Positively Mine (22 page)

Soon a curtain is raised, separating my head and chest from my bottom half, and a nurse pulls a seat up for my father. “Sit here, behind the curtain. You can hold her hand.”

He does so dutifully, and when I look at his face, so close to mine now, his complexion is as white as a ghost. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers to me, squeezing my hand. But the fear in his eyes gives him away.

It takes less than ten minutes for my daughter to be born, and at 3:58pm, she arrives into the world with the faintest squeak of a cry. Dr. Adler holds her up. “Laurel, here is your baby.”

We both gasp. She’s so tiny. I barely have enough time to take her in because she is immediately washed, weighed in at five pounds, two ounces, tagged with a bracelet to match the ones that were secured to our wrists, and moved to the incubator. The two people who were standing next to it now take no time wheeling her out of the room.

“She’s going to the NICU,” a nurse explains.

Watching her get pulled away, knowing I can’t be with her while I lie helplessly on this table is too much for me. “Dad, you have to go with her. We can’t leave her alone.”

“But what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Go with her. Please. Promise me you’ll stay with her. Promise!”

His head turns from the incubator, to me, back to the incubator.

“Go,” I yell. “You have to!”

He releases my hand, now covered in sweat from how tightly we’ve both been squeezing, and rushes out of the room.

After two hours in Recovery, I’m brought back to my room. Nancy is there to hook me up to the blood pressure machine, reorganize the IVs, and reconnect the catheter to my bed. “Your father hasn’t left your daughter’s side. She’s not alone.”

“I want to see her.”

“I know. But you’ve got to stay on the magnesium for at least another day, and the doctor is going to want to run some labs. You’re not out of the woods just yet. Be patient.”

As much as I want to be a superhero and pull the IVs out of my arms and march down the hall to see my baby, I am extremely weak. My eyelids are too heavy for me to hold open. I am out before she’s left the room.

Sleep is deep, but filled with vivid imagery, and though I try to will myself awake many times throughout the night, I’m too exhausted to pull out of the slumber until the morning sun is shining through the blinds.

As my eyes adjust to the bright light, I notice Audrey and Bill are standing by the window. Bill is holding a car seat with a baby sound asleep in it and Audrey is scribbling something on a piece of paper.

“Hi,” I say and Audrey rushes to my bedside.

“I was just writing you a note. They discharged us this morning. We wanted to see you before we left but I didn’t want to wake you. How are you?”

My lips quiver. “She came a month early. She’s in the NICU. I’ve barely been able to see her. I haven’t held her…”

Audrey reaches over and grabs my arm and squeezes. “Everything is going to be okay. This is great hospital for premature babies. It’s why we decided to deliver Chloe here. You know, just in case.”

Just in case?
I glance up at Audrey. Her pale complexion is glowing and with the dress she has on, you can barely tell she just had a baby.

Bill puts the car seat on the floor and joins Audrey at my side. “Audrey’s right. Rochester has one of the best NICU’s in the state.”

He’s clean-shaven, bright-eyed and dressed in a button down shirt tucked into blue jeans. They both look great. And, although I know they’re trying to make me feel better, with their perfect relationship, perfect delivery, perfect healthy baby, perfect fucking
everything
, they’re making me feel worse. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I appreciate you stopping by, but you need to go.”

Audrey releases my arm.

“I’m not supposed to have visitors. With the preeclampsia.” My voice is cold.

“Oh. We didn’t know,” she says, her voice ringing with alarm. “Sorry.”

Bill picks up the car seat, and gestures for her to join him as he moves towards the door.

“Call me for anything.” Audrey offers, her voice hoarse. I’ve hurt her feelings but I don’t care right now. I know I should ask them to let me see Chloe before they walk out the door, but I can’t. I don’t say anything.

Once they are gone, I try to sit up, but my torso is aching and stiff with pain. I wince and feel around for the button to call the nurse. A square-shouldered woman with a flat face comes in. “I want to see my baby.” The anger is boiling inside me now.

She shakes her head. “You need to wait for Dr. Adler.”

“Where is he?”
How much longer?

