by Linda Byler
Hours later, Lizzie was startled by a strange sound in the hallway, waking instantly when she realized where she was and why she was not at home in the little house on top of the hill. She and Stephen were parents now. She had given birth to a little girl the morning before at the hospital in Cedar Falls.
The baby, her baby, weighed seven pounds and one ounce, a perfect miracle, with a deeply tanned complexion, almost as if she had been lying in the sun before she was born. Her eyes were blue, her nose was only a little bump—not really a nose yet—and her mouth was small and perfect. Lizzie was thrilled and very, very scared of this little human being that she was suddenly responsible for forever.
They hadn’t decided on a name. Lizzie had informed Stephen quite early that if the baby was a girl, she would name her Laura for Laura Ingalls Wilder, the heroine of Lizzie’s life. Stephen didn’t say no or yes. He just smiled and didn’t make a comment at all, but Lizzie figured his smile must have meant something like an approval, so she went right on thinking about a baby girl named Laura.
She felt a tiny bit guilty about that fancy name. Amish people were encouraged to give their babies plain names like Sarah, Barbara, Anna, and Rebecca, old Bible names that the Amish had used for generations. The thing was, if you really wanted to know which Sarah or Barbara someone was speaking of, you had to add her grandfather’s name and her father’s name to identify her. You couldn’t just say Barbara Zook or Anna Stoltzfus. You had to say, “She is one of Dan’s Sammie’s girls.” It was quite frustrating.
Take her own name, for instance. Lizzie Glick. Her dad’s name was Melvin. But which Melvin Glick? There were lots of Melvin Glicks in the large Amish community surrounding them. So you had to say Doddy Glick’s name, and then Dat’s, before people knew who she was.
Besides, she liked something different, something pretty. Like Laura. It was old-fashioned, for English people, anyway, and it had a nice sound, especially when she added the middle name, Anne.
So here she was, waking up in this strange place, her heart sinking when she thought of the previous night. She had been so very tired, wanting to sleep so desperately, but they kept bringing Laura in, saying it was time for her to eat. But no matter how much the kind nurses tried to help, or in what position she held Laura, she refused to nurse for longer than a few tense seconds. The whole night had been a complete disaster. Lizzie fought tears of despair, she was so upset about the ordeal of trying to breast-feed her baby, who, apparently, was absolutely clueless as to what was required of her.
Lizzie sighed and smoothed the blanket a bit self-consciously as a very large nurse opened the door with her foot and bustled efficiently about the room. She checked Lizzie’s blood pressure, took her temperature, poked and prodded her, and asked questions fast and furious like a game of ping-pong. Lizzie was having trouble keeping up with the ball.
“Time for your shower!” the nurse chirped. “Breakfast at eight!” Lizzie groaned, thinking about getting out of bed, but soon realizing that she had absolutely no choice whatsoever, without even a minute of reluctance. Her sheets were pulled back, a pair of very large solid arms were extended toward her, and she was propelled out of bed, her head spinning, the room seeming to tilt permanently to the left. She shuffled to the shower, depending on this solid pillar of strength beside her.
Lizzie had to admit that the soothing hot water and soap, and having her hair washed squeaky clean, were great spirit-boosters, for sure. Her breakfast tray did not stir her appetite at all. In fact, the smells assaulting her from beneath the brown plastic covers made her feel nauseous. She sat in her bed, her back propped against pillows, and wished with all her heart she could figure out why she felt so alone and insecure. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
Surely something was wrong with her. Wasn’t this supposed to be a time of great love and joy? She had often looked longingly at pictures in magazines of a wife holding a sweet, perfect, newborn baby. The father always had his arm around both of them, looking so happy because he simply adored his beautiful wife and baby. That was what she had always imagined, the perfect moment from which they would live happily ever after.
