by PJ Sharon
“Let’s take things one day at a time.” Dr. Eaton was a maternal looking woman in her fifties with glossy black hair and green eyes. She chewed the end of her glasses and then set them on top of a yellow notepad.
“Do I have any other choice?” I slumped in my chair, a pile of crumpled tissues growing in front of me.
“As long as you’re seeking help, there’s hope. Dr. Cheng agreed to give outpatient therapy six weeks before considering hospitalization.” Seeing my eyes go wide, she added, “It’s a good thing, Penny. We understand that you don’t want to be hospitalized, and we’ll do all we can to help you. With you being pregnant, we’ll also hold off on any medications, okay?”
I nodded numbly. How had I gotten into this nightmare and how was I going to get out? I blew my nose, imagining my head exploding off my shoulders, ending my misery.
Dr. Eaton’s voice came back to me. “You need to tell your sister that you’re pregnant. It’s important that you have as much support as possible. You will eventually have to talk to your parents, you know.”
“I don’t see why I have to tell anyone at all. I can’t keep it.” A horrible sensation of dread settled in my chest.
“You don’t have to make that decision today. You have time to think about it and decide what’s right for you.” She came and sat beside me, poured a glass of water from a Brita pitcher, and handed it to me.
I sipped the water, hysterically wondering if I was replenishing my fluids just so I could cry another flood. “There is no other decision to be made. I can’t do this to my family. I might as well hold a pillow over my mother’s face and kill her myself if I have to tell her I’m pregnant. My father will send me to some convent and make me give it up for adoption so he doesn’t have to deal with the embarrassment. And let’s not forget I don’t even know whether the father is a guy who could care less about me or a rapist.” I scrubbed my hands over my face, sickened by my hopeless situation and trying to hold back the panic.
“First things first. Your blood tests should help determine how far along you are and who the father is, and then we’ll take it from there, okay?” She patted my hand. “This will all work itself out, Penny. I promise.”
It had become clear to me by now that promises were for people who had nothing else to offer.
∞∞∞
After my therapy session, Dr. Eaton introduced me to Sonia, a rape crisis counselor who encouraged me to press charges against Tom. This seemed like a ridiculous idea to me since I couldn’t even remember the rape or prove that he’d done it.
“I won’t pressure you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with, but guys that do this kind of thing and get away with it, will do it again.” She must have seen something in my face because she jumped to add, “I’m not saying this is your fault or that you are in any way responsible for what he does.”
“But you said...”
“I didn’t mean to suggest that it was your responsibility to stop him.” She looked at me with sympathy, both of us knowing there was no right thing to say. “We have a group that meets on Monday nights. When you feel ready, why don’t you come?”
We left it at that, and I thought a lot about what she had said over the next few days. I’d seen it in Tom’s eyes. He would do this again to another girl. He’d probably done it already. Maybe I didn’t have the strength to stop him right now, or maybe it was courage I lacked, but I promised myself that he wouldn’t get away with it. It was a promise I intended to keep.
Chapter 19
My sisters arrived on Wednesday afternoon. I met them at the door and hugged Rachael and Marie as they cooed over how much I’d grown up. I exchanged a cheeky hug with Sarah, glad to have her home again so soon, and then stood back to watch them fawn over our mother. Mom perked up considerably and was sitting in a wheel chair at the table when they arrived. She didn’t have the strength to walk anymore and even sitting up for more than a few minutes was an effort. Since getting her in and out of pants left us both exhausted, I dressed her in a summery sundress for the occasion, and put on a little makeup, but I couldn’t hide the truth of her condition.
Marie reached her first. “Oh, Lord, Mom. You’re so thin.” Her eyes filled with tears, horrified by our mother’s cancer ridden appearance. I’d gotten used to her peach fuzzy head and skeletal features, but to anyone who hadn’t seen her like this, it had to be shocking.
Marie, not your average nun, wore khaki pants and a brown tee shirt, a large beaded crucifix hanging around her neck and her long hair pinned up in a tight bun. She looked more military than missionary.
