Six months later she gelded Ajax and sent him to a good trainer-a real horse whisperer. The teenager who bought him from the trainer rode him to plenty of championships.
Maybe I saved his life that day. I'm sure I saved his sanity.
Chapter 13
In which Maggie discovers for the second time that life changes aren't convenient
The first time I threw up I decided I was reacting to the fresh paint in the bedroom of The Hideous House. The second time, I thought I was reacting to the chemicals in the examining room. The third time, I decided I had the flu. Eli said my temperature was normal, but sent me home to bed while she handled the afternoon small animal clinic alone. Not much of a stretch. We were still struggling. We'd been open less than a year.
I perked up in time to fix dinner for Morgan. I put on an Italian pork loin with plenty of garlic and rosemary and oregano. Again, a very simple recipe. After all that throwing up I felt as though I'd starved for a month. I planned to eat at least half that roast by myself.
One minute the kitchen smelled like heaven. The next I was clinging to the toilet bowl like a teenager after a doobie and a fifth of whiskey.
I was certain I'd be fine by morning, and I was. Fine, that is, until I started for the kitchen and smelled the fresh coffee Morgan had put on. I barely made it back to our bathroom.
Morgan always acted as though my relatively minor and infrequent illnesses were a personal affront to him. My family doctor had retired, and I hadn't bothered to find another since my pre-marital exam. We really hadn't needed medical attention since we'd been married. Whatever I had, I assumed I'd get over in due time without medical intervention.
Over my protests, Eli cancelled the morning's appointments and drove me to Moscow to a GP she'd found in the Yellow Pages. She had to stop once so that I could upchuck by the side of the road.
Dr. Wheeler was a general practitioner of the old school. I had never met him before, but Eli had talked to him at several cattle sales. He raised Herefords on his family's land near Middleton as a hobby. She said he came across as one of those tough old coots, but it was an act. He was really a pussycat.
He was four inches shorter than my five ten, about the same weight as I was then and almost totally bald. Mr. Clean with a paunch. He had warm hazel eyes and an engaging smile. I had glanced at the diplomas in his waiting room. He might be a country doctor, but he'd gone to med school at Johns Hopkins and was a diplomate in OB-Gyn and rheumatology. Maybe other things as well. I didn't get around to the other walls of the waiting room before his nurse set me up in an examining room.
He and his nurse did all the usual blood and urine tests and left me lying on the table for what seemed an eternity.
When they walked back in, I sat up so quickly I felt dizzy.
"I'm fine," I said. "I haven't thrown up for an hour. I must be getting over it."
"Nope. Don't think so." He picked up my chart. "Put your clothes on and come on in my office at the end of the hall. We need to talk."
I could feel the adrenaline rush. Something I caught from the animals? Tetanus? What were the symptoms of rabies anyway?
When I slunk into the chair in front of his desk, he leaned back and templed his fingers.
"You're one of those intellectual woman, aren't you?"
"What?"
"Smart as a whip. Lots of book learning."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Not a darned thing, but sometimes you need to toss out the books and listen to your instincts. When the time comes, I don't plan to do much except catch."
"What?"
He leaned forward and patted my hand. 'Girl, you are six weeks' pregnant. Enceinte. Gravid. With child."
I couldn't have been more surprised if he'd slapped me. "That's ridiculous."
"When did you have your last period?"
"I don't really..."
"Weren't you suspicious? Wasn't your husband? I always know when Nancy is a week late."
"We use birth control. I don't keep track."
"Not but one foolproof method of birth control. Abstinence ain't a whole bunch of fun."
Morgan and I definitely had not been practicing abstinence. I had a diaphragm. It came in a little blue plastic zipper case, and I loathed it. The thing acted like a greased pig. Just about the time Morgan was ready to go from foreplay to play, I would have to get up, go into the bathroom, pull out the diaphragm, stretch it over the prongs of its applicator, fill it with gooey stuff, and insert it. Half the time it sproinged and stuck on the ceiling over the toilet. I'd hear Morgan's lustful entreaties while I was trying to peel the thing off.
But we had been faithful about using it. We had agreed we couldn't possibly afford a baby yet.
"I don't intend to have a baby for three or four years," I said.
"Not a good time?"
"An impossible time. You must be wrong."
"Honey, Nancy and me had our first when I was an intern. Worst possible time, but we managed. If men and women waited until the right time to have a baby, this old earth would have been empty of human beings by the second generation after Adam and Eve. It may not be convenient," he said, and pointed at my stomach, "But it's there."
I sat and stared at him. How could I tell Morgan? Worse still, how could I tell Eli? Before long I'd be Maggie the Elephant. She was already shouldering more than her share of the large animal work. Now she'd have to look after even more. "How long can I keep working?"
"Honey, strong as you are, you can drop that baby at the end of the row and finish the plowing." He leaned forward. "Seriously, you'll know when it's time to cut back."
