My eyes glazed over as I read the brightly colored posters plastered all over the office walls for what had to be the twenty-third time. The outdated magazines in the waiting room didn't hold my interest, which was no big surprise considering I had absolutely zero attention span these days. I fidgeted around, trying to find a comfortable position in the hard plastic molded chair and wound up facing Cathy Morelli Bacchino again. Obviously, I had developed a terminal case of "Invisible to Morellis Syndrome", and she dutifully avoided meeting my eyes, and busied herself with her two youngest. She made sure their attention was focused anywhere but on me. On the one hand, it hurt because I'd watched those kids grow up during the time I'd been with Joe. On the other hand, I was definitely persona non grata after Black Thursday and Joe's subsequent defection to Newark. A part of me felt like walking straight up to her and informing her that she couldn't possibly hate me any more than I hated myself, but I frankly just didn't have the energy. I'd been paddling through molasses for months, now, and it took everything I had in me just to focus on getting my investigations business off the ground. I was holding onto my apartment by a shoestring, and if my parents fed me more often than I ate at home, at least they weren't complaining about it. I was just so damn tired of it all. When I was awake, all I wanted to do was sleep and escape the miasma that had taken over my life.
A few weeks ago, after a particularly blistering conversation with MaryLou, I finally had to face the fact that me and my bootstraps just might have to part company. I'd pulled myself up by them more times than I could count: after losing my virginity and what was left of my pride on the bakery floor, after Dickie had publicly humiliated me by screwing Joyce Barnhardt and anything else he could slide his salami into, after losing my job, after having cars blow up around me, rolling in garbage, having attempts made on my life, and the other attendant things that had gone wrong in all of my thirty-two years. At long last, those trusty bootstraps had failed me this time. And I hated the idea that I might need pharmaceutical help to get over the debilitating lethargy that had overtaken me for the past five and a half months. Okay, five months and seventeen days, but at least I'd given up counting the hours and minutes since I had awakened alone with my Butterscotch Krimpet.
The magazine quiz that MaryLou had thrust under my nose had been pretty clear. According to the powers that be in the publishing world, I was at high risk for clinical depression and I needed to consult my physician. MaryLou had refused to leave until she'd heard me actually make the appointment, and it just seemed like too much effort to cancel it afterward. She'd shown up on my doorstep on the stroke of two and hauled me down to Dr. Benardi's office with promises to return after Mikey's soccer game. I would have been humiliated except I couldn't work up the energy to do much more than just sit here and wait for my name to be called, and ignore the daggers that Joe's sister flung my direction when she thought I wasn't looking. At this point, I basically just wanted to get in and get out with a prescription for something that would make me feel normal again, if that were even a remote possibility. I snorted in response to my own errant thoughts, and drew Cathy's attention. Great. Now she could go back and tell Clan Morelli that I was laughing at myself in the doctor's office today.
The receptionist finally called my name, and I escaped to the inner sanctum of the exam rooms with a palpable feeling of relief. I'd always gotten along with Cathy well enough. We were never close, but our paths inevitably crossed in the Burg and at Morelli family get-togethers. She was smart and funny, with her own fair share of the Morelli charm. Warmer and more approachable than her mother, Angie, could ever be, I'd gravitated toward Cathy and her laid-back style. We may not have been friends, but I didn't like to think of us as enemies. Still, I had been the scarlet woman who drove her baby brother away, and I could really expect no less. It still hurt, though.
The doctor's perky new assistant who couldn't have been much more than a teenager put me through my paces. No temperature, heart rate and respiration fine, blood pressure completely normal. My height was unchanged, big surprise. I'd hit 5'7" the year I turned fourteen, and hadn't wavered so much as a fraction of an inch since then. Why did they ask the same stupid questions over and over again? Okay, I was still down three pounds. I'd originally dropped ten after Joe had left, but I'd put seven back on again. Not bad, all things considered. She banged on my knees with her little rubber mallet, and I had to stifle a giggle when she earnestly recorded that I still had reflexes in my legs. God, had I ever been that young? Today I felt ancient, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on me.
