Fertility: A Novel (33 page)

“Yes.”

“Dr. Gotbaum asked me to check on you today. I’m Dr. Shulman.”

Sarah managed a perfunctory “Hello.” She had no interest in another doctor examining her.

“Dr. Gotbaum filled me in on the salient events that have occurred over the last several days. It seems as though you’ve had quite a lot to deal with,” the doctor said sympathetically.

“No more than many of the patients in this hospital.”

“True, but of course your story is special to you. Stressful physical events can take a toll on a person’s spirit. Call it collateral damage, if you will.”

Sarah’s interest was piqued. “What department did you say you were from?”

“Actually, I didn’t say. I’m a psychiatrist, Sarah. Dr. Gotbaum noted a marked change in your mood today. He’s concerned that in focusing on healing your leg, he’s been remiss in dealing with the emotional trauma you’ve experienced. As he told me, and rightly so, his quest to return you to full function will only be successful if we treat all of you, not only your leg.”

“The neonatologist already made an offer of counseling — which I declined,” Sarah said. “If you’re here to offer me counseling, we can make short order of that. No thank you.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I’m perfectly sane. The events of the last week would result in any mentally intact person feeling down in the dumps or blue — call it what you will. I personally think it’s a normal response to what’s happened,” she said defensively.

“No doubt you’re correct. However, you have a lengthy physical recovery ahead of you and it would be helpful if your mood worked in service of that recovery.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll need to participate fully in your therapies and treatments. You’ll have to push yourself to do what you used to do without giving it a second thought. A person who is feeling low often doesn’t have the stamina to do what needs to be done to get well,” the psychiatrist explained.

“Well, you needn’t worry on that point, Doctor. Stamina’s my middle name. I’ll do whatever it takes to regain the use of my leg. Just because I’m not happy about it doesn’t mean I won’t do what needs to be done.”

“Fair enough. But I understand that you had a nightmare last night — a flashback of your accident. You’ve got to be able to sleep in order to heal.”

“You have a fix for nightmares? Because if you do, I’d find that interesting.”

“Not a fix exactly,” the psychiatrist said, “but we have developed some successful approaches to dealing with the stress that follows a trauma.”

“I’m listening,” Sarah said impatiently.

“The conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan have put post-traumatic stress disorder on the front burner of psychiatric research. Many of the returning soldiers experience nightmares, mood changes, anger management problems. As a result, we’ve made some strides in finding effective treatment for the disorder,” Dr. Shulman said.

“So what are you saying? I have PTSD?”

“I wouldn’t presume to diagnose you without a thorough exam. But what I am saying is, if you find that you can’t enjoy your new baby or good food and company, and that you have trouble sleeping or experience nightmares, we can help you get a handle on those symptoms.”

The idea of the psychiatrist’s “thorough exam” repelled her. “I appreciate you stopping by, but for now, I think I’m all set.”

“Okay then. Just know I’m available if you change your mind. Here’s how you can reach me.” The doctor handed Sarah his card and left to see patients more interested in taking advantage of what he had to offer.

* * *

After getting a heads up from Eva, Joseph arrived at the hospital just before six with enough Middle Eastern takeout for the entire family. He found his mother-in-law dozing in the chair, his daughter in bed feeding the baby some formula and his wife fit to be tied. Joseph identified the problem straight away: Rivka’s presence added just enough to Eva’s load to throw her off balance. He went to work restoring equilibrium, serving up the food, cleaning up afterwards and making arrangements for Mrs. Goldberg’s son to pick Rivka up at the hospital at noon the following day.

Sarah was ashamed that, once again, she was relieved when Anna was wheeled away for the night. It was additional proof that she was a miserable failure as a mother. In fact, the time when she was good at anything seemed remote. She could no more imagine being the person she used to be, or at least the person she had fancied herself to be — strong, capable, independent — than she could imagine getting up and walking out of the hospital.

