Lost in the Reflecting Pool

by Diane Pomerantz

I CALLED JONI. CHARLES AND I CONTINUED WITH THE PLAN to adopt her baby in January. We worked, we saw friends and family, we made love, we did all of the things we always did, but for what seemed like forever, I walked through a dark abyss.

  In early December, I had my first appointment at the IVF clinic. Afterward, as I drove toward the market, I noticed that the woman I passed on the highway had just been sitting in the waiting room next me. When I got to the market, there she was again.

  “Hi, my name is Diane. Were you just at GBMC?”

  “Yes, I saw you there; that’s so funny. I’m Shelly.” And so began our friendship, the first of many I would develop while going through the process of IVF. Shelly, as it turned out, had an eighteen-month-old son, Robert, who was adopted. I began to feel more connected to the world around me. And, of course, there was Joni.

  Joni had her own attorney in New Jersey, but she needed to meet with our attorney, too. Early one cold and gray December morning, as flurries fell, I left our Maryland cottage to pick her up and bring her to Washington for the meeting. Christmas was approaching. Giving presents unrelated to the pregnancy was not allowed; nevertheless, we stopped at a mall for a bite to eat and to enjoy the twinkling, magical lights and decorations of the season. I was able to buy Joni some things she could use during her pregnancy and while in the hospital. She picked out some cute nightgowns and a robe and slippers. We giggled as we tested perfumes and makeup, and then she chose soothing lavender-vanilla bubble bath and bath salts. I didn’t imagine that anyone would object to these. When we returned to New Jersey late that afternoon, we went and visited her ex-boyfriend’s parents. They were welcoming and lovely and thrilled to meet me. Likewise, I was happy to meet them, see family photos, and hear family stories that I could share with our baby. By this time, I was feeling pretty sure that this would be “our baby.” Mid-January was Joni’s due date.

  At our first adoption-group meeting in January, we had four new members. Dara and Rick had successfully brought home a little boy. Lauri and Bob had been working with two birth mothers who had delivered the same week, and they decided to go through with both adoptions, so they now had a son and a daughter. Amy and Larry had brought home a beautiful little girl. The remaining three couples were all hoping to have a family by the beginning of February. If it happened, we’d all have become families in less time than a full-term pregnancy took.

  Joni’s due date came and went. My closest friend, Allyson, gave birth to a little girl. January was warm and muggy. Joni was calling more often.

  “Dr. Armon said he’s not ready to induce me yet. You and Charles will be here for the delivery, won’t you?” she asked every day.

  “As soon as we get the call, we will be there as fast as we can,” I always said.

  Joni was scared, that was clear, but she was steadfast in her decision. On January 27 when she called, she sounded relieved when she reported what the doctor had told her.

  “He said that if I haven’t gone into labor before then, he’s going to induce me on the first. I feel much better knowing that. Are you guys excited?”

  “Joni, we are unbelievably excited. What about you? How are you feeling about doing this?”

  “I’m terribly sad, but I’m really happy it’s you and Charles. I can’t be a mother now, and you’ll be wonderful parents, so I’m happy.”

  “I know, Joni. Everything in life, if you really think about it, involves lots of different feelings. Nothing is ever just one way. As happy as Charles and I are, we also feel your sadness, because we really have come to love you and want what’s best for you.”

  “I know you do, and I know you’ll love the baby.”

  And so the days passed.

  “Try to relax, Di. It’ll be soon,” Charles kept trying to reassure me. But the time was going too slowly. When I was away from the house, I checked the answering machine for messages constantly.

  It was warm and rainy that Saturday. Charles and I were doing things around the house; I was buying time.

  “I have to go over to Sears and pick up some brackets so I can hang the shelf in the nursery. Do you want to take a ride?” Charles asked, trying to make the wait easier for me.

  “Sure, let’s go.” I was already out the door.

  It was late afternoon. Charles found the brackets and was at the cash register as I walked over to a pay phone to call home and check for messages. This time, there was a message from Joni’s sister, Rebecca.