Date of my last menstrual period. Jeez, I don't know. It's been really irregular for the past six months or so, which is part of the reason I decided to go ahead and come in today, even aside from MaryLou's insistence. A few weeks ago when I'd rolled over onto my stomach to sleep, I'd discovered a lump. Not in my breast, but just above my pubic bone. Probably it was a fibroid or something, but my mind still skittered around the "C" word. What if I had ovarian cancer or something like that? It might even just be gas or something totally benign, but it didn't go away when I ignored it, and I was getting a little bit scared.
Miss Perky sent me down to the lab for blood and urine samples as part of today's grand and glorious workup, then told me the doctor would be in to see me shortly. Shortly, huh. I decided Miss Perky had a wicked sense of humor when I was still staring at the beige walls of the exam room at five o'clock that afternoon. Miss Perky had turned into a jack in the box, popping her head in the door every twenty minutes or so to reassure me that the doctor was dealing with an emergency, but would be in to see me as soon as he could. I'd heard that a time or two before.
Finally Dr. Benardi loped in a few minutes past five o'clock. He had far too much energy for that late in the day, and I scowled at him. "Sorry about that," he said breezily, in the tone doctors reserve for mere mortals. I gritted my teeth and vowed to get my precious piece of paper that would fix me up with my magic pills then get the hell out of there until time for my next annual. Ignoring my scowl, the doctor started blithely flipping through my chart. Probably didn't help that I'd gone to school with his baby sister, so taking me seriously had never been high on his list. Still, I felt slightly less squishy about Rosie Benardi's big brother seeing me naked that old Dr. Cecchini. Doc Cecchini had only had one eyebrow, and it was a monster. He had jowls that threatened to take over his shoulders and his big rheumy eyes had always seemed to see way too much when he was giving me my annual. "Let's see here. Looks like it's been more than a year since your last Pap," Dr. Benardi mused. Shit and double shit. I hated those damn stirrups, and the idea of a man putting his hand in my hoo-hah without buying me dinner first had always made me nervous. It's not like the old hoo-hah was seeing any action these days anyway. What was to check? Well, except for that lump thing.
"Okay," I said meekly, when I really meant "Keep your hands off my hoo-hah." I laid back and tried to think of England. It was either that or think of the last guy who had visited my hoo-hah, however briefly. I knew the tears would immediately come if I thought of Joe, so I blinked them back resolutely and silently hummed Hail Britannia to myself.
"When was your last menstrual period?" he asked, breaking right into the middle of the third chorus and shooting my concentration all to hell. What was he, mining for silver up there or something?
"I've been pretty irregular," I grunted as he hit something that was definitely NOT my G-spot. "But I've had some pretty consistent spotting over the past six months." Geez, give it a rest and go poke something else, wouldya please? His fingers finally slid out of me, and I resisted the sudden urge to ask for a cigarette and concentrated on giving the flecks in the wallpaper next to the exam bed a really close examination.
"Well, your uterus is significantly enlarged," he said. "Is there a possibility you could be pregnant?"
"No," I answered. I really didn't want to elaborate. I knew the theory behind doctor patient confidentiality, but John Benardi was also Rosie's big brother, and a long-time resident of the Burg. No sense taking any chances. Burg gossip knew no bounds.
"No lab results back yet," he muttered under his breath, shuffling still more papers. He walked over to the wall-mounted telephone and punched in a few numbers. I assumed there was no answer, because he grunted noncommittally before he hung up. "But there's something definitely going on in there. You're sure there's no chance you could be pregnant?" This time I met his gaze coolly and gave him what he was looking for.
"I haven't had sex in five months and seventeen days. You think I'm that far pregnant?" I asked baldly. Two could play this game.
He broke eye contact first, and frantically flipped through my chart. Gathering his scattered calm, he met my eyes once more. "Your uterus isn't measuring in that range, no. My ultrasound technician is gone for the day, but I'm concerned about this. I think we really need to take a look."
Loved that royal we that doctors had acquired over the years. "Can it wait?" I'd already been here more than three hours, and all I really wanted was to go home, eat a peanutbutter sandwich, and fall into bed for a few years.
"I don't think it's a good idea."
I sighed. "Look, I'm really here because I'm concerned about depression."
He nodded sagely and said, "I understand that, but we need to make sure we rule out any physical issues as well." There was that damn 'we' again. I was really starting to get irritated. "Additionally, we need to positively rule out pregnancy before prescribing any anti-depressants. Most drugs in that category are not safe for the fetus."
