I’ve been so uncomfortable these last few weeks, I’ve had a hard time sleeping. And I’m hecka tired of feeling like a blimp. So when I realize the twinges I’ve been getting are probably the beginning of labor, I’m actually relieved.
Sometime around three-thirty in the morning, I turn on the bedside lamp and start timing things. A little before five, I knock on Nikki and Penny’s bedroom door.
“I think labor’s starting,” I say.
Penny opens the door, all smiles. Nikki sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes. We sit in the den, timing contractions. Penny calls Dr. Tully with a report, and the doctor says it’s probably time to go to the hospital. Penny and Nikki both call for substitutes, and we’re dressed and in the car within about ten minutes.
At the hospital, after a while of not much happening, things become more intense.
Penny sits on a stool, facing me, cueing me to take short, quick breaths, the way we practiced in birthing class.
“Inhale. In. In. Exhale. Ex. Ex.”
“In. In. In. Ex. Ex. Ex.”
I follow her lead, three quick gasps in, three quick puffs out. A nurse comes in and takes my chart from the folder at the end of the bed.
“Are you timing contractions?” she asks.
“About three minutes,” Penny says, continuing to cue my breathing by raising her hand in three jerky motions for inhales and lowering it three jerky times for exhales.
“Keep it up. You’re doing great,” Penny tells me.
A pain starts low in my back, encircles my belly, moves lower, tighter, so tight the room turns bright blue. I reach for Penny’s hand, gripping with all my might.
“In. In. In . . .” she chants.
The nurse steps to the other side of the bed and places her hand on my belly. I breathe fast and hard until the pain gradually subsides. I feel something warm and wet under my butt, like I’ve let loose with gallons of pee.
“I think I wet the bed,” I say, all embarrassed.
The nurse checks the bed pad and smiles at me.
“You didn’t wet the bed. Your amniotic sac broke. That’s good.” she says. “Things will go faster now.”
She fusses around under my back and butt, getting rid of the soaked pad and putting a clean one under me.
Penny wipes my face with a cool, damp washcloth. The nurse jots some notes on my chart and says she’ll be back to check on me in a few minutes.
“When can we expect to see Doctor Tully?” Penny asks.
“She should be here within the next hour or so.”
“Do you want to walk around some?” Penny says. “It might help.”
I nod and lean forward. Penny puts her arm around me and helps me up. We walk down the hall to where Nikki sits reading the newspaper.
“How’re you doing?”
“We’re thinking a little walk might help,” Penny says.
Nikki offers to walk with me so Penny can go for a bite to eat, but she doesn’t want to leave. The three of us walk down the long hallway, past the nursery with babies lined up in little plastic crib things, then back around to the waiting room. I have to keep stopping so often to breathe through contractions, I decide to go back to the room and lie down.
Moments after Penny helps me back on the bed, my whole lower body tightens in a pushing cramp. Sweat pours from my face and chest.
Penny prompts me back to my breathing pattern, then has me try a relaxation technique we learned in the childbirth class. It helps a little.
Dr. Tully comes in and checks my chart. She puts her hand on my belly to feel the contraction.
“Let’s take a look,” she says, moving to the foot of the bed and taking sterile gloves from the nurse.
Dr. T. pokes around, then stands up, trashes the gloves and
washes her hands.
“Getting close,” she says.
Another sharp pain! I grab Penny’s hand and squeeze with all my might, panting hard and fast.
“We’ll give you a shot of demerol,” Dr. T. says. “You’ll still feel the pains, but it won’t be as intense.”
“Turn on your side,” the nurse says.
I feel a quick stab on my butt just as another contraction begins.
“Not long now,” Dr. T. says.
I’m panting, breathing, sweating, pushing. It feels like a thick, tough elastic band is squeezing my belly and back, tightening, compressing.
Pressure—starting above my belly button and gathering force—an internal tidal wave. My body, no longer mine to control, gathers force and pushes.
The nurse leans with full force on my upper abdomen.
“That’s it! Push!”
“GOD!”
“We’re getting there, Honey. Push!”
I push. The nurse leans.
Penny wipes my forehead.
A moment’s relief and then here comes another one, bearing down, bearing down, bearing down and then—a cry, and Penny, sobbing.
“She’s here, Autumn. It’s baby Nancy. And oh, she’s beautiful. She’s so beautiful.”
Doctor T. lays the wet, red slippery baby on my belly. I reach up and touch her fresh, new skin. She’s crying—not hard, just enough to show that her lungs are working. I run my thumb gently over the top of her toes, first one foot and then the other. Her second and third toes are joined together. “She’s one of us,” I think, and I’m filled with love for this tiny baby, this part of me, and Dad, and Grams.
Penny cuts the umbilical cord, just like we planned. A nurse takes the baby away for a few minutes, then brings her back all clean and wrapped tightly in a soft white blanket. She places the baby close beside me in the bed. I put my arm around the tiny baby
and feel her warm, soft body next to mine.
“Can I see her feet?”
“Of course,” the nurse says, laughing. “That’s what moms always want to do first off. Count fingers and toes.”
