Just Like Other Daughters (26 page)

I realize, then, that I’m strong. I never thought I was, but as I listen to Margaret, now little more than a buzz in my ear, I come to the full realization of my strength. I’m fifty-three. Young. I can take care of this baby
and
my daughter. We don’t need Thomas. We don’t need the Eldens. We don’t even need Randall.

“I understand,” I say softly. I think I’ve cut Margaret off.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

And I know that she is. She’s sorry. I’m sorry. We’re all sorry. We wanted our children to be happy, so we let them get married. It was a mistake. We made a mistake.

I don’t let myself think about the fact that I
knew
it was a mistake. That I knew, in my heart of hearts, that Chloe and Thomas weren’t capable of having a married relationship. I caved because of the pressure from others . . . and because I wanted Chloe to be happy. She was so happy in the beginning.

I can’t talk to Margaret anymore. “Just send the paperwork,” I hear myself say.

“Just send it?” She sounds like she’s going to cry.

“Just send it.” I hesitate, then ask the question that has to be asked. I’m not even sure what I want the answer to be. “Will Thomas be giving up his paternal rights?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “I think it’s best, Alicia, don’t you?”

I hang up. I know it’s petty, but I hang up on her.

“Look, Mom! I folded it pretty.” Chloe holds up the yellow receiving blanket and she has, indeed, folded it nicely.

I can’t take my eyes off her. My beautiful, clever, funny Chloe. “You know something,” I say.

“Know something?” she echoes, reaching for another clean blanket from the pile.

“I love you, Chloe Mae Richards-Monroe.”

She looks up and smiles, the biggest, sweetest smile.

I
can’t sleep because my belly hurts. It hurts in my baby. I roll over on my back and I look at the roof in my room. I can see it because the bathroom light is on. I leave the bathroom light on because I have to pee a lot of times at night.

Mom says we have to paint the roof in my room because it’s getting peely. I wonder if I can paint it blue and make clouds. The baby will sleep in my room. I don’t know if it’s a girl baby or a boy baby. If it’s a girl baby I think it will like clouds on the roof. I don’t know what boy babies like.

My belly really hurts. If Thomas was here I would tell him. He doesn’t live here anymore. He had to go to Hi-O. He didn’t like it here. I like it here with my mom. Maybe someday me and Mom will go to Hi-O and see Thomas. Maybe Wednesday.

My belly hurts worse and worse. I rub it, but it still hurts. I get out of bed slow. “Mom?” It hurts so bad then when I get to my door I have to lean on it. Then it stops hurting. Mom says it hurts a little to get a baby, but then the baby will come out and it won’t hurt.

I turn on the light in the hall and walk down the hall. “Mom! My belly hurts!”

“Chloe?”

I hear her. I feel bad because she was asleep. But she said if my belly hurts, to wake her up.

“Chloe? What’s the matter, hon?”

Mom comes out in the hall. She’s wearing the pj’s me and Jin gave her for Christmas. They have Christmas kittens on them. I clapped when she opened her present. I love kitten pajamas.

“Mom, my belly hurts,” I tell her. When I walk, water runs down my legs and scares me. I look down. “I didn’t pee! I didn’t.”

Mom laughs, but she looks like she’s going to cry. “Oh Chloe, honey, it’s okay.” She hugs me. She doesn’t even care if she gets in the wet on the floor. “It’s the baby!” she says. “The baby is coming.”

 

Do more women go into labor at night, or does it just seem that way because it causes more disruption? Chloe wakes me at four thirty in the morning. It’s January eleventh. A good day to have a baby. I’m excited as I help her get dressed and bundle her into the car. I’m scared, too. I call Jin on our way to the hospital because I promised her I would, but I tell her to go back to sleep. This is a first baby. Who knows how long it will take for Chloe to deliver?

After Chloe is admitted and settled into her cozy pink and blue labor and delivery room, with a couch for me to rest on, I call Randall. It’s seven by now. A decent hour. He doesn’t answer. I leave a message. Then I call Margaret. I leave a message there, too. On impulse, I call Mark. He picks up on the second ring.

“I wake you?” I say.

“Nope. Already on the road.” I hear him swallow a mouthful of coffee. “Got a toilet overflow situation at an insurance agency in town.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to that,” I say, leaning against the wall in the hall outside Chloe’s room. “I just wanted to let you know that Chloe’s officially in labor and has been admitted.”

“So this is it,” he says.

“This is it.” I sound up. I feel up. I can do this. I can do it with the help of my friends. I’m learning to accept their help. Maybe it will even be nice to not feel like I have to do everything alone.

“You want me to come over? Just for moral support?”

“Oh no. There’s no need. She’s only two centimeters. This is going to be a long day. Chloe’s doctor hasn’t been in yet, but the nurse has already said we can expect a long day.”