"But it could be just a fibroid or something, though, right?" I asked.
His face turned into a smooth blank mask. "That's certainly a possibility." Oh, John had done well at doctor school. He wasn't going to give anything away. He was hedging his bets and not committing himself to anything. So I had a choice here. I could play along and try to get everything knocked out today, or I could come back and start over. Or find another doctor and start over. Great. More strange hands in my hoo-hah. No thank you. Since Dr. John Benardi and I were already practically acquainted in the biblical sense, I sure didn't want to have to go through a repeat. Fine. I nodded my head in acquiescence.
"Good. If you'll just keep your gown on and follow me, we'll see what we can find out." What, did he think I was going to strip off the gown and make a run for it? I have a better idea, John. How about YOU wear the gown with your butt hanging out in the breeze and I'll wear the white coat? But I said nothing and followed him out the door and down the hall, clutching the washed out cotton gown shut over my behind, hoping the office was deserted and nobody would see me.
More stirrups, more crackling paper covers. At least this time nothing was prodding my hoo-hah, which was a small mercy. I had cold goo smeared all over from my belly button to points south, and Dr. Benardi apologized profusely for the goo not being warm. Like having a slimy slug trail across your gut would somehow be more aesthetically pleasing if it was warm instead of cold. Yeah. He moved the transducer over my belly, then sat back and blinked at the screen like an owl. "What?" I asked. What had he found? Aliens? Watermelons? A huge wad of chewing gum? I had always known those stories about swallowing watermelon seeds and chewing gum had to have some basis in fact. And now here I was thirty-two years old with a watermelon plant growing out of a great wad of chewing gum or something. I started to panic, still refusing to think about the "C" word.
Without saying a word, he reached over and twisted a dial, filling the room with a rhythmic pocking sound. "What's that?" I asked, although in my heart of hearts I knew. Who knew you could feel euphoria and dread, all at once? My stomach was sinking to my toes and fluttering up behind my heart, both at the same time.
"I need to take some measurements, and you're definitely small for your dates, but that's the fetal heartbeat. You're sure about the dates?" he asked again.
I nodded slowly. The last time. I knew it to the minute, if he really wanted to know. He started talking, then, as he clicked away, taking measurements and flipping through charts for comparison. I let my mind drift. Fetus. He kept saying fetus. Fetus, not baby. Not a baby yet, then.
Ah, of course.
I hadn't exactly been trying to get pregnant, and doctor school had obviously told him that fetus was somehow less personal than baby, at least until you knew whether or not the mother was going to have an abortion. I don't know which term made me cringe more, mother or abortion. I'd never really stopped to think about myself as a mother. I'd thought about kids someday maybe, in the abstract, but never in the here and now. So could I picture myself as a mother? My mind just wasn't going there.
Okay.
The other alternative was picturing myself having an abortion. Could I do that? No way was I prepared to raise a baby alone, and I was just starting my own business, barely able to keep a roof over my own head let alone someone else's. My doubt must have shown in my face, because Dr. Benardi started talking to me again.
"I understand that this has been quite a shock to you," he started. I nodded, dumbly. Shock wasn't the word for it. Take it up about seven exponents and you might get in the ballpark. "And of course, you have options. Not as many as you would have had you known sooner, of course, and I'm not sure what the requirements are since I don't do the er ah procedure. But I can refer you to someone…" his words trailed off into a barely discernible murmur and all I could hear was the insistent pock, pock, pock, echoing off the walls of the room.
"…some difficulty because of the placement of the placenta. The placenta has grown over the cervix and is partially abrupted, which has been what caused both your spotting and the fetal intrauterine growth retardation." The metronome cadence of the pocking seemed to fade into the background as I listened to him.
"Wait. Are you telling me that there's something wrong with my baby?" Instinctively, my hand traveled down my belly and encountered a handful of sticky goo. I didn't care. I held onto that hard little mound for all I was worth. Anything coming after my baby would have to go through me first. I listened hard for that reassuring pock from the machine, the heart so strong, so consistent, so wanting to keep beating. Whatever I had to do to make that happen, I would do.