Rachael, the same stoic and self-centered girl I remembered from childhood, hugged Mom briskly, ignoring her wince, and then made herself and our mother a pot of coffee. “What a long flight,” she sighed, scraping her nails through her mannishly short, dark hair. She then proceeded to talk about turbulence and obnoxious passengers. I cringed when she set a steaming cup in front of Mom and patted her bony hand. “You just relax, Mom. We’re all here now and we’ll take care of everything.”
Mom stared at the cup and smiled weakly. “It’s so good to have all my girls home. Your father will be so pleased.” She hadn’t had a cup of coffee, a cigarette, or a glass of wine in days. I’d barely gotten her to keep down the herbal teas and broth I fixed for her.
The kitchen was a hive of activity for the next several hours. Sarah and I had put Mom back to bed and Marie stayed with her. I took out a pound of stew meat, tossed it into a pot to brown, and started peeling potatoes. Sarah busied herself cutting up carrots and onions while Rachael started pumping us for information.
“How long did the doctor say she has? Are you giving her enough pain medication? What were you thinking, letting her go through with this insane family picnic? She should be in a hospital where she can be taken care of properly. This is obviously too much for you to handle.” Blah, blah, blah. She hadn’t changed a bit.
The last time she was home, I’d been eleven. She was visiting with her perfectly rigid and hen-pecked husband, Ray, and their two spoiled-rotten little brats, Eric who was chewing with his mouth open and Sophia who kicked him under the table and stuck out her tongue with her own regurgitated food on it. When I reached for the last dinner roll, Rachael called me a “gluttonous little pig.” Irony had a sick sense of humor.
“Don’t let her get to you. She’s always been jealous.” Sarah laid out silverware, lining the forks up a quarter inch from the plate, turning the sharp edge of the knives in, and adjusting the napkins so the patterns all matched perfectly.
“What has she got to be jealous of?” I asked.
“You, me...you name it.” She filled the water pitcher and set it in the center of the table, tucking a folded towel beneath it to catch the condensation.
“I don’t get it.” I sliced a loaf of French bread and loaded up the bread basket.
“She had to deal with a lot when we were kids. Mom and Dad’s drinking was at its worst then, and they didn’t have much money. Rachael had to take care of us more than she should have. I guess she thinks you had it easier. You know, with your skating lessons and good grades, it just seems like you had a lot of opportunities that the rest of us didn’t.”
I slapped the basket down on the table and buried my head in the fridge searching for the butter. “Like it’s my fault for being born last. And I suppose I’m responsible for world hunger, too,” I said, staring at a jar of pickled pig’s feet. My stomach lurched. Dad ate the most disgusting foods. I slammed the refrigerator door.
Sarah took the butter dish from my hand, “You can’t take it personally.”
“Yeah, right. Just don’t try to take the last piece of bread.”
I set aside my problems as best I could, determined to make Mom’s farewell an event to remember. Thankfully, Rachael and Marie decided to stay at a local Holiday Inn rather than bunking in the spare room in the basement. Sarah would take the upstairs bedroom across the hall from me that still had her old posters of g
irl rock bands and fashion magazine covers plastering the walls. Marie stayed by Mom’s side and took over the care taking duties. Rachael did the shopping and more or less kept out of the way, happy to help Dad in the yard, weeding the garden and setting up tents in case of rain.
That meant that Sarah and I could organize and prepare without too much interference. We worked well together, cooking and freezing dishes that could be reheated on Sunday for the relatives that were coming to say their final good-bye. I’d made it clear in the invitations that Mom wasn’t up for a long visit and a lot of commotion. I had sent a recent photo of her, wearing her bright fuchsia scarf and purple housecoat ensemble, sandwiched between me and Dad like a thin layer of fruity jam between two slices of dry toast, our smiles lacking sincerity. Hopefully, no one would be too shocked by her appearance.
The gathering was scheduled for 2-6 on Sunday afternoon. I suspected we would all need Monday to recover. I hoped not everyone would come at once. Mom was looking forward to seeing the relatives, but I knew the day would wipe her out. As many times as I’d tried to change her mind about the picnic, she was determined to go out on her own terms.