Mam had told her once, in her wise way, that having a baby was more than just a soft woolly blanket and cute baby clothes. Lizzie had blinked her eyes a few times and watched Mam suspiciously for awhile after she said that, trying to gauge her level of seriousness. As far as she could tell, Mam was pretty serious. Oh, well, she had thought then. Having a baby was something she was quite certain she could handle. Weren’t there thousands and thousands of babies born in the United States every day? It couldn’t be that bad.
But, now, sitting alone in the green, sterile environment of her hospital room, her head back against the white pillows, she closed her eyes and tried desperately to fight back the feeling of dread as she thought of the nurse bringing baby Laura to be breast-fed. The whole thing was so devastating. Laura simply would not nurse right. Lizzie sighed, casting a sideways glance at her roommate, Dori, who was serenely eating great forkfuls of scrambled eggs. Lizzie watched her and wished she could pull the curtain between them.
Chewing happily, Dori swallowed, and then trilled joyfully. “Good morning!” Lizzie quickly gathered her trembling mouth into a quivering smile and answered, “Good morning!”
“Did you sleep well?” Dori asked, spearing a piece of bacon with gusto.
“Not really. Well, only when they didn’t bring my baby in.”
“Yes, she was a bit fussy, wasn’t she? Oh, well, the first few days won’t really determine how she’ll be once you get her home.”
Lizzie nodded gratefully, her eyebrows held high, the lump in her throat swelling to gigantic proportions when Dori spoke so kindly.
Why in the world did she always feel like crying? This was awful. Perhaps she would become mentally ill now. Biting her lip and struggling to regain her composure, she squeaked, “Is that what they say?”
“Oh, yes!”
Lizzie nodded, a ray of hope beginning to dissolve the lump in her throat. Yes, she would be fine, she really would. She could handle this.
“Aren’t you eating?” Dori asked, concern in her voice.
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you should eat. It’ll give you strength.”
Lizzie nodded, biting her lip. She felt like crying all over again but was saved from another battle with her emotions by two nurses bringing in the babies.
“Time for the little ones’ breakfast!” they announced happily.
Lizzie’s heart took a complete nosedive, down, down, until her stomach actually hurt from the dread and fear of another despairing episode of trying to feed her baby. But the sight of little Laura made her temporarily forget her fear, as she pushed the white flannel blanket aside and gazed at the small brown face beneath it.
She was so cute, except her forehead was too high, creating the impression that her eyes, nose, and mouth were all one little package, farther down on her face than it should be. Holding the blanket away, Lizzie closely examined the amount of hair Laura had. She had enough not to look bald and ugly like some babies, but not so much that she would need it to be brushed immediately. Yes, she was indeed a cute baby girl, exactly what Lizzie had always dreamed of.
Then, to her amazement, the nurses both left. Just like that, with no warning, they both walked out the door, leaving Lizzie to fend for herself. She felt very much like she was afloat in the middle of nowhere, on a boat with no oars or engine or much sense of direction. She sat bolt upright, clutching Laura as she watched the girl beside her expertly position her little red-haired boy, lean back, and smile. The baby began nursing, as if he knew exactly what he was supposed to do, and went about his business.
Oh, dear, Laura thought wildly, as she cradled little Laura, who promptly threw her head back and began screaming and crying in earnest. No matter which way she held Laura, her response was the same—screaming until beads of perspiration formed along Lizzie’s forehead. She w
as quite seriously afraid she might faint away, letting her baby fall in the process.
Desperately, she kept trying, with Laura consistently refusing, until they were both in no shape to resume breast-feeding. Lizzie glanced around wildly, afraid her baby’s constant crying would upset Dori and her little boy.
“I’m sorry,” she offered contritely.
“It’s O.K. We’re fine.”
Maybe she should sit on a chair. Gingerly, she laid Laura crosswise in the middle of the high, narrow hospital bed, and then slid out. Better go to the bathroom first, she thought nervously, as she headed in that direction, quickly glancing at Laura who was still crying at the top of her lungs.
When she emerged from the bathroom, a nurse was bending over the baby, crooning, but as Lizzie approached, she gave her a disapproving glare.
