Ask Me Why I Hurt (37 page)

“Please. That would be nice.”

“I’ll be in touch then,” he said.

I
n the fall of 2009 UMOM was in the process of moving its shelter from the old motel to a new and bigger facility. It was a huge improvement over the last shelter. Happy children played in a courtyard on renovated playground equipment. There was staff to guard the front. The shelter took in domestic violence victims as well as homeless families. The catering business was being reconstituted into a restaurant that would serve the public. I peeked through a dusty window. I saw leather booths and neon signs.

“This is going to be a fantastic restaurant,” I told Darlene. “I can already taste the milk shakes.”

Inside the main building there was a beautiful new clinic. I marveled at its size. Before, Kim had had one tiny room. This time there were four beautiful exam rooms and an office, all tucked inside the main floor. Already Kim was taping up posters and gleefully stocking cabinets. Once again the community had helped. Wal-Mart had donated sixty thousand dollars. A group of Boy Scouts was inside, trying to earn their Eagle Scout badges by stuffing fifteen hundred hygiene bags to hand out to the children.

“I can’t tell you how amazing your nurse Kim has been,” Darlene said as we walked the grounds. “Did you know that she’s now
gotten sixteen of our moms into nursing school? I don’t know what strings that woman pulls, but she pulls them.”

“What do you mean, she got them into nursing school?” I asked. Since I was often on the van, and Kim was at the shelter, I wasn’t able to follow her achievements as much as I wished. I knew Kim was extremely competent; I just wanted to share in the challenges and successes she seemed to be experiencing in the shelter.

“You didn’t know? From homeless to nursing, I can’t believe it myself.”

One thing I admired about Darlene was that she saw the big picture. As wonderful as UMOM was, it was not meant to be a permanent home. The goal was to move the families on to self-sustained stability. I thought of all the benefits I had had growing up. We didn’t have a ton of money, but we had stability, and so much of that stability was rooted in my parents’ owning a house. It was because we had a home that Stephanie and I were able to stay in the same schools, get good grades, make lifelong friends, and experience success in life. These children and their moms deserved the same stability.

I found Kim in the back, unpacking books. Her short hair was pulled back, and her tanned arms glistened with sweat. I helped lift a box.

“Kim, are you really getting these moms into nursing school?”

“Sure deal.”

“How do you pay for their tuitions?”

“Oh, you know. I asked around and got some scholarships.” She made it sound as if it were easy, and I realized once more how lucky I was to be surrounded by such dynamic, driven people. I listened to Kim chatter about her plans for the clinic and how this one baby was dealing with an eye infection and another mom also wanted to be a nurse, as I helped her put away books and thumbtack up new posters.

That afternoon I parked in the rough area of town. A slender blond woman was standing at the top of the van steps, blinking and readjusting her sight, having just come into the shade from the sun. I know this woman, I thought.

I thought about the first time Sugar had come swinging up into the van, so many years before. The false sexuality was gone now, burned out by the hard life she had lived. Her curly blond hair had been hacked off into a rough cut. But despite the facial scars, she was still pretty.

My heart warmed to see her. “It’s good to see you,” I said sincerely. It had been so long, and I had worried over her.

“Can you see me right now?” she asked.

“I’d be happy to.” I led her to an exam room. She was unusually subdued. I wondered how old she was now. She had to be in her mid-twenties. Her eyes looked much older and sadder. I would have to tell her she was too old for the van. Our funding allowed us to treat children and young adults under age twenty-five. In the early days we were limited to age twenty-one, but this had changed. Soon I’d have to tell Sugar that she would need to find other medical care. I doubted she would do this. I didn’t want to tell her that she couldn’t return. I knew I would miss her and worry about her.

“What can I do for you today?” I asked.

She sat on the edge of the exam table she knew so well. How many times had she sat there, getting tested for STDs? More than I wanted to count. But there was something different about her this time. The dissipation had gone out of her face. It had been replaced by something new. I wasn’t sure what. She placed her palms on her legs.

“I think I’m pregnant,” she said.

I wasn’t surprised. It was a risk of what she did to survive. “How long has it been?”

“Since I missed my period? I’m not always regular anymore. I think like three months.” The lack of consistency in her cycle also didn’t surprise me. It was common with women who had suffered from poor nutrition, repeated STDs, and repeated sexual violence.

“Would you like a pregnancy test?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant.”

“How can you tell if you often miss a cycle?” I asked, curious.

“I don’t know. I can just feel it. And I want a full STD screening.”

“OK.” I opened the cabinet for a disposable gown.

“Where’s Jan?” she asked. She was so calm.

“She usually takes the van out on other days,” I said. “It’s not as often anymore we get to go out together, though I miss it. Would you like to wait for her another day?”

“No. You can do the exam. No other helpers today?”