"As I said, Stephanie, your placenta is partially abrupted. That means the fetus isn't getting an adequate oxygen or nutrition supply to sustain growth. If the placenta completely pulls away from the uterus, the fetus will be compromised, and you could hemorrhage before we could intervene medically."
"Define compromised," I spat. "And it's not a fetus, it's a baby."
He inclined his head in agreement. "I can't be sure. At the very least, your baby is not growing the way she should. She's very small." Seeing my panic, he continued, "On the plus side, her heartbeat is strong and there don't seem to be any physical anomalies that I can detect."
"It's a girl?" I asked, focusing on the only positive thing I could find in that last part.
He nodded and smiled a very small smile.
I took a deep breath. "So what do I have to do?" I asked.
He sighed. "If you decide to carry to term," he held up a hand to ward off my impending explosion, "then my recommendation is that we get you into Helen Fuld right now. Tonight. You need bed rest and monitoring, and access to immediate medical intervention should it become necessary." If I started to bleed to death and my baby died, he meant. God.
"And she'll be okay, then?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I can't guarantee you anything at this point. It's just too tenuous. But it's the best chance she has."
I started to tear up and my throat felt like somebody had tightened a noose around my neck.
"And you need to stay calm," he stated. Calm? That was a laugh. "Any increase in blood pressure restricts the blood flow to the placenta. Less blood means less oxygen and fewer nutrients are getting through. She can't afford to lose either."
I nodded my understanding. Calm, then. I would be calm as pond water. If MaryLou wasn't still in the waiting room, I'd have him call for an ambulance. Calmly. I'd call my mother when I got to the hospital. And I would be completely serene. I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. I pictured all my blood vessels opening up, carrying plenty of oxygen. Calm. I could be terrified later, but right now, my daughter's life depended on me being perfectly calm.
Mary Lou was still waiting for me when I carefully walked into the waiting room. As far as I was concerned, the contents of my uterus were made of spun glass, and there was no such thing as too careful. MaryLou stood when she saw me, her eyes full of questions. I knew that tears had left ugly mascara tracks down my face, but I had more important things to worry about right now. "MaryLou, I need to get to Helen Fuld," I told her quietly. I could see the questions rushing to her mouth even as we stood there. And I didn't mind answering them, but not until I was safely cocooned in the safety of Helen Fuld's high risk maternity floor, with as many gadgets and gizmos as they could produce that would keep my daughter's heart beating. I was lost without that reassuring pock, pock, pock and I wouldn't be able to think clearly until I could listen to it again. I forestalled her questions. "I'm pregnant MaryLou, and something is wrong with my baby. Please, I just need to get to the hospital." MaryLou took my arm as if I were made of glass myself and helped me lower myself carefully into a chair.
"Wait here while I go pull the car up in front," was all she said as she ran out the door.
Dr. Benardi came out of his inner sanctum then and tried to smile reassuringly. He really needed to practice that one, because he wasn't doing so good. "I've called a high risk OB. Michael Cruz. He's a good man, and he'll take good care of you." I just stared at him blankly. "And your baby. They'll be waiting for you at Helen Fuld and take you straight up. They're getting your room ready right now."
I nodded. Calmly. Good. One thing at a time. First thing was to get me and whosit to Helen Fuld so they could make sure she was safe. I rested my left hand gently on the barely discernable mound hidden under the fly of my jeans. How stupid. I'd always worried about pregnancy making me get fat, and here I sat wishing like anything that I was big as a house, that my baby was fat and dimpled instead of tiny and struggling. I teared up again, despite my best efforts.
Let it go, Stephanie. You can't change what's already happened, you can only go forward. And step one was getting myself to the hospital. One day, one minute, one step at a time, if that's what it took. Focus on the goal, as Ranger used to tell me. Focus. My goal was keeping my daughter alive. Anything else just didn't matter.