"But I'm already exhausted from all this barfing."
"That goes away after three months or so."
"Three months?" I wailed. I was an only child with no girl cousins and no aunts. By the time my college buddies started having babies, I was hip deep in cow manure. I could detail the process of gestation in a hundred sorts of animals, but I didn't figure I needed to know all that much about human beings.
"Yep. It's natural to be tired all the time too. You need to stretch out like an old momma cat in the sun every chance you get."
"I don't have time to stretch anywhere. This is horrible."
His face went serious. "No, it is a miracle. It's a miracle you see at least as often as I do. You ever think a newborn foal is horrible? Or a calf? Or a kitten?"
"No, but..."
"Honey, you got a new life growing in you, and it's not going to appreciate all that stomach acid you're churning out."
A new life. There's a quote from a Broadway musical about "a whole new person suddenly is that never has been before. " I'd always thought it a charming sentiment. Suddenly the full force of the words hit me right between the eyes. A total stranger was growing inside me.
I listened to his rules and regulations, took the folder of stuff for new mothers-to-be, made an appointment for a month hence, and took a paper sack full of vitamin bottles with me.
When I walked out into the waiting room again, Eli stood up and came toward me with her hands outstretched. "Maggie, honey, what is it? You look like hell." She followed me out to the truck and helped me in as though I were an invalid. When she climbed in to the driver's side, I put my face in my hands. "Oh, Eli, I am so sorry. I'm pregnant."
"Say what?"
"I know, I know. Isn't it awful?"
"Awful?" She grabbed me, swung me around and hugged me. "Awful! You idiot, it's wonderful! We're having a baby! Morgan is going to have kittens."
"But the practice..."
"We'll manage. I'd go get a bottle of champagne."
I worried all the way home while Eli babbled happily about what colors to paint the baby's room, and how delighted my parents would be.
"I'll bet its a boy," she chortled.
I hadn't gotten that far. Had never babysat as a teenager. All I knew about babies was that they screamed and pooped a lot. And never slept and ate all the time and seriously encroa
ched on your freedom.
I knew a few things about girls, being one myself. I knew nothing about boys. Who would it be? Would it like me? Would I like it? Would I live up to my duties?
"Maggie, honey," Eli said as she pulled up to my front door. "You're not in this alone. Stop worrying. You have Morgan and me and your parents. You always think everything is your sole responsibility. Its not. Smart as we are, we ought to be able to raise one baby."
Morgan had demanded I call him at the bank the minute I got home from the doctor's office to tell him what was wrong with me. I didn't.
When he called me I hemmed and hawed so badly he probably thought I'd come down with acute leukemia. When he came roaring in an hour later, he found me asleep on the couch in the living room.
"Maggie," he whispered as he sat on the couch beside me. He put the back of his hand against my forehead. "You feel cool. Did the doctor give you antibiotics?"
I sat up and clung to him. "Drugs won't help."
I felt him tense. "Maggie, what is it?"
"I'm going to have a baby."
He sat perfectly still for a long moment, than he said quietly, "Well, you didn't do it alone." Then he whooped, dragged me up, spun me around and only stopped when I threatened to throw up on his nice navy banker's suit.
"Why is everybody acting so cheerful about this?" I asked.
"Because it's joyful."
"It's more work for Eli, less money coming in just when we need more. And once it gets here, it's twenty some-odd years of responsibility for a total stranger."
"Maggie, you said you wanted children."
"But not now!" I bolted for the bathroom.
That night I fell into bed exhausted before eight o'clock. Morgan and Eli were both sworn to secrecy. I refused to tell my parents or his father. Birth equated to complete lack of control over one's body, and what if I sucked as a parent?
I woke before dawn, crawled out of bed expecting to start my morning barf, but actually made it into the kitchen to start the coffee without feeling as though I was on the Titanic as it rounded Cape Horn in a gale.
The morning was clear and warm and tender. With no warning, I felt a startling rush of love for this creature inside me. My knees went so weak I had to sit down at the kitchen table.
Somehow we would manage. Other people did it. If I was a lousy mother, both Eli and Morgan would take up the slack so this child probably would not turn out to be a psychopath.
Up to that point, I had not touched my stomach. Now I sat on the couch and patted my belly. It was still flat, although I realized that for a couple of weeks I had fastened my jeans with difficulty. Nobody ever tells you that you lose your waistline way before you begin to pooch out in front.
"Okay, kiddo," I whispered. "We're in this together."
Dr. Wheeler saw no sense in ultasounds without a good reason, so we didn't know which sex the baby would be. Over the next months I decided the kid was punishing me for my lack of initial enthusiasm. You name it, I got it. I was exhausted and headachy. I cried ifyou looked at me cross-eyed. I barfed and had gas and swollen ankles.
I also ate everything that was not actually nailed to the floor. When I finally told my mother, she said I was 'blooming' I was actually ballooning.