“There’s a volunteer outside.” I pulled out the tray and took out a folded paper gown and handed it to her. I got ready to leave the room so she could change. “I can bring her in if you like.”

She hesitated. “What if I am pregnant?”

I paused. “Would you like to discuss your options?”

Her face was still calm. “I think I know my options.”

“OK. Why don’t you tell me what you would like to do?” I asked gently. I was expecting her to say she wanted an abortion. I was expecting to have her ask for a referral to a clinic, since that was not a service we provided. What I didn’t expect was what she said and the calm, beautiful way she delivered it, after so many years.

“I want you to help me.”

I heard a clock ticking. I heard my heart beating, slowly and firmly. Some moments are too profound to be loud. She suddenly looked at the floor, vulnerable emotion sweeping her face for the first time. The real person that was Sugar, lying under all those years of pain, was finally surfacing. The emotions gave a transparency to her skin and eyes I had never seen. She looked at me with what could only be described as a wild emotion. It was something I had never seen before in her face. It was hope. She took a deep breath.

“Dr. Randy, I don’t want my baby to grow up to be like me.”

That evening I walked in to find kids screaming joyfully through our house. Amy had some neighbor friends over. Their kids were in school with Janie and Reed. “We went up to Dreamy Draw Park,” Janie shouted at me as the kids ran by pell-mell, being chased by Ginger. She looked regal in her rust-colored shirt, which brought out her burnished hair. “You won’t believe what happened today,” I said.

I told her about Sugar. Amy looked at me with wide eyes. “Were you able to get her help?”

“I found her a temporary shelter until she has the baby. Then I called Darlene. She said she would make room at UMOM, even if she had to clear out a broom closet. I’m still worried, though. She has to get through her pregnancy. Anything could happen in the next few months.”

Amy gave me a huge, hard hug. “She made the first step,” she said. I kissed her. It turned out to be a long kiss.

“Whoa now,” her friend said, coming into the room. “I’d like to know your secret.” I pulled away. Amy blushed, her cheeks turning red.

“Yeah, really. Tell us all,” her friend said. “My husband wants to know your secret.”

“Hey!” her husband said.

“Beer?” I asked him, and he accepted a cold Budweiser. We sat at the kitchen counter and chatted. He was already planning a Super Bowl party and insisted that Amy and I join them.

“Maybe” was my answer. I tried to think of the last time I had sat down and watched an entire sports game. The answer had to be since before I started the van. “I’m going to try this year. For sure.”

“Definitely,” Amy said, giving me a warning look. It was a look that said I needed to make time for a sports game with friends as much as I needed to make time for her. I ate a chip and silently agreed.

Reed raced in. “Hi, Dad! We went to Dreamy Draw! We got lost.”

“I’ll get the kids in bed tonight,” I told Amy as we cleaned up
later that night. “And how about we have waffles tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cook.”

“Sure I am. Homemade Eggo waffles. Fresh from the box.”

She gave me a quick sideways hug, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “At least you know your limits.”

Several months passed. I drove to our new offices. We had recently moved the offices and the van to new headquarters at UMOM. HomeBase had fallen on hard times with the recession, and it looked as if it might be changing hands. We were thankful that Darlene so kindly offered us office space in her new shelter. Our new offices were white and clean. We had a tiny kitchen and a fridge for lunches. The walls smelled fresh with new paint, and there were no more worries about mold and allergens. Jan, Wendy, and Michelle were overjoyed with the new space.

I stopped at my own desk. It was crowded with grant applications. A stack of new brochures waited for approval. They were small but professionally glossy. Our mission statement was more to the point: providing health care to homeless youth, the brochure said.

Already the new shelter seemed like home. I remembered my initial hesitation at working with Darlene. Darlene clearly was a force to be reckoned with.

It was early, but the sun was hard and bright as I left the offices and cut across the shelter courtyard. Breakfast smells filled the air. I caught home fries and bacon and ham and cheese and fresh homemade flour tortillas. The tortillas smelled so fresh I could almost taste the bubbles and blackened spots. My stomach growled, and my mouth watered. While I wasn’t doing better at eating regular meals, I took comfort in the fact I was getting a bit more sleep.

A toddler on a Big Wheel whizzed by, his big sister merrily chasing him. There was conversational shouting in Spanish and everywhere the smell of beans put on to simmer. Some of the new rooms had kitchens. I was excited to take the van out for the day. New locations needed to be scouted.

I almost walked right past Kim. She was sitting in her nursing scrubs at one of the picnic tables with a mom and her baby.

“You’re up early,” I told Kim. She gave me a funny smile, and I remembered that she probably got up long before dawn to start her clinic.

Then I did a double take at the woman, who was holding a newborn baby. No, I thought. Yes. It was.