Fishbowl (25 page)

“You’re right. This woman needs your help now. What’s your name?”

“Claire.”

“Okay, Claire. She’s having a footling breech birth and she can’t wait. I’m going to walk you through this. Can you see the umbilical cord? Has it prolapsed? It will be a blue-gray-colored cable looping out of the mother.”

Claire crosses the kitchen and examines Petunia Delilah sweating and straining on the linoleum.

“I don’t see it,” she says.

“Good, you’ll need some clean towels and gloves. Do you have those?”

Claire takes an instinctive, momentary offense at the question. Of course, her towels are clean. Any implication otherwise is an insult. Then, she reasons, no offense is implied by the question. This man on the phone doesn’t know her.

“I have those things,” she says.

“Okay, get them and lay them out under the mother. Wear gloves if you have them. Otherwise, wash your hands thoroughly for thirty seconds.”

Petunia Delilah shrieks, filling the apartment with the animal noise.

Claire panics, barking at the operator, “I know how to wash my fucking hands and there’s no way I’m touching that.”

“Excuse me?”

Claire takes a deep breath to calm herself.

“I’m not touching that woman or her baby,” she says, her voice quavering on the brink of crying.

“Claire, you have to. You have to help them.”

“I can’t,” Claire snaps and sobs. “I just can’t. It’s a long story.”

“Is there anyone else there with you?” the operator asks.

“There’s this boy here. He doesn’t look well either.” Claire replies, her voice cracking with hysteria. “All I did was open my door. I was making quiche—”

“Claire, I need you to focus,” the operator says. “Give the boy the towels and gloves and get him positioned to help with the baby. He needs to be able to manipulate it. I’ll help. I’ll talk you through it, but I can’t do it all. I need you. That woman needs you. The baby needs you right now.”

Claire sucks in another deep breath. The smell of quiche calms her. She pushes the air from her lungs. She nods to the phone.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m okay.”

Then she runs down the hall to the linen closet and pulls a stack of towels from the shelf. She returns to the kitchen and places the towels near Petunia Delilah. She jumps back when Petunia Delilah’s body clenches and she releases a hoarse bellow.

Someone in the next apartment over thumps on the wall a few times.

“You.” Claire points at the boy. “What’s your name?”

“H-Herman.” Herman takes his forehead from the door and looks at Claire.

“Herman,” Claire says. “Come here and help. You’re the hands here. I’m going to tell you what to do, and you’re going to do it. This woman and her baby need us.” She opens a cabinet and pulls out a box. She dangles two lemon-yellow rubber gloves in his direction. “Put these on.”

Herman looks from the gloves to Petunia Delilah lying, knees akimbo, on the floor and then back to Claire. He looks hesitant, pale and trapped. His eyes plead with her not to make him do this.

“Now,” Claire commands. “Put some towels under her. You’re going to take care of her through this.”

Herman hesitates and then crawls over, snatches the gloves from Claire, and pulls them on. He arranges a towel under Petunia Delilah’s buttocks and positions himself between her knees. His eyes don’t know where to settle. He glances from the baby’s bum and leg protruding from Petunia Delilah, to her knees, to the wall, to Claire, and finally he settles on Petunia Delilah’s face. That face spasms and screams suddenly. Herman scoots away in terror, his legs scrabbling, pushing himself backward until he winds up pressed against the door.

“The baby’s hips are out,” Claire says into the mouthpiece. “Only one leg though. The other is all folded up inside.”

“That’s okay,” the operator says. “It will come. Claire, I need some information from the mother.”

Claire listens and then asks Petunia Delilah, “Is this your first baby?”

Petunia Delilah pants that it is, and Claire relays the information.

“Are you full term?”

Petunia Delilah screams that she is supposed to be due in five days. Herman has moved back into position and is tentatively rubbing Petunia Delilah’s knee in a soothing manner.

Claire tells the operator this and then asks, “How long have you been in labor?”

“I don’t know. Five minutes?” Petunia Delilah screams. “Not fucking long. Holy fucking shit, it burns!”

Herman looks at Claire. The terrified expression on his face begs her for either direction or dismissal.