“Never, ever, leave your baby lying alone across a bed. Do you want her to fall and break her head? Fracture her skull?”
Lizzie was shocked, her eyes opening wide as she tried to fathom why the nurse was speaking to her in this way.
“But … I … I …” she stammered, trying to maintain a bit of composure.
“No. There are no excuses. You cannot leave a crying baby in the middle of a bed.”
Lizzie bent her head to hide the onslaught of tears, bit down hard on her lip, and shuffled weakly to the chair.
“Have you fed her?” she asked.
“No,” Lizzie answered in total and absolute defeat. “I can’t get her to nurse.”
“I’ll take her to the nursery and give her some formula,” the nurse announced, whisking the crying baby out the door.
Lizzie sagged weakly in her chair. She never, ever wanted another baby. Why had she ever wanted one in the first place? That nurse should be fired immediately before she hurt more young mothers’ feelings. There was absolutely no way her baby could have fallen off that bed when she was in the bathroom for only two minutes.
She lifted her head when Dori turned and clucked her tongue.
“That wasn’t nice,” she said softly.
Lizzie shrugged her shoulders, unable to speak, then sat back and thought more sad thoughts. Stephen should have stayed here, and Mam should come for a visit right now.
“What time are visiting hours?” she asked.
Dori held her little boy over one shoulder, softly patting his little back, and was rewarded with a perfect little burp.
“There you go, my little man. Visiting hours? I think from four to eight.”
Lizzie became sad, then, really sad. So sad, in fact, that she stared out the window at the gray November sky and truly wished she didn’t have a baby. Why didn’t anyone send her flowers? All the bright, colorful bouquets on the wide green windowsill were her roommate’s, not hers. No one thought of her down here in Cedar Falls at the hospital, and likely no one would send her flowers anyway. English people were nicer than Amish people. A beautiful flower arrangement was very, very necessary right now.
So what would happen if they gave Laura formula? She would drink it nicely from a bottle, then go right off to sleep, but what about the next time Lizzie tried to feed her? There had to be a next time. Lizzie heaved herself out of the chair, climbed back into her high, narrow bed, pulled the snowy white sheets over her shoulders, turned her back to Dori, the perfectly successful mother with all that calm serenity shining from her face, and closed her eyes and cried. Great big, gulping, quiet sobs, with a steady river of tears that ran out of the corners of her eyes, across the bridge of her nose, and onto a puddle on her clean white pillows.
The truth was, she had never felt quite so frightened or quite so alone in all her life. This baby was such an enormous responsibility, something so scary and so defeating. She wasn’t a fit mother. That was it. That was the whole thing. She remembered the times when other girls always wanted to hold babies in church, and she had never really wanted to. Not at all. She tried to like babies, often, but they grabbed your covering strings and threw up a thick white substance that smelled like sour milk, scratched your face with their tiny white fingernails, and were just not pleasant to hold.
Now here she was with a baby of her own, and what was she supposed to do with it? She hardly wanted it very much right now, if she was honest. She wished Mam was here. She had to find out right now if she was normal or not. She couldn’t believe for one moment that any young mother had ever felt this way before.
You were supposed to be absolutely enamored, so much in love with your baby so that all you wanted to do was hold and cuddle her constantly. Yet here she was, relieved to find the nurses taking her back to the nursery to give her a bottle of formula.
Just when she thought she was stuck in this deep dark moment of panic, the door swung open again. A nurse, dressed in the usual white uniform, stepped in, shaking a bottle of liquid and smiling as she turned to look behind her.
“Someone’s getting flowers!” she announced.
Lizzie rolled over and dragged the sleeve of her hospital gown across her eyes, trying desperately to conceal the fact that she had been crying.
“Stephen and Lizzie!” The florist’s delivery person read from the card that was attached to a beautiful flower arrangement, looking at Dori and Lizzie expectantly.
“That’s me.” Lizzie managed to say a bit shakily.
“You! Good for you! They’re gorgeous!”
The nurse rolled over a tray on wheels, set the flowers carefully on top, and the delivery person left with no more fuss.