“You’re sure? I can bring you a cup of coffee.”

I laugh. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Talk to you later?”

I smile. “Talk to you later.”

Jin shows up after her 1 p.m. class. I’m glad to see her because Chloe isn’t dealing well with the labor contractions. She’s crying. We had a kicking episode. Dr. Alvarez comes in between seeing patients in her office, examines Chloe, and explains to me that it’s still too soon to give her an epidural. The epidural would relieve the pain of the contractions, but it’s hard to judge how much longer Chloe will be in labor and the spinal anesthesia could only be administered for a certain length of time. Giving it to her too soon can mean having to push with no pain medication.

I try to remain patient with Dr. Alvarez. I understand what she’s saying, but Chloe is not the average mother in childbirth. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. Not really.

Dr. Alvarez promises to stop back in after her end-of-the-day appointments, and I go back into the room where Jin is sitting with Chloe.

My daughter’s face is swollen from crying. She’s already pulled her IV out once so she has a bandage on one arm, an IV in the other. The nurse mumbles something about restraints. I don’t want Chloe restrained, so Jin and I take turns sitting next to her, trying to keep her calm. We try to show her how to breathe through the contractions, but as soon as they get rough, she can’t concentrate and starts to cry and fight the contraction.

Jin slips out of the chair when she sees me. “I’m going to give Abby a call.”

“Any word?” I ask as we pass. A couple of hours ago, Abby got a call that her father had had a stroke. Abby was already at the airport, trying to catch a flight to the West Coast.

Jin shakes her head.

I move into the chair next to Chloe’s bed. Chloe’s lying there under the sheets, a wide elastic belt around her belly. The monitors and the IV pump beep. Her red eyes are squeezed shut.

“Mom,” she says, half-opening her eyes. “It hurts.”

“I’m here.” I take her hand, which is missing her wedding ring. One of the nurses made her remove it; it’s in my bag for safekeeping. “Soon the doctor will give you some medicine and it won’t hurt as much.”

“I don’t want a baby.” She thrusts her lower lip out. “I don’t want it.”

I smile to myself. Don’t all mothers in labor think that, at some point? “It’s going to be okay,” I say. “This will all be over in a few hours and then we’ll have a cute little baby to hold.”

“I can hold a baby.” She closes her eyes. “But you have to change the diaper. I don’t like a stinky diaper.”

“Sure. I’ll change the diaper,” I say.

And the hours pass. Slowly. Chloe’s labor progresses . . . slowly. The pain begins to wear on me, after a while. My daughter’s in pain and I can’t alleviate it.

Randall comes by, but he only stays five minutes. He’s obviously uncomfortable in the labor room with his daughter in the bed and me pacing. I’m not upset that he doesn’t stay. It’s not like I want him here for the delivery. He tells me to call him and let him know what happens. He mentions he has an early class tomorrow. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with that information. Jin says that means don’t call him after 10 p.m.; he needs his beauty sleep. Jin has never liked Randall and never pretended to.

When the nurse comes in to check on Chloe at 9 p.m., I get snarky with her. I’m tired and I’m worried. The nurses say eighteen hours isn’t unusual for labor, but it seems like it’s been so long. And I don’t see the end in sight right now.

“Seven centimeters!” she says cheerfully. The way she says it, she reminds me of Margaret. Who left me a very brief message this morning promising to pray for the baby’s safe delivery and who hasn’t called back since.

“That’s far enough along for the epidural, right?” I say to the nurse.

The blonde in the pink scrubs snaps off her disposable gloves. “I’ll have to check with her doctor.”

“I understand that. I understand you can’t administer the epidural, personally. But could you call Dr. Alvarez?” There’s an edge to my voice. “Could you do that?”

“If Dr. Alvarez gives the okay. But then I’ll have to call over to anesthesia.”

The monitor that shows Chloe’s contractions begins to hum and Chloe moans. “Mom . . .”

I lean over Chloe, getting my face right in hers. “Okay, here comes another. Take my hand and get a deep breath.” I breathe in deeply, hoping she’ll imitate me.

“No . . .” Chloe groans. “I don’t want a baby.” Her voice becomes high-pitched as the contraction gets stronger. “Mom! Make it stop! It hurts . . . Make the baby stop!”

Holding Chloe’s hand, I turn to the nurse. “Call the doctor, call the anesthesiologist, call the hospital director, if you have to!” I’m getting loud. “I want my daughter to have that epidural. Now! Do you understand me? Right now!”

The young woman hustles out. Thirty minutes later, the anesthesiologist appears. He administers the epidural and Chloe’s pain subsides considerably. I apologize to the nurse. Twice. She tells me not to worry about it.