∞∞∞
Sunday came, a beautiful warm September day, and everything was ready. We had dragged Mom’s hospital bed out into the living room, and set up her oxygen and a med station with liquid morphine in case the pain got too bad. Celia, the home health aide, came to watch over her to make sure she didn’t overdo, and Marie sat by her side ready to step in if it all became too much. Mom was reclining, dressed in her favorite green flowered dress, complete with wig and makeup. You’d have thought she was the Queen, with all the friends and relatives lining up waiting for an audience and taking turns sitting by her side.
I made sure everyone introduced themselves since her memory for faces and names seemed to be a struggle the last few weeks. Sometimes when her eyes became blank saucers filled with doubt, my heart would sink and I had to remind her I was Penny, her daughter. After a brief moment of confusion, her face would soften with relief and she would say, “Of course you are.” A whole new level of sadness and loneliness found a home in my heart the first time that had happened.
Aunt Dorothy, Dad’s sister, held Mom’s hand and cried, soaking up the drama until Uncle Frank dragged her outside to the waiting coolers full of beer and a variety of wines. Mom’s favorite cousin, Sal, showed up with his latest wife, Kristi, (wife number four at last count), and sat with Mom for quite some time, sharing stories of their childhood escapades and laughing it up. Cousin Leo, a short, greasy looking character, and his wife Emily came with their daughter Lydia, my least favorite cousin.
Lydia was a year younger than me and as whiny as she’d been when we were five and she nearly cut my finger off with a slinky. I bit her in return, and when she ratted me out, my mother—always able to find the humor in a situation—had said, “You must be awfully hungry, Penny.” Lydia steered clear of me after that. At present she hovered around the chips and dip, stuffing her face. Not a great idea in my opinion, based on the muffin top of fat bulging over the top of her jeans.
I’d invited some of Mom’s old high school friends and they showed up dressed like 80’s punk rockers with huge hair, lots of bracelets, and knee high boots, just to make her smile. She laughed until she cried and they sat and talked about the old days, Celia ushering them away when Mom started gasping for breath. After a brief rest, she recovered, determined to continue on. A few neighbors stopped by to say hello and see what they could do. They didn’t stay long, but I could tell Mom was happy to see them. Mrs. Russell had been coming by every few days with casseroles, and she and Mom exchanged a quiet moment, ending with a gentle hug and eyes brimming with tears.
People arrived in two’s and three’s until cars lined the street and the buzz of conversation filled the air. Dad had outdone himself in the yard as usual, the only green lawn left in the neighborhood. Birdbaths, feeders and bird houses strategically spread throughout the perennial beds drew gold finches, hummingbirds and butterflies galore. He lived for the opportunity to share the paradise he had created, so proud of the perfectly manicured landscape. It dawned on me as I watched him tour the garden, smiling and laughing with his sister, that Mom had done this for him as much as for herself.
The afternoon passed with relatives coming and going, reverently speaking with Mom in hushed tones and teary farewells, followed by drinking and laughter and bawdy jokes that had folks rolling at the backyard picnic table. I fluttered silently between the scenes, hovering like a hummingbird and trying to be invisible while I took in the sweet nectar of joy mixed with sorrow. The surreal atmosphere reminded me of an Irish wake where family and friends gathered to celebrate a person’s life and mourn their death all at the same time. I’d been to more than my fair share of funerals, having lost all of my grandparents, and several aunts and uncles, one after the other, and I had to admit that no one gave a send-off like the Irish.
Dad fired up the grill and made his famous barbecued chicken, hamburgers, hotdogs and corn on the cob. Sarah and I heated up the hot dishes and Rachael threw together Mom’s favorite potato salad, ignoring me when I reminded her that Mom couldn’t eat it.