  “We’re leaving for the hospital; Joni just went into labor. Come as soon as you can.” It was about four o’clock when I picked up the message.

  My feet did not touch the ground as I flew breathlessly from the phone to the register where Charles stood. I didn’t have to say anything—he knew immediately.

  We were home within ten minutes and called Shelly, who had offered to take care of the dogs when we got the call. We called our attorney and called our parents. We threw a few things in an overnight bag and we were at the hospital by seven o’clock.

  We wound our way up to the maternity floor and found Beth, Joni’s mom, in the family lounge. She was involved in a conversation with another waiting family as we walked in; when she saw us, she grabbed us, embracing us closely.

  “These are the baby’s parents, Diane and Charles,” she said to the people with whom she’d been speaking. It was so matter-of-fact, so real, said with such love.

  Joni’s labor was long and hard. Her sister, a nurse, was by her side through most of it; Charles and I spelled her when she needed a rest. As daybreak drew near, the doctors thought they might have to do a C-section. But then, suddenly, active labor began. Joni wanted us by her bedside when our daughter was born. She was delivered with her thumb in her mouth.

  “I want you to be the first to hold the baby,” Joni had told me, and so when our daughter, Elisabeth Anne, was born, she was placed in my arms. I couldn’t take my eyes off this perfect, warm bundle that had been bestowed upon me. I held her for a long time and then passed her to Charles; his eyes filled with tears. We marveled at how alert she was, how strong she seemed. She held her head up and looked around. Her aqua-blue eyes were the same almond shape as Joni’s, and her face was a perfect circle with plump, rosy cheeks. She had a little bit of strawberry-blond peach fuzz on top of her mostly bald head. She was the most beautiful, cherubic baby I had ever seen.

  Joni was exhausted. Our reverie was interrupted when the nurses scooped up the baby and began to wheel Joni to her room. We hugged and kissed her, thanked her profusely, and told her how much we loved her. We told her we would be back later. We took one last look at our daughter and walked out into the sunlight.

  Elli was born on January 31; it was sunny and seventy-two degrees in New Jersey. We made our way to a local diner, had some breakfast, and found a hotel where we could crash.

  We took Elli home on February 2. Each hand-created birth announcement read:

  Gracious gift of God

  Springtime in winter

  Elisabeth Anne

  January 31, 1988

  And each was filled with stardust to sprinkle all over the universe.

  Chapter Eight

  WE DID GO THROUGH WITH FURTHER ATTEMPTS AT in vitro fertilization. Elli was very much a part of the process and was loved by everyone at the clinic. Her baby picture was posted with those of all the other IVF babies on the bulletin board; everyone considered her one of theirs.

  For three years, I continued to get pregnant, and for three years, with each pregnancy, I continued to have miscarriages. But I was already a mother, and the miscarriages didn’t have the same conscious impact of the earlier failures. I wasn’t enshrouded in blackness; there wasn’t a sense of continual mourning. I was enjoying everything that motherhood entailed, so I didn’t feel different from everyone around me or as if I were on the periphery of life, although I think the miscarriages continued to be hard for Charles. Each time, he would find someone to blame. One time, a friend who happened to be pregnant was visiting, and
after I drove her to the airport, he went on and on about how her demands for attention and her desire for me to drive her to the airport were the reason I had lost my pregnancy.

  One day, when we were about to start a new IVF cycle, Dr. Gonzalez asked Charles and me to sit down in his office.

  “Charles, Diane, I know I’ve explained this before, but let’s go over it again so we can make some decisions. The reason you keep having miscarriages, as you know, Diane, is because of the shape of your uterus. It is shaped like the letter T, and so the endometrial tissue and blood supply don’t support implantation in many parts of your uterus. Unless the embryo implants in just the right place, where the tissue is thick enough, you miscarry.”

  “Dr. Gonzalez, I’ve been reading that there is now surgery that is very successful in correcting this sort of defect. Do you think I should do the surgery?”