Her low expectations for personal happiness aside, she now saw how much she’d expected from her life. It had meant nothing to her to get up and out of bed, throw on her running clothes and do six miles along the river. In terms of her pregnancy, she had expected it to go off without a hitch. It was clear she’d made a mistake in expecting so much, a mistake that left her reeling.

In the midst of her self-rebuke, there was a knock on her door. In walked a smiling Rick, happy he was about to spend time with Sarah. When he pulled a chair up next to her bed, the contrast in their moods couldn’t have been more sharp.

“Hey, comrade. How goes it today?” he asked.

“It was a day; nothing awful like last night, and nothing to write home about, either.”

“Sarah, when you’re recovering from a trauma like yours, that’s what we docs call a ‘red letter day,’” he said, radiating optimism. “Being medically boring is a thing to love: no infections, no fevers, no other ‘excitements.’ Maybe you have to know what can go wrong before you appreciate an uneventful day in the hospital.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I don’t want any more things going wrong, but I’m ready if they do. So in a sense, today was a good day. I remembered something I’d forgotten — that expectation is everything. If I don’t expect anything good to happen, I won’t be disappointed when everything goes to hell.”

“You really believe that?” he asked incredulously. “You? Of all people?”

“Why do you say it that way? ‘You, of all people’?”

“Because you push yourself to the highest standards in everything you do. In your work, in your sport, in how you carry yourself — you strive to be the best. And you’re damn close to achieving it, as far as I can tell.”

“Maybe that was true before everything happened. But that was my error. I limited my low expectations to my personal life — more precisely, to the men in my life.”

“Ouch. That’s a low blow. So the only reason you liked me was because you expected so little of me?” The idea made his palms sweat.

“As I recall, you exceeded my expectations in almost every way. We had a good time,” Sarah recalled in an analytical way, “until the end.”

Encouraged by that rather positive, if dry, assessment, Rick pursued the point. “Damn straight. We had a great time.”

“We had a great time for as long as it lasted. But when it ended, I had no hard feelings toward you. I knew there was no point in expecting any more than you gave me. Today I realized that I have to carry that attitude over to every part of my life. I used to expect to walk outside without having the sky fall on me. But I was wrong. Anything can happen anytime. Now that I get that, I think I’m going to be okay,” Sarah said with some satisfaction.

“I couldn’t disagree with you more, Sarah.”

“Suit yourself. I think I’m being realistic.”

“As a doctor who’s had patients with the same diagnosis either live or die because of the fight they had in them, I think your take on things will not serve you well. You have to allow room for hope and the possibility of improvement. Don’t ever think you have no right to expect good things out of life. Don’t do that, Sarah. Please.”

“Did you know that Jeff sent a psychiatrist to see me today?”

“No, no I didn’t,” Rick confessed, worried that perhaps Jeff had caught something even more alarming than what he was hearing.

“Yes, Jeff ordered a visit from a Dr. Shulman. I guess he’s decided I’m a nut job. Maybe you believe that, too. But I know that I don’t have to be cheery and upbeat in order to fight to get my life back. I’m going to fight with every ounce of strength I have. It’s just that if it doesn’t work, I’ll be ready,” she said resolutely. “Personally, I think that’s a healthier way to look at things than to expect a happy ending.”

“Sarah, no one is saying you have to be Pollyanna. But you have to expect things will get better. I give you no argument that what happened to you was horrific. Jesus Christ, it was a freaking disaster. But it’s over now. Past tense. Now you have the best medical care available. Do you realize how lucky you were to have Jeff assigned to your case? Not every doctor would have worked on you for six hours, expertly putting together the jigsaw puzzle that was your leg. Some would have amputated and gone home early. But you were lucky. You caught a break. On the absolutely worst day of your life, you caught a break. The ambulance brought you to this hospital and you got this surgeon, and because of that, you have a chance to get your life back. But not if you hang on to that harebrained idea of low expectations.”

His criticism stung. “We can agree to disagree. To my way of thinking, it’s the only sensible way to face the day.”