“He has office hours. He’ll be in this afternoon.”

“What?” I force myself to sit up even though the pain is excruciating. “I’m not waiting that long to see my baby. I want to go now!”

The nurse rushes to my side and pushes me back, gently but firmly. “You cannot get up. You’ve just had major surgery!”

“I want to see my daughter!” I push her hands off me.
Too hard
. Her eyes bulge open with shock or perhaps it’s fear. She relents. “I’ll call his office.”

When she’s gone, I reach around for my phone and dial. My father picks up before it has even rung on my end. He whispers, “I was about to come see you. Everything is fine, Laurel. Your daughter is doing great!”

My chin trembles. “She is?”

“I’ve been with her most of the night, except for the few times I came to check on you. She’s holding my finger right now.”

“Really?” My eyes well.

“She’s got a good strong grasp, too.” He continues. “They have her on oxygen and some fluids, but she’s breathing on her own. And there’s no sign of any problems.”

“I want to see her.” I wipe at the tears streaming down my face.

“I know. You’ll be able to see her soon enough. Dr. Adler said you need to continue to rest until you stabilize. In the meantime, check your messages, and I’ll be there shortly.”

I hang up and see my father has sent me twenty different texts throughout the night, each containing a single picture of my daughter from the moment she entered the NICU until now.

The last one is the sweetest. She’s sound asleep, clutching his pinky. And though she’s small and has a couple tubes coming out of her, she looks okay. I kiss the picture and hold it against my heart.

If there was ever a day to challenge my strength and patience, it was today. I had to wait twenty-three hours, twelve vials of blood and forty-two blood pressure readings to finally be considered well enough to go to the NICU and hold my daughter. The nurses don’t waste any time once I arrive. They move me to a rocking chair and begin what they call Kangaroo Care immediately.

With my hospital gown open to the front, they bring her to me in only a diaper and a hat, place her against my chest, and then wrap us together in a sort of sling – like a kangaroo’s pouch – and drape a blanket over us. The skin to skin contact is supposed to help her learn to regulate her body temperature, a nurse explains.

I take in her baby scent and the warmth of her little body. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Soon, they encourage me to try and nurse, and with some help from a lactation specialist, she is able to. Finally things are moving in a positive direction.

The late afternoon whittles into the evening while I care for her as best I can with the IVs and the blood pressure cuff still on my arm.

When my father comes back from a much-needed nap and shower at a hotel, he joins me while I rock and stroke her sweet little body. He watches us with thoughtful eyes, and after sitting in silence for a while, he asks, “So does this baby have a name?”

“Carolyn.” I steal a glimpse at his face to register his reaction. “Carolyn Ramsey Harris.”

He is unresponsive at first. But then I notice tears starting in slow streams down his face. He wipes them away without sound. “It’s a good name.”

“It is.” I rub my cheek across the top of her fuzzy head. Her eyes are open, bright and alert.

He clears his throat. “I’ve been a poor father to you.” His voice cracks.

“Dad…”

“Let me talk.” He takes a deep breath. “When your mother died, I panicked. She was an amazing woman. Not only was she my best friend, a good mother, a hard worker. Truth is, the law firm never would have gotten off the ground without her. She was the go-getter, not me. So when I found myself alone with my ten-year-old daughter and a huge mortgage, I thought, I can’t screw this up. It seemed the best thing I could do was throw myself into work so I could provide for you and give you everything you’d need.”

“But, Dad…”

He holds his hand up. “That seemed to be okay for a while when you were ten, eleven – even twelve. Your grandparents were always willing to help. But after Ellis and Mae died, as you got older…you needed emotional support, and I just didn’t know how to give it to you. I think I thought I was trying, but I wasn’t. I was hiding behind my career. And as you became more vocal about what was missing in your life, I couldn’t believe that you weren’t satisfied.”

I watch him carefully. His face is controlled, but his eyes are full of grief, and his voice is weak.

“You didn’t parent, you managed.”

“Guilty as charged.” He brushes a hand across his forehead. “I’ve driven a wedge between us, and I never meant to. I can’t believe my own daughter didn’t feel she could come to me with…this.” He motions to Carolyn.