  “No. Diane, I am going to talk to you as if you were my sister. I will not do the surgery. You have already been through too much, and you’ve had too many hormones. You and Charles already have a beautiful family. Elli is a wondrous little girl. If you were my wife or my sister, I would say no surgery and I would say no more in vitro fertilization. I know we’re just starting a cycle now, so we can complete it. But I wanted to meet with you to say this needs to be the last time.”

  The silence hung in the air, suspended. Charles squeezed my hand; he looked at me, softness in his eyes, and then looked at Dr. Gonzalez. “Thank you. Thank you very much for giving her permission to stop; otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to and I would keep going along with it.”

  Both Charles and Dr. Gonzalez looked at me. My throat was dry, my tongue thick, my skin cold, my hands moist. I breathed deeply. I don’t know how long it was before I spoke. My voice cracked.

  “Well . . . I hadn’t thought about it that way, but I think you’re right, and I don’t think I’d stop if you didn’t say ‘no more.’” I squeezed Charles’s hand back. As I breathed, I felt my body relax and panic all at once.

  “We have this cycle to talk more about it. I certainly am available, but, Diane, Charles, this is really what I believe is in your best interest as patients and for your family. We’ll transfer the four embryos this time, and we’ll see what happens.”

  The meeting ended, and Dr. Gonzalez walked us to the door.

  “He really is a good man,” I said to Charles, as we walked out of the office.

  “I agree. I think he’s great. There are probably lots of Baltimore babies named after him. But how do you really feel about stopping after this cycle if it doesn’t work?”

  I tried to smile but sighed instead. “I guess we’re not so optimistic about this cycle, and that says something, doesn’t it? I think I’m okay with it. I’m sad, but I’m okay. It’s not like before. What about you?”

  “I’m glad he gave you permission to stop. I’m fine with it. I feel blessed that we have Elli.”

  “Me, too.”

  Elli was eating lunch when we walked into the house. Our babysitter, Anne, renamed Nanny by Elli, sat drinking a cup of tea, while our now nearly three-year-old daughter, blond curls bouncing, bolted from the table to greet us.

  We all chatted, and then I saw Anne out. When she was gone, I hugged Charles and Elli and left them working contentedly on an art project while I went off to see my clients. Seeing my husband and my daughter together that way, I knew I didn’t need more than I already had.

  SEVERAL weeks after that, I was sitting with Elli when the phone rang. It was the fertility center telling me that my bloodwork was back and I was ready for my last attempt to see if I could get pregnant and carry the pregnancy to term. “Great, tomorrow. I’ll be there,” I answered, not giving much more thought to the now-familiar next steps.

  Charles dropped me off in the morning and returned later in the day to take me home. Then we waited. When we got my pregnancy test results, my blood levels were sky high. I knew there must be at least two embryos implanted.

  The room was dark, and the only light came from the glow of the screen.

  “From what I can see, there are three amniotic sacs; I see four heartbeats.”

  “Four?” Charles gasped.

  “Well, if you look over here”—Dr. Braken pointed to the screen—“you can see a heartbeat in this sac, a heartbeat here, and then, over here in this sac, if you look closely, you can see two heartbeats. There’s only one placenta and only one outer membrane. They each seem to have their own inner membrane. These are identical twins.”

  It was all a blur to me. I couldn’t see anything.

  “Dr. Braken, are you saying I’m pregnant with quadruplets?”

  She laughed. “That’s what it looks like. There are options, but it’s early, so let’s just see how things go. I’ll make a copy of the picture for you.” Charles and I just stared at each other; as always, we needed no words in order to totally understand each other.

  We walked out of the darkened ultrasound suite in silence. I held the small, square, glossy photo, and we both stared at it with amazement.

  “Maybe we’d better start thinking about an addition or getting a new house,” Charles said, sounding panicked, on the drive home.

  He drove over the one-lane bridge on our road, and we passed the entrance to what would be a new housing development near us. I saw a tightness in his jaw, and the muscle in his right cheek twitched. I leaned over and hugged him and kissed his cheek.

  “It will all work out; it always does,” I said.

  We parked the car by the house, and Charles started over to the office, but then stopped and, looking out over the hills, murmured, “They’re ruining everything.”