Jin stays with me. Mark comes. He brings me coffee and a chicken salad sandwich he made himself. With a pickle. He’s not uncomfortable hanging out in the labor room with me. He’s sweet to Chloe. He goes home because I tell him to, but he makes it clear that I can call him if I need him. Or if I need another chicken salad sandwich. It doesn’t matter how late or how early it is.

Chloe starts pushing at 2:35 a.m. It’s hard, but she’s a trooper. Jin stands on one side of her, I stand on the other. With every push, I feel like I’m pushing, too. I don’t think about what kind of mental disabilities the baby will have, or how I’ll deal. I just want to get this over with. I just want to help Chloe get through it.

The baby boy is born at 3:47 a.m. He’s almost eight pounds. Chubby. With big blue eyes and no eye folds, no shortened limbs, no disproportionate head. I know the test came back negative for Down syndrome, but I didn’t trust it. I trust what I see. I can’t catch my breath. He looks like a normal newborn.

“There you go, Chloe! Congratulations,” Dr. Alvarez declares. She wraps the slippery infant in a receiving blanket. “Would you like to cut the cord, Alicia?”

I’m crying so hard that I can barely see to take the scissors.

“You want to hold him, Chloe?” Dr. Alvarez asks as the baby is separated from her body.

Chloe shakes her head. She doesn’t really even look at her little boy. “I’m thirsty. Can I have a drink?” She looks at Jin. “Can I have Gatorade now, Aunt Jin?”

Dr. Alvarez looks at me. “Would you like to hold him for a minute, Alicia? Before the peds nurses have a look at him?”

I’m too choked up to speak. Then he’s in my arms, looking up at me with big, dark blue eyes. Eyes that seem to see me. Eyes that speak to me.

I feel like I can’t breathe. He looks so normal. He
feels
normal. His muscle tone seems right. I meet Dr. Alvarez’s gaze. “He looks—”

“Perfectly healthy baby boy,” she says softly. “We can run tests, of course, but—”

Suddenly a loud beeping comes from one of the monitors behind Chloe’s bed. Everything happens so quickly then. It’s a blur.

It was all a blur then. It’s all still a blur.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the cold windowpane in Chloe’s room. I don’t know what’s happening. Everyone in the delivery room was so happy and smiling one second, and then the next, they aren’t.

Someone sweeps the baby out of my arms. Jin and I are pushed back from the bed where Chloe lays. I don’t see her close her eyes. If she’s had some sort of convulsion or something, I don’t see it.

Dr. Alvarez hollers for a crash cart. Everyone crowds around the bed. I can’t see my Chloe anymore. A code blue is called over the intercom to Chloe’s room number.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?” I keep saying.

Somehow Jin gets to me in the room full of doctors and nurses. She pulls me into her arms. We’re both crying. Someone pushes us out into the hall. The door keeps opening and closing. People coming and going. Rushing.

I don’t know how much time passes. A long time, I think. Maybe an hour?

Even though it’s only been three days since it happened, I can’t remember exactly what Dr. Alvarez said when she came out into the hall. Her mask was gone. She was still wearing a yellow disposable gown over her scrubs. There were tears in her eyes.

“No, no,” I remember whispering. You see this scene in movies. You read them in novels. You think you know how it will feel. You think you can imagine the pain. But you can’t imagine the depth of the pain.

Jin had her arms around me. She was holding me. Keeping me upright, I think.

“Would you like to step into a room?” Dr. Alvarez asks me, pulling a surgery cap off her dark head. “A place more private?”

I remember shaking my head. Feeling numb. “Right here is fine.” I don’t think I could have moved. I knew what she was going to say. In my mother’s heart, I knew.

“I’m so sorry, Alicia. Chloe’s dead. Of cardiomyopathy,” she told me, mincing no words. “We did everything we could.”

“A heart attack? A heart attack?” I know I said it several times.

Jin was crying. Still holding me.

“But . . . she had no history,” I remember saying. “Down syndrome people . . . they have cardiac issues. But not Chloe. Chloe didn’t have anything wrong with her heart.”

Dr. Alvarez took one of my hands. She looked into my eyes. “There was no indication there was a problem. This is very rare with mothers, Alicia. But it happens.”

I remember trying to breathe. I couldn’t think. I remember asking about the baby. Dr. Alvarez assured me he was fine. Healthy and fine. She told me that he scored a perfect ten on his APGAR. She said that I could certainly have him tested when he got older, but she saw no evidence of mental retardation. She said that the pediatrician on call had confirmed her observation.

So my twenty-eight-year-old daughter was dead, and I was the grandmother of a healthy baby boy.

 

And now here I am, standing at Chloe’s window, with a newborn asleep in the crib against the wall. Jin and I brought him home this morning. The hospital offered to keep him a few more days. Just until after the funeral, but I need him here. I know he can’t fix this feeling that my heart has seized up . . . but I couldn’t sleep last night with him in the hospital. My Chloe’s little boy. I need him here.