“I heard that,” the operator says evenly into Claire’s ear. “We can do this. There’s a lot working in our favor here. The cord is okay. The baby’s full term. Its hips are out, and they are going to dilate her as effectively as the head would. Both are the same diameter. Which way are the baby’s toes pointing?”

Claire peers at the baby’s leg and grimaces at the mess on her floor. “To the ceiling.”

“They need to be rotated to point to the floor. The baby’s bum needs to point to the ceiling. Now, the baby needs as much support as possible. Full hands on the baby, never just fingers. Rotate it gently but firmly.”

Claire relays the instructions to Herman. She watches the boy cup the baby between his palms and slowly twist it in one direction. When the hips are perpendicular to the floor, the other leg pops out of Petunia Delilah. With it comes a loop of umbilical cord. Herman flinches but does not let go. He continues the slow motion until the feet are pointing to the floor. When he’s done, he straightens both of its legs and sits back on his heels. He looks at Claire with less fear and more interest than before.

“The other leg came out,” Claire exclaims. “It’s a little girl. You’re having a little girl.” She laughs and moves closer to Petunia Delilah.

Petunia Delilah laughs and smiles. Her face glistens.

“Some umbilical cord came out too,” Claire tells the operator.

“Okay,” he replies, his words coming quickly to Claire’s ear. “That’s not good. The paramedics are still two minutes away. That’s too far. The umbilical cord needs to be untangled from the baby, and we have to get the baby out quickly. We have to do this fast. The cord is likely constricted, which will deplete the flow of oxygen. The longer this takes, the greater the chance the baby will suffer brain damage. Now, Claire, this is what we have to do.”

44

In Which Homeschooled Herman Holds a Life in His Hands and Sees a Life in His Mind

Every time he touches the baby, Herman feels his grip on consciousness fade. He fights hard to stay there in the room, to not go anywhere else. He feels the baby through the rubber gloves, warm and wet cupped in his hands. The tile is cool and slick under his knees. The towel under Petunia Delilah’s hips is soaked with viscous pink fluid.

The baby’s two legs are freed and her torso slips out of Petunia Delilah to the shoulders with little effort. Still, no arms are visible, so he reasons that they must be held up above her head.

“There’re no arms,” Herman says to Claire. He looks to her for direction and asks, “How do I get the arms out of her?”

Claire relays this through the phone and then tells him, “Gently turn the baby from one side and then to the other. You should be able to see them, and when you do, you can gently pull them out.”

Herman takes a deep, grounding breath and holds it. Then, cupping the tiny torso between his palms, he twists it to one side. The crook of an elbow pops out. Herman hooks a finger there and uses a gentle tug to help free the arm. Then he repeats the motion, twisting the baby slowly to the other side. As he does, Petunia Delilah screams through another contraction, which pushes the other arm out unaided.

The neighbor bangs on the wall again, more forcefully now.

Herman lets his breath out and smiles at the result of his work.

“I’ve got them,” he says excitedly. “They’re both out now.” Herman turns the baby chest-down again and then looks to Claire for more instructions.

Claire peers at them from the other side of the island, craning her neck to better see what’s going on. She gives him a thumbs-up.

“Arms are out,” she says into the receiver. “Now what?” She listens and nods at the response.

“This is the hardest part,” she tells Herman. “Baby’s got a big head, so we all have to work together to get it out. Petunia Delilah, are you ready?”

“Get this fucking thing out of me,” she growls through clenched teeth.

Claire turns her attention back to Herman. “Can you reach up in there a bit? From underneath? Put the baby’s body on your forearm and reach under. Feel for the baby’s chin—don’t block her mouth though. Put your fingers on either side of it.” Claire holds her hand to her mouth, her fingers splayed into a V shape in demonstration.

Herman nods, so completely fascinated now he doesn’t even feel scared. He drapes the baby on his forearm and pushes his fingers into Petunia Delilah. There isn’t any room there, so he has to work against the resistance until he feels the baby’s jawline. He can’t figure out where the mouth is due to the pressure exerted by the compressed tube of flesh. He makes a guess and decides that will have to suffice.

“Okay,” he says. “Her head’s wedged up in there pretty tight though. Now what?”

Claire listens to the phone and then says, “Now put your other arm along the baby’s spine. Wrap your index finger around one shoulder and your ring finger around the other. Run your middle finger straight up the back of her neck for support.”