MaryLou sat with me until I sent her home. She would have stayed longer, but I lied and told her I was tired and wanted to be alone. I really didn't, but MaryLou had a husband and three kids. There would be dinner to get and homework to go over, not to mention hearing ad nauseum about the highlights of Mikey's soccer game. And the awful truth was there wasn't a thing she could do for me besides hold my hand and count the spaces between my baby's heartbeats. One hundred and thirty-eight beats a minute sounds pretty fast until you're waiting between one beat and the next. It's amazing how many doubts, how many fears can crowd in and choke you in that fraction of a second between those tiny heartbeats. The nurse offered to turn down the volume so I could sleep, but my panicked reaction finally convinced her that it was better to leave those pocks echoing off the dingy walls of my utilitarian hospital room. Unlike the swank birthing suites at the newer hospitals, Helen Fuld had been built for efficiency and economy, much like my apartment building and the familiar municipal building downtown that housed the police department. The room was small, scrupulously clean with the buildup of years' worth of different antiseptics that seemed to seep out of the plaster on the walls. The floor was a scuffed but immaculate dark green linoleum that would probably last through another three generations. The metal blinds at the window had seen better days, but since the window only overlooked an airshaft it wasn't like there was a lot of traffic that direction. No couches, no comfortable loungers for visitors, just a couple of simple plastic molded stack chairs that had probably been hanging around since the Eisenhower administration, seats worn smooth and chrome legs still shiny. I didn't see any of it in those first hours, frankly, my eyes firmly focused on the small rise of my abdomen under the sterile white cotton blanket, and my ears tuned to the steady pocks from the machine connected to my belly by a rat's nest of wires.
My parents came that first night. My father stood silent sentinel against the far wall while my mother dithered and my grandmother told lame jokes. None of it fazed me. I was totally calm, all my focus centered on that small being whose existence I hadn't even suspected twelve hours before. Funny how your whole life can change so fast. My mother assured me she'd picked up Rex's cage and take care of him for me. That was nice, and I nodded dutifully. My grandmother started into a long and involved riff about some convoluted gossip she'd picked up at the beauty parlor that morning. I smiled politely and complimented the new lavender rinse on her hair. She was trying to help, and I appreciated the sentiment if not the story.
Then my mother started in about the phone calls, and I finally snapped out of my reverie. "No," I said, and shook my head.
"What do you mean?" my mother asked.
"I mean that it may be common knowledge that I'm in the hospital, but it's nobody else's business why," I insisted.
"Stephanie, people are going to know…."
"Not from you, they're not. And not from me. This is my business. My private business. I don't want." I broke off, and the silence became oppressive, the only sound that reassuring pock, pock, pock from the monitor.
"You don't want Joseph to know?" my mother finished for me.
I nodded, unable to speak.
"Sweetheart, you have to."
I found my voice again. "No! I won't be an obligation, do you hear me? I won't." I could feel the blood rushing through my veins, and heard the baby's heart rate pick up in response. Damn.
"Look, Mom. I don't want to argue. I'm not supposed to get upset, okay? It's not good for the baby. But I need you to respect my wishes on this." I made an effort to slow down my breathing and think calming thoughts. "Joe is making a new life for himself, and he deserves to be able to do that. I'm not going to try and trap him back where he doesn't want to be. And he doesn't want to be with me, Mom. He doesn't. He told me."
"This is his child, Stephanie."
I smiled at that, for the first time since before I'd walked into the doctor's office that day. For the first time in a long time. "I know." I closed my eyes and savored the thought as my family made their way quietly out the door. Against all the odds, and in spite of everything, I had a tiny miracle growing inside of my body. A small part of Joe remained after the ashes of our relationship had burned themselves out; or rather after I had sent the whole thing up in flames. Still, she survived, and her tiny heart that was the repository of all my dreams, all my best and fondest wishes, kept beating.
Hope. I would name her Hope.
The first few days in the hospital passed in a monotonous haze. Under any other circumstances, I might have started climbing the walls, but I was just too worried about Hope's continued survival. I kept thinking if I just did what the doctors told me to do, we would get better. The doctors, in the meantime, conferred in hushed tones outside my door, speaking a convoluted jargon of medical terms designed to obscure reality from their patients and perhaps themselves. They spoke in terms of "fetal viability" instead of life or death, in milligrams instead of pounds. The cruel reality was, of course, that the designer words didn't make my situation any more palatable. When all the medi-speak was done, the crux of the matter was that Hope was painfully undersized and they didn't know if my body could sustain her to the point where she could survive in the outside world. I finally gleaned that the magic number was 28 weeks and 2 pounds. There were still no guarantees, but if she and I could make it until I was was 28 weeks along and she weighed two pounds, her chances of living were dramatically improved. I'd been admitted to Helen Fuld at almost 25 weeks, as near as we could figure. The only date we had to go by was that last night I'd spent with Joe two weeks after Black Thursday. I kept hoping that maybe, just maybe I'd really gotten pregnant before then. I didn't think so, but for the sake of Hope's survival, I really hoped I was wrong.