Penny hovers over us as the nurse unwraps the blanket.
“Look at these precious little hands,” the nurse says. “And all ten fingers, too.”
I look at her feet, her tiny toes, the unseparated second and third toes on each foot.
“Oh,” the nurse says. “Well . . . you’ll want to talk with your pediatrician about that, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
I lean down and kiss the baby’s little feet.
“I’d like to hold her now,” Penny says.
The nurse rewraps the baby and hands her to Penny.
“Darling Baby,” Penny says. “Darling little Nancy.”
Penny looks at me, her eyes shining with happiness.
“Thank you, Autumn. Thank you for this most precious gift.”
The nurse takes the baby back to the nursery and Penny goes out to the waiting room to tell Nikki the news.
Another nurse, Henry, comes in with fresh water. I tell him I’m cold and he returns quickly with another blanket. He fluffs my pillows and tucks the added blanket around me.
“There. You get some rest now, Girl! You’ve worked hard today,” he says.
It’s been so long since I’ve slept, I mean really slept, not just the half-sleep that came with the last month of pregnancy.
“ . . . and our friends are all aboard . . .”
It’s Dad’s Saturday morning breakfast song! He’s singing in his soft, off-key voice and mixing pancake batter in a fish-bowl.
“. . . and the band begins to play . . .” Grams comes riding in on Casper, playing her pretend trombone at full volume. Casper joins us on the chorus, and it turns out he sings better than Dad. Who would have thought Casper would have an English accent and sound a lot like Paul McCartney?
“We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine. . .”
“Autumn?”
A voice intrudes into my world.
“Time for your meds.”
I struggle to stay below, with my family.
A gentle nudge of my shoulder draws me slowly away from the sea
of green.
The yellow submarine sinks far below me. I try to stay with it, to go deeper, but instead, I float to the surface against all force of my will.
“You are one sound sleeper,” the nurse says, holding a glass of water in one hand and a tiny paper cup with three pills in the other.
“I wanted to stay through breakfast,” I say, still groggy.
“Oh, you will, Baby. You’re not leaving until tomorrow afternoon.”
“No . . . I mean . . . a different breakfast.”
He gives me a puzzled look.
“You’ll get to fill out your breakfast menu later. There’ll be lots to choose from.”
He watches as I swallow all three pills, then wheels his cart out of the room.
I’ve just snuggled down under the covers, ready to close my eyes again, when Audrey comes into the room.
“Hey, Autumn, how do you feel?”
“Tired,” I say.
“I hear you did a great job,” she says, smiling and pulling the chair up beside my bed. She opens her briefcase and gets some papers from it.
“This won’t take long,” she says, arranging the papers on a clipboard and putting yellow sticky tabs by signature lines.
“They say exactly the same thing as the forms you signed back in December, but for a release to be legal and binding, the birthmother has to sign after she’s given birth.”
“So I could change my mind?”
Audrey looks up from the papers.
“Legally? Yes, you can change your mind.”
She hands me the clipboard and a pen, frowning.
“Of course, you’d break two kind hearts, but it is a choice you have.”
“Come back in ten minutes,” I tell her.
“Oh, Autumn! You have a well thought out plan. Don’t let the emotion of birth cause you to do something foolish.”
“I just want to think. I can’t think with you sitting there watching me.”
Audrey walks out of the room, her high heels clicking against the hard, tile floor.
I didn’t know how much I’d love my baby! But where would we go? What would we do? What’s best for her? What’s best for me?
I pick up the forms. They’re exact copies of the ones I signed before. I change some things. I say that I do want to spend some time alone in the hospital with the baby, and that I want a picture of her once a month. Not just on her birthday or Christmas. I say I want to see her four times a year, and I want to be with her for one week, twice a year, after she gets to be five years old. I initial all of the changes and sign the papers with tomorrow’s date. Then I lean back and close my eyes, waiting for Audrey.
She smiles when she sees the signatures.
“I’m sure you’re doing the right thing,” she says.
Her smile fades as she notices the changes.
“This is quite a different plan than the first one,” she says. “Have you talked this over with Penny and Jean?”
“I just decided,” I say.
“They may not like these changes. It implies a much greater involvement in the child’s life.”
She scans down to the signature line. “Oh, and you made a mistake on the date. This is the 14th, not the 15th.”
“I want her to be my baby for the rest of today.”
Audrey looks back over the papers one more time. She leaves copies with me, and puts the originals back in her briefcase.
“Well . . . good luck to you, Autumn. I’m sure this is all going to work out.”
“I’m sure it will,” I tell her, eager to hear the clickety-clack of her high heels fading down the hallway.
I turn the call light on and wait, watching the door. I’m relieved to see that the one answering my call is Henry.
“What can I do for you, Love?”
“I want my baby in my room tonight.”
He takes my chart from the holder at the foot of the bed.
“It says here the baby’s going to stay in the nursery.”
“I changed my mind,” I tell him. “I just want one night with
her.”
Henry looks at me strangely, then looks at the chart again.
“Oh, I get it. But . . .the baby is now, officially, in the custody of the adoptive parents. Am I right?”