  I ran over and hugged him again. “It’s not that close, and the view is still beautiful. It’ll be okay.” I walked into the house, where first the dogs, then Elli and Anne, greeted me.

  “Mommy, I’m so glad you’re home.” Elli leaped onto me, and I was aware that as she jumped full force onto my waist, I protectively tensed my abdomen. I held her in my arms and kissed her, but I didn’t like that I had responded with that tense feeling. It felt like a betrayal of Elli.

  Later that afternoon, I got my mother on the phone. “Hi, Mom. I had the ultrasound this morning, and there’s going to be an explosion in the number of grandchildren you and Daddy have. I’m pregnant with quadruplets. One is a set of identical twins.”

  “Oh my goodness, Di, you can’t carry four babies.”

  “Mom, don’t worry. It will all work out.” I could hear the sound of the air as she sucked it in. I knew what her next words would be.

  “Di, I know it’s exciting to be pregnant, but please—I don’t want you to be devastated if this doesn’t work out, so be cautious. Be realistic.” Then she started coughing.

  “One minute, honey. Let me get a cough drop. . . . Okay, I’m back.”

  “Mom, have you spoken with the doctor about that cough?”

  “Yes, I have, and he says it’s nothing.”

  “Well, I don’t like the way it sounds. You’ve been coughing way too long. Charles thinks so, too.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t neglect it.”

  “Okay, remember, we’ll be coming to New York in three weeks for that wedding; I hope you’ll see the doctor before then.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Daddy and I thought we’d take Elli over to Nellie Bly on Saturday when you’re here—she’ll love the rides—and then we’ll take her to Nathan’s and walk on the boardwalk and maybe go out onto the beach. You and Charles can have the day to yourselves in the city.”

  “Oh, that would be great. Elli would love it, and so would we. I can’t wait to see you. We should get in about nine o’clock Friday evening.”

  Three weeks later, we made our way to New York. Charles’s parents did not know about the pregnancy. He never shared anything with them about the infertility, either. Elli slept for the entire drive, awakening as we crossed the Verrazano Bridge. The lights from the bridge and the traffic sho
ne brightly through the windows.

  “Lady Liberty . . . Mommy, Daddy, where is Lady Liberty?”

  “I’m not sure we’ll be able to see her, but tomorrow we’ll make sure you get to,” Charles assured her.

  “I love Lady Liberty. Are we almost there?”

  “Very soon. Do you see that sign? WELCOME TO BROOKLYN: FOURTH LARGEST CITY IN AMERICA. This is where I grew up.”

  “I love Brooklyn ’cause it’s where Grandma and Poppy live.” Elli sang, and Charles and I chatted. The lights of the skyline were already bringing that familiar rush of exhilaration I experienced every time I came home. Growing up. Walking to the ocean. So many things influence who we are. I hadn’t realized how much all that surrounded me—the energy of changing tides, the visceral and subtle nuances, the shifts in everything in my world—affected me.

  Elli was thrilled to spend Saturday with her grandparents. Charles and I wandered through Central Park, amid its tapestry of colors. We walked around the lake and along the paths, people-watching and dog-watching, as the aroma of roasted chestnuts and soft pretzels wafted through the air. We slowly made our way to the Museum of Modern Art to see a new architecture-and-design exhibit. Then, ravenously hungry, we headed back to Brooklyn for dinner in Williamsburg at Bamonte’s.

  As we parked, we laughed at the thought of having four more babies. Our evenings of going to restaurants might be over for a very long time. The seedy surroundings and boarded-up buildings would make a good backdrop for a last supper.

  As we walked through Bamonte’s doors, warm memories of having been in the homes of my friends’ large Italian families as I was growing up engulfed me. The medley of accents, the warm camaraderie, and the sight and scent of large platters overflowing with thin slices of veal, ravioli, and gnocchi reminded me of my childhood—as if I were standing in the surf of Coney Island and being splashed by the waves.

  The maître d’ showed us to our table. There in the center were a dozen yellow roses.

  This time, I got it. “Wow, even in Brooklyn I get flowers!”