me. He shifted his gaze to include Al. "I'm a friend of your neighbor, Lt. Williams. If the Department had allowed, he'd have come to do this himself. He personally requested that I handle it."

"Thank you," Al said. He walked Lt. Fillmore to the door and held a hushed conversation with him. Satisfied by whatever he heard, Al nodded, shook the man's hand, and then bade him goodbye. He shut the door and returned to my side.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Tickets to the policeman's ball."

I frowned. "Don't lie to me, Al. What was that about?"

Al sighed. "I asked what was going to be done to the guy, and he told me they'd already taken care of it. They had him spend the night in a cell with some of the meanest inmates and leaked why he was there. He's in the prison infirmary now, the recipient of a little prison justice, apparently."

I wanted to be appalled, but a vengeful part of me was happy to hear it. For the first time, I truly understood the fierce protective instinct that burned within me where my babies were concerned. Say hello, Mama Bear.