“Okay. But I am going to prove to you that you’re wrong. You said you have low expectations of men. When you told me you were pregnant, I certainly gave you more evidence than you already had that we men are a low form of life. I know I ran with my tail between my legs. But that was then. I’m here now and I’m telling you I am not the
schmuck
who left you all those months ago. People can change. I’m living proof.”

“I’m having trouble understanding what made you change.”

“It was you. You made me change. I tried living without you and the truth is I didn’t do very well. When Jeff told me you were hurt, I went nuts. Then I saw you and Anna — that first night after everything happened — and something shifted inside of me. I’m done running. I’m serious, Sarah. If you’ll have me, I’ll never leave you again.”

“But the Sarah you knew…she’s gone. Just look at me.”

“Sarah, you are still you, busted-up leg and all. I see you even if you can’t see yourself right now. And I love what I see.”

“That’s very nice of you to say. I wish I could believe it’s true.”

“It is true, Sarah.”

“Are you sure you’re not saying all this to get to Anna?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve seen her. You said yourself it caused something to shift in you. You have the right to be her father, no matter our relationship.”

“I know I do, but she’s
ours
— yours and mine. I love that, Sarah. I love that she came from the two of us.”

“But you were dead set against having children. That’s why we broke up. I didn’t imagine that, did I?”

“No, you didn’t, I’m sorry to say.”

“And now?”

“Now I think I’m getting a handle on what scared me shitless about having a kid.”

“What was it? I’d really like to know.”

“Have a few minutes?”

“Are you kidding? I have an endless amount of time,” she said.

“Okay then. Here goes.” He took a deep breath and began.

“Until now, when it came to women, I was a runner. I went out with a lot of great girls before I met you. And everything was simpatico until they started looking at me as a possible father to their children. The first time it happened it gave me the creeps and I tried to ignore it. But I soon realized that there was no profit in that for anyone. The girl had gone down a path I had no interest in following, and there was no turning back for her. So, after it happened a couple more times, I realized that the only thing to do once a woman had made that turn was to leave, as fast and as cleanly as possible.

“When I met you I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. You not only accepted my terms of no entanglement, you were a step ahead of me. We had a great time, didn’t we?”

“I guess we did.”

“I know we did. That last night we had together — before you told me you were pregnant — I couldn’t believe my good luck. I was with someone so great who had no designs on me as a potential husband and father. Just as I was thanking my lucky stars, you let loose my worst nightmare: Like it or not, I’d fathered a kid.

“Terror is a powerful force, Sarah. It was more powerful at that moment than wanting you. Remember, I was a runner. So, that night, that’s just what I did. I ran.

“All these months I’ve asked myself why. I’m no shrink, but I think it comes down to this: I had a world-class bastard of a father. He was married to my mother for ten years. My mom is great, by the way. I hope you can meet her sometime soon. You’d like her.

“But my father is another story. I remember thinking as a kid that he knew everything. He was a big shot in his field. But the truth was he was a jerk. You know the car accident I’ve spoken of?”

She nodded.

“Well, it was my father who was driving — like a maniac. It wasn’t until I was in college that I found out his blood alcohol level was .23. He walked away from the accident with a scratch — literally — on his finger. I ended up in the intensive care unit for weeks and in the hospital for months. Oh, and here’s the topper. While I was still in the PICU, he packed his bags and left my mother and me for one of his graduate students.”

“That’s awful, Rick. I had no idea.”

“Well, I never talk about it. After the accident, he vanished from my life. Poof. Gone,” he said, gesticulating. “My mother made sure he paid child support and his share of the college and med school bills. I’m sure he never missed the money — he’s hauled in the big bucks for years. So from the time I was five, I had no father.

“After the divorce, we moved to Michigan, back where my mother’s family lived. My mom changed her name back to Smith, her maiden name. I got the idea to change my name, too. I was carrying around his name: Eric Stavropoulous, Jr. My mom’s father was a great guy — a machinist in the local auto plant and a big sports nut. He spent all his free time with me. If I was going to be named after anyone, I wanted it to be him. And his name was Rich Smith.