Herman does as he’s instructed. The baby lies limp, pinned between his forearms.

“She’s not breathing,” he says in a panic.

“It’s okay,” Claire says. “She will. She has to come out first.”

Herman nods, and Claire continues.

“Petunia Delilah, in a moment, you’re going to give a big push. Herman, when she does, keep the baby sandwiched between your arms and lift upward, the baby’s whole body flat like a plank and in one motion. You have to support her neck while you do it. You got it?”

Herman finds he can’t speak, so he just nods. There’s a life in his hands. He feels his mind focus like it never has before. Any threat of blacking out is gone. He isn’t going anywhere but here, and he isn’t doing anything but bringing this little baby into the room.

When Petunia Delilah pushes, she growls from deep in her chest. Her eyes close with the exertion, and her lips curl back from her teeth. Herman’s spindly arms strain to keep the baby flat, like a board held between his forearms. He starts to lift the body and for a moment nothing happens.

“Push,” Claire yells at them.

The neighbor pounds, rattling the pictures on the wall.

Petunia Delilah lets out one last, agonized scream.

With a smooth motion, the baby’s free. The umbilical cord snakes out, attaching her from her belly button to her mother’s insides. Herman falls back onto his bum, his feet flat on the floor and his knees touching Petunia Delilah’s. Petunia Delilah lets out a groan and pants. Her body goes limp. Herman looks at the baby in his arms. She’s covered with a wet wax that smears onto his arms and shirt. Herman grabs a tea towel from the pile on the floor and wraps it around the little girl.

“She’s still not breathing,” he says to Claire.

Claire relays the message to the phone and then tells him, “Wait a sec. Rub her body. See if she starts on her own.”

Time is slow. It’s not a surprise to Herman because he has experienced the sensation many times before. He keeps calm and looks down on the little girl’s face, waiting for it to break to life. He rubs her body with the towel and holds his breath, willing her to start breathing.

“Check her mouth,” Claire says.

With a thumb on her chin, Herman gently pries the baby’s mouth open.

Petunia Delilah moans, rolls her head to the side, and asks with an anxious voice, “What’s happening? How’s my baby?”

“Her mouth is full of stuff,” Herman tells Claire.

“It’s full of stuff,” Claire tells the phone and listens. Then she relays to Herman, “You’re going to have to suck it out. Just a very gentle suck.”

“What’s happening to my baby?” Petunia Delilah’s manic voice fills the apartment.

“I have to what?” Herman asks Claire and then looks at the glistening baby with her mouth full of gelatinous goop.

“Your lips go over the baby’s mouth and then gently suck the stuff out.”

Herman steels his nerves for a moment and thinks how he doesn’t really have a choice. He leans forward and encircles the baby’s mouth with his lips. He sucks gently, as if the baby is a straw. A dollop of jelly slips into his mouth, which causes Herman to gag at the sensation. He turns his head and spits the glob on the floor.

“Don’t spit on the floor,” Claire yells. “On the towel, keep it all on the towel. Christ—”

And then the baby starts to gurgle and cry. All of her limbs start to gyrate as she sputters and wails to life.

Herman spits again, this time onto the towel. He wipes the back of his arm across his lips. Herman realizes he’s sitting between Petunia Delilah’s legs and quickly grows uncomfortable with the familiarity of her exposure, the intimacy of their touching knees. He rearranges himself into a kneeling position and, with the baby girl cradled carefully, uses a free hand to take the remaining towel from the floor and cover Petunia Delilah. Herman then shuffles on his knees to her side.

The baby girl, swaddled in the towel and cradled in his arms, gurgles and yawns. Her eyes are so big that Herman finds himself lost in them. He can see her. How can she be so tiny yet hold so much? She’s frail but strong with the potential she has. Herman can see her growing up, learning to walk and learning the words to express her thoughts, playing on the street with friends. She picks dandelions for her mother and paints paintings with her fingers that will be stuck on the fridge by letter-shaped magnets. At the playground, she will push her best friend off the teeter-totter and learn what regret is. She will both make mistakes and learn to live right.

“She’s so little,” Herman whispers.

Petunia Delilah reaches out to him and rests her hand on his forearm.