When I was wearily marking off week number 26, my sister Valerie went into labor with her fourth baby. She had gone almost three weeks past her due date, and had lumbered in during the preceding week bemoaning her aching back and swollen feet, complaining that she would be pregnant forever. After the third straight day of listening to her harangue, I got fed up. I finally lashed out at her that she was lucky and should be thanking God that she was able to carry her baby so long. I was to the point of hating the sight of her burgeoning belly, such an obvious sign of success when compared to my tiny, struggling bump that barely showed under the blankets. Valerie had three perfect little girls at home, and another floating contentedly in her healthy abdomen. While Albert Kloughn wasn't a man I would have chosen, he loved Valerie and the girls with all of his palpitating little heart. I wasn't one to sit around and mope over my own situation, but drumming up a lot of sympathy for Valerie was just something I couldn't manage right then. Valerie cried, I cried, my mother fussed at both of us until we both snarled at her to leave us alone. At least that left us laughing through tears and connected to each other. The night Valerie went into labor, she had the nurses bring a rocking chair into my room and we sat up late into the night listening to the competing heart monitors of our babies, the steady beats of their hearts a rhythmic background music to our own conversation. Valerie and I had separate rooms growing up, except when relatives would come to visit. Then the relatives would get Valerie's room because she kept her room cleaner than I did, and Valerie would be stuck bunking in with me. Those were great adventures, though, and we'd sit up long into the night, like now, telling each other our secrets and dreams, feeling more connected to each other than in ordinary times when we just coexisted side by side. So Valerie rocked and told me about how lost she had felt when Steve left her for the babysitter. And I rubbed my belly in sympathy with her contractions and told her about how bereft I felt without Joe. We talked of our hopes and our dreams for our babies, and how we hoped they'd grow up together, laughing and playing together, close as sisters. Close as we had been when we were little. When had we grown apart? I couldn't remember and neither could she, but it had somehow happened when we weren't paying attention, and we vowed to make things better for these two little girls who would be born so close together. A few hours later, her contractions reached a crescendo, and the nurses bore her away to the delivery room, a nervous and sweating Albert Kloughn in tow.
After a lot of panting and swearing, her 7 pound 3 ounce daughter Vanessa made her appearance in the wee hours of the morning. Albert left to go home and sleep, and Valerie managed to talk the powers that be into moving her and Vanessa into my room with me. It was small and it was crowded, especially with Vanessa's isolette, but my beautiful new niece gave me something to focus on. When she wasn't nursing her new daughter, Valerie would bring Vanessa over to my bed and we'd drape her across the bump in my bedclothes. Vanessa would squirm and kick from the outside, and Hope would answer with tiny flutters of her own, as if she knew her cousin was there to see her. I could stroke Vanessa's silky hair and soft skin and remind myself why all this waiting and monotony was worth it. At the end, if God were kind, I would have a perfect angel of my own to suckle at my breast.
Valerie was discharged the next day, and left in a flurry of balloons and flowers, with promises to come back and visit the next day. I knew she would be hard-pressed for time and might not make it, but the connection the two of us had managed to create still left me with a soft glow in my heart. I might not have Joe, but I had rediscovered my sister, and I would be hard-pressed to have a better friend that MaryLou had been to me since Joe had left. Lula blew in like a summer storm, with lots of bluster and thunder, her visits short but intense. If Lula didn't like the police station, it was nothing compared to how much she hated the hospital after Ramirez had cut her up so badly and left her for dead. I think the hospital still holds a lot of ghosts for Lula, and I know her periodic forays into the dreaded halls took a lot of courage, and I appreciated that she would face down those demons for me. Vinnie and his wife brought flowers once, and Connie had taken to coming by on Mondays after work to keep me informed about who had been arrested, who had bail jumped, and general gossip that developed in the Burg over the course of a weekend. She and I both knew that it would be a long time, if ever, before I would be willing or able to go back to bounty hunting, but the conversation kept me occupied, and that was what I needed more than anything else as the days wore on.