I show him the newly signed papers with tomorrow’s date.
“Okay, Love. One baby coming right up.”
He’s back in minutes, wheeling her crib in. He checks the baby’s bracelet and mine, raises my bed to a sitting position, takes her from the crib and places her in my arms. He bunches up a pillow and puts it under my arm for support.
“She may need a bottle pretty soon,” he says. “She’ll let you know. Just turn on your light and I’ll come set you up.”
I hold her for a long time, looking down at her face. She squirms now and then, and fusses just a little, but mostly she sleeps.
“Listen, Baby. I want you to know that I love you with all of my heart and soul, and that I’ll always love you, no matter what happens. That letter that I wrote to you back before I knew you? When I said I didn’t love you? That’s a lie. I hope you never see that letter. As soon as I find it I’ll tear it up. But in case I don’t find it, and you do, I want you to know that letter is a really terrible lie. When I wrote it I didn’t know I was lying, but I was—big time.”
She squirms a little and makes a funny sound, and I wonder if she needs a diaper change. Her eyes flutter open and then close again.
“I’m going to be part of your life. Maybe not an every day part, but I’m going to be checking in with you. You’ll like Nikki and Penny. I chose two really good parents for you. That’s one way I’m doing right by you . . .”
She starts fussing again, and then works into a cry. Her face gets red and I can feel her chest heaving with every breath. I turn on the call light and hope Henry hurries. What if there’s something really terribly wrong with her? What if she cries herself to death? She’s so little . . .
Henry comes in and takes her from me, cooing to her as he puts her back down in the crib. He changes her diaper, then goes to the nursery for a bottle. She’s still crying and I’m rocking her crib back and forth, hoping to comfort her. He puts her back in my arms, hands me the bottle, and shows me the best feeding position.
“They don’t eat much the first day or so, but it’s worth a try,”
he says.
I hold the bottle to her mouth. She turns her head away. After a while I try again. This time she lets the nipple stay in her mouth and sucks at it from time to time. She opens her eyes and looks up at me.
“I love you,” I say to her. “I love you forever.”
It seems like she’s listening. I tell her over and over that I love her. She drops off to sleep again, and when my arm is so tired it hurts, I put her back in the crib. I’m still watching her sleep when Henry comes in a little after midnight.
“Time’s up,” he says. “Do you want to hold her again one more time?”
I nod, and he places her in my arms.
“I’ll be back in about five,” he says, walking out the door.
“This isn’t a sad goodbye,” I tell the sleeping baby. “I’ll see you again pretty soon.”
She opens her eyes and looks straight into mine.
“I’ve had to say some sad goodbyes to my family—goodbyes that can’t be followed by hellos. But you, Baby, before you know it, we’ll be saying hello again. We’ve got goodbyes, but we’ve got plenty more hellos coming up. I’m going to be happy about that. You can be happy about that, too.”
Henry sticks his head in the doorway. I kiss my baby’s soft, sweet forehead.
“Bye for now,” I tell her. “I love you.”
Henry puts her back in the crib and wheels her away.
Chapter
25
I spend five weeks in Long Beach with Sandy and Ella and the first week, all I want to do is sleep. Then I start doing a short walk in the morning and a short walk
in the afternoon. Nikki comes to visit on Saturday, bringing the rest of my stuff. We drive the two miles or so to the beach and sit on a bench along the boardwalk.
“Want one?” Nikki says, pulling a couple of power bars from her pocket.
“Thanks,” I say, tearing open the wrapper and taking a bite of the granola/raspberry bar.
“I suppose you’re going to need some new clothes pretty soon,” Nikki says.
“I hope so, but look!”
I pull my sweatshirt up, showing how I still can’t button my jeans.
“You’ll get rid of that as soon as you’re able to exercise,” she laughs.
“Did you bring pictures of Nancy?”
Nikki shakes her head.
“She’s okay, isn’t she?”
“She’s great. Wonderful,” Nikki laughs. “She sleeps all day and keeps us up all night.”
“I want to see her before I leave.”
“Well, sure. We can work that out. It’s just . . .”
“Penny doesn’t want me to, does she?”
Nikki doesn’t say anything.
“I was just a baby carrier for her and now that’s over she doesn’t give a shite about me anymore.”
“It’s not that, Autumn. She’s crazy about the baby. We both are. But . . . Penny’s afraid that if you see the baby, you’ll want to take her away with you.”
“I will want to take the baby away. But I’m not going to do it! How stupid does she think I am? I’m going to take a baby to the guide dog training center? And what, leave her locked up in a bedroom all day? Tell Penny to get a grip!”
“You know, there are horror stories out there, about birthparents coming back for kids when they’re three, or four, or whatever, and ripping them out of secure, loving homes . . .”
“I’m not a horror story. I love the baby and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Penny either, but Penny doesn’t mind hurting me.”
Nikki tosses a chunk of her power bar out on the sand and two seagulls swoop down to get it. I toss a chunk of my bar close to the seagull that lost out on the first piece, but the other one manages to snatch it up.
No More Sad Goodbyes Page 22