Lizzie was amazed! She had never received flowers from a real florist before. Mam said they were terribly expensive. Slowly, almost in awe, she took the envelope from the plastic holder that was stuck into the potting soil and extracted a pink card that said, “Congratulations! Dad and Mom Glick.”
How lovely! That was so thoughtful of Mam. It was the most beautiful bouquet Lizzie had ever hoped to see. Real greenery—little ferns, a palm tree, and other real plants which she could pot into larger separate containers when she got home—filled the base of the pretty ceramic pot. Pink and white carnations topped the colorful, perfectly aligned bouquet. A huge pink bow was attached to one side, making Lizzie very happy that she had a little girl.
Then, because Mam had been so kind to think of her and Laura, she began to cry again. There was not a single thing she could do to stop, so she kept crying. She just sat in the middle of the hospital bed and squeezed her eyes shut while tears ran from behind both lids, like a pot of potatoes boiling over when there was no one around to turn down the burner.
“What?” Lizzie’s eyes flew open as the nurse stopped at her bed and clucked her tongue.
“Tsk! Tsk! Crying, are we? Baby blues?”
Lizzie nodded miserably as the nurse brought a box of Kleenex, perched on the side of the bed, and tilted in, putting both arms around her in a soft, motherly hug. Lizzie leaned against the softness of her clean, white uniform and inhaled the smell of soap and something that smelled like Mam’s ironing. That made her cry some more, the memory of Mam ironing, standing in the old kitchen running the gas iron back and forth, back and forth, singing softly.
“There, there, honey. It happens. It happens all the time. Is this your first one?”
Lizzie nodded, sniffing, dabbing her eyes.
“You’ll be fine. Is she doing all right for you?”
Lizzie shook her head back and forth. “She won’t nurse. They took her back to the nursery and gave her formula.”
“Let me go get her for you.”
With that, the nurse was off through the doorway, and Lizzie cried fresh tears because the bouquet of flowers was so pretty, and the nurse had given her a hug, and she was so kind, and just maybe she wasn’t abnormal after all, crying like this.
When the nurse returned, Lizzie’s tears stopped momentarily, as the kindhearted woman made quite a fuss over Laura’s complexion, her perfectly shaped face, and how fortunate she and Stephen were to have a darling little girl. Lizzie felt deeply ashamed then, ch
iding herself seriously for being such a big baby as she set about the task of trying to feed a very upset newborn girl. In the end, the nurse was perplexed, the baby screamed, and Lizzie was soaked with perspiration from all the effort of trying to get Laura to nurse.
That evening Mam and Dat came to visit, bringing Stephen. Lizzie’s world seemed to turn right side up again with him by her side, gazing at her as if she truly was a wonder. Dat said he picked out Laura in the nursery. He didn’t even look at the name tag on the little crib to know which she was.
“She’s as dark as Stephen,” he crowed, so proud of his granddaughter. Mam just kept holding the baby and laughing and laughing. Mam was like that when she saw newborns for the first time. She laughed. A lot, actually. Then she would talk to them, cooing and fussing and giving them funny names, pursing her lips in the most serious manner. While Mam was there, Lizzie did not feel afraid, depending on her to guide her through this bewildering maze of being a mother to a newborn.
“Oh, she doesn’t like your milk,” she said matter-of-factly when Lizzie explained this huge obstacle called breast-feeding. “Nothing wrong with the bottle. I’ll get you some formula on the way home and don’t worry about it.”
But Lizzie did. She wanted the best for her baby, and mother’s milk was the best. Mam didn’t think it was a big deal, but Lizzie did. She felt like a failure and wished some miracle would occur so her baby would quit screaming when she tried to nurse. She looked forward to going home tomorrow, learning if she could handle one tiny, dark, complicated, screaming baby named Laura.
After they were settled in at home, Lizzie felt much, much better. This whole thing of having a baby to care for seemed so possible now, with Stephen helping her and Mam just down the hill from the little house.
Chapter 18