“I wanted to. I tried…but not hard enough.” I sigh. “I know I should have. I was hiding too…from you, from the baby’s father, from everyone.”

“You haven’t told the baby’s father?” He sits ups, his voice stronger now.

“No.”

“He must have noticed you were pregnant, walking around campus?”

“I got pregnant on Shelter Island last summer. He doesn’t go to Colman.”

His eyes widen.
Immediate recognition
. And I watch as they transition from curious to astonished. “Why haven’t you told him?”

“I don’t know. I’ve felt guilty about it all year. I guess I didn’t want the added stress of him being involved. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You’d be surprised.”

I look up at him. “Why?”

“Do you know how your mother and I came to be…well, a couple?” His tone’s uncertain, like he’s not sure he should proceed.

I shrug. “You started going out the end of your sophomore year; at least that’s what Gram told me.”

“We did. Before that we were good friends. I always had a thing for her, but she was serious with Ray. They were high school sweethearts, for lack of a better way to say it. And they came to Colman together from a small farm town in upstate New York with big dreams of breaking out of that mold. They were going to take on the world together, at least that was their plan…until she got pregnant.”

“What?” My eyes pop.

“Fall term of sophomore year.”

“Pregnant?”

“Yes. And it was a big mess.”

“What happened?”

“Well, Ray wanted her to have the baby. He was willing to quit school, get a job, do whatever it took. He loved your mom. But she wanted a different life. She didn’t want to be one more statistic: another pregnant teenager from a rural town. So… she decided there was only one thing she could do about it.”

I realize I’m holding my breath, and I let it out. “Mom had an abortion?”

He nods. “Ray took it hard, too. He wouldn’t even bring her to the clinic. I drove her. And afterwards, though I think they both tried to pretend things were okay between them, in the end it was too much. For your mom, he was a constant reminder of the most difficult decision she’d ever made. And I think he thought she had been selfish.”

“That’s when they broke up?”

“They didn’t make it to spring term. Not long after, she and I started spending more time together. I don’t know that Ray ever fully got over it, back then at least.”

“Weird he delivers babies for a living now, don’t you think?”

My dad shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t answer for what motivates Ray. The point is I do understand what you’ve been going through. If your mom could have done things over, she might never have told him. The added pressure and the guilt only surmounted the weight of it all. It was a very difficult time for her.”

“I get that.” I shift and try to readjust Carolyn in the sling, my abdomen throbbing. She is sound asleep now and doesn’t stir.

“It’s kind of ironic when you think about it,” I say, once I’ve repositioned us.

“What is?”

“Well, now here I am, a teen mom about to go live on the rural farm where she grew up. I’m more or less the statistic she didn’t want to be.”

He contemplates this for a moment. “I guess life comes full circle sometimes.”

Dad checks his watch. He has to pick Sheryl up at the airport. She’s been chomping at the bit to get here since the news broke. He stands, kissing the top of my head, then Carolyn’s. “We’ll be back before visiting hours are over.”

When Nancy comes to get me, I’m surprised to see her. “You’re working again?” I ask.

“Five twelve-hour shifts this week. Great overtime.” I expect her to put me in a wheelchair, but she offers her arm instead. “Time to get you walking.”

As I limp back to my room, Nancy’s mouth curls up. “I heard you hit a nurse.”

“Not on purpose.”

“I think you scared all the others because they keep putting me on Laurel duty.”

“Hope you don’t mind.”

“As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

When Sheryl and Dad pop in just before nine, I’m already dozing off.

“Carolyn is beautiful,” Sheryl smiles. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I murmur from somewhere on the trail to sleep, feeling the most calm I have all year.

I watch as the ferry in front of me fills with cars. It took three hours of battling summer traffic on Long Island to get to Greenport, then another half hour of waiting in a long line of automobiles, pedestrians and people with bicycles to get this far. Carolyn has thankfully slept for most of the trip, but she is stirring now. When we’re on the boat, I can get her out of the car seat and feed her. One more and it’s my turn.