People milled about, chatting and enjoying one of the last warm, sunny days of summer. All the while, my mother lay in her hospital bed, smiling and observing the scene, listening to the laughter, sharing the tears of her family and friends, and saying good-bye without saying the words. When hugs and tears threatened to overwhelm the well-wishers, my mother comforted them, saying it would be okay, the world would survive without her, she was sure to be going to a far better place because the real hell was here on earth, and that the hardest part was over.
I watched her grow more and more tired, the excitement and emotion draining the life from her eyes. But she kept smiling.
I decided that day that my mother was the bravest person I had ever known.
Chapter 20
With all of the family activity over the holiday weekend, I’d somehow managed to push all of my troubles to the back of my mind. But being back to school, I knew there was no ignoring my plight. My sisters had stayed through Monday and helped with cleanup after the big party. I kept my secret safe for now, even from Sarah, who I figured had enough to deal with, tolerating Rachael on the ride back to the airport in New York. Marie had chosen to stay on and help with Mom. She didn’t want to miss out on Mom’s last days, and she wanted to be here to support me and Dad in any way she could. Admittedly, it took a lot of the pressure off of me, but having a nun in the room across the hall from me, when my life was a hotbed of sin, seemed a little weird.
I wandered through my first day of senior year barely registering the friends I hadn’t seen all summer and collecting books and homework assignments without actually noticing the load my backpack was amassing, since my mind was in complete ruin over what lay ahead. I even floated through dinner and clean-up beside Marie without as much as a word before I slunk off to bed to organize my school supplies and do my homework.
But instead of heading off for school my second day, I was on my way to see another doctor. I couldn’t even think about the medical bills I was racking up. I didn’t want to use Dad’s insurance card since this was all supposed to be a short term situation until this pregnancy was terminated, and Sarah had offered to take care of any medical bills. I hoped she knew what she was signing on for. I’d opted to go alone to my appointment, insisting that Sami go on to school without me. She made me agree to text her as soon as I knew anything.
I walked into the doctor’s office, immediately confronted by several round-bellied women in various stages of pregnancy that looked up and smiled at me as I approached the check-in counter. The glass opened and a middle aged woman with short, gray hair smiled her plastic receptionist smile at me. I handed her the information sheet I’d filled out ahead of time.
“I’m Penny Trudeau. I’m here to see Dr. Fitzpatrick. I was referred by Dr. Cheng,” I said.
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br /> A chubby young woman with scrubs and a stethoscope leaned over the receptionist’s shoulder and handed me a plastic cup, nodding towards a door to her left. “There’s a bathroom through that door. If you could fill that for me, that’d be great.”
I glanced around the room. A pretty blonde woman who looked like she’d swallowed a basketball peered cheerfully up at me, while a less pregnant and apparently less happy young woman kept her face buried in a magazine, looking a little green. As I headed for the bathroom, I heard three other women engaged in conversation, catching phrases like, “heartburn,” “swollen ankles,” and “peeing like a race horse.”
I closed the door behind me and let out a slow breath. I filled the cup and turned it in at the desk and found a seat as far away from the other women as possible to avoid conversation. It wasn’t like I could catch being fat. I was already pregnant. The thought slammed into me like an eighteen-wheeler. I was pregnant. I’d tried so hard not to think about it, I hadn’t really let the reality of it settle in. I rested my hands on my flat stomach and looked down, feeling for...what, I wasn’t sure.
“Come on in, Penny.” The voice of the woman in scrubs startled me. I followed her down a hall and into a small treatment room, efficient but cozy. Ansel Adams’s photographs hung on the walls, pristine natural landscapes of mountains and deserts adding comfort to the clinical setting. The blinds were half drawn, but I noticed the blue sky peeking through, sending warm beams of sunlight across the white tiled floor. I scooted onto the table rustling the paper as I situated myself. The smell of disinfectant clung in the air. The woman sat down on a rolling stool. I noticed her nametag said K. Turner, APRN. She was about thirty, round faced, she wore Crocs with blue scrubs that matched her eyes, and her blonde hair was pulled back in a braid.
“So when was your last period?” She opened a chart and studied my patient information sheet. I had left that line blank.