I kept working full shifts and taking my share of night calls, although both Eli and Morgan tried to dissuade me.
Patsy gave me a baby shower. The baby would have enough stuff for an English princess.
I wore men's extra-large lab coats because we couldn't find any actually made for pregnant women. The military had only recently come to terms with creating uniforms for pregnant soldiers. Most maternity clothes were made either for stay-at-home moms or for corporate lawyers who could afford to spend a fortune on outfits they would wear for only a few months. Maternity shops did not cater to pregnant women who wrestled sheep.
One night in my fifth month Morgan took Eli and me out to dinner at an inexpensive restaurant. When I went to the ladies' room, I discovered that I had spotted.
That was the moment when I realized how much I wanted to meet this little person, this baby. Not some baby, but this particular one. I didn't think I could endure a miscarriage.
The spotting stopped spontaneously and never occurred again, but after that I tried to rest more. For a little while, anyway, until I stopped being scared.
Dr. Wheeler told me that first babies are generally late and take a long time to be born after labor starts. At eight and a half months, he told me that I wouldn't have the baby for at least three weeks.
Good thing. We were a week away from Christmas. Having been born in January myself, I knew that a child born close to Christmas was shorted on presents. One actually born on Christmas day would be short-changed even more. Besides, I had plans for this Christmas that did not include labor and delivery. I wasn't anxious to plunge into a job I knew nothing about and was afraid I couldn't do.
I've seen enough momma animals to know about the nesting instinct and that burst of energy and euphoria that precedes labor. Dr. Wheeler didn't mention that it happens to human mothers as well, and I was too dumb to notice that, all of a sudden, I felt as though I could lick my weight in wildcats. Morgan never ate such fancy dinners before. I tried new recipes nearly every night.
My cabinets were never cleaner. My lab notes were never before so complete. Our firstyear in The Hideous House we'd decorated a pitiful tree. This year I bought ornaments we couldn't afford and struggled to make not only a wreath for the front door but a pine garland for the fireplace.
Christmas was on Tuesday that year, so Eli was at the Monday cattle sale when Patsy called. "I just sold a filly," Patsy said without preamble. "It's a Christmas present for a kid. You up to doing a prepurchase exam this morning? Nothing fancy. No x-rays."
"Sure."
"I'll fix you lunch afterwards."
"You're on. I've got one cat with ear mites, and then I'll be out to your place."
By that time we had hired a lovely grandmotherly lady named Mildred to look after the office. I told her where I was off to and promised to check in regularly. Then I waddled my fat body out to the truck.
Hoisting myself into it had become a major chore. I had to turn around backwards, slide my rump onto the driver's seat, hold onto the steering wheel and swing my legs up and around. The driver's seat had been pushed back to the maximum. If the kid grew much more I'd have replace the seat with a kitchen chair the way I'd seen some of the farmers do.
I had worn black slacks, the only ones I could still fit in even with the belly cut out, and my Paul Bunyan size lab coat. When I climbed out of the truck, Patsy walked out of the stable and said, "My Lord, it's Moby Dick."
I did not laugh.
The filly was a three-year-old Arabian, a lovely chestnut. "She's a good, quiet girl," Patsy said.
"I know you wouldn't let me near a spooky horse, Patsy," I said.
"Hardly." She raised her eyebrows at my belly.
The filly passed her exam with flying colors, so I drew blood for an EIA test and walked out to the truck to put it into the box to send to the laboratory.
As I leaned over, Patsy put her hand on my shoulder. "Um, Maggie, I hope you have another pair of slacks with you."
"What?"
"You've wet your britches."
"I have not," I said indignantly. "Don't you think I'd feel ...Uh oh. I think my water's broken."
Patsy's hand flew to her mouth. "You said you had three weeks."
"Dammit, I do. Or I did." The sense of unreality overwhelmed me. Patsy took care of calling Dr. Wheeler. I refused to let her call either Eli or Morgan. First baby-no rush, right? I refused to have this baby until at least the day after Christmas.
When I told Patsy that, she just looked at me and shook her head. "Two and a half days in labor? No doctor in his right mind would allow that."
No woman in her right mind would want to do it. "Okay. Christmas Eve is better than Christmas."
I wanted to
drive myself to the hospital, but Patsy wouldn't let me. It took more than an hour to drive from her place to the hospital in Somerville where Dr. Wheeler examined me.
I had still not effaced or whatever they call it. "Kid's crossways. Hasn't dropped into the birth canal yet," he said.
He gave me a POP shot to increase the contractions. Oh, lovely. "May have to do a Cesarean," he said and walked out. "See you in a few minutes."
Two minutes later a black LPN walked into my room. She stood by my bed and put an enormous hand on my belly. "Dr. Wheeler's a fine doctor," she said and sniffed. "For a man."
"Ow! " I replied.
"Ain't nobody never tole you havin' a baby hurts?"
"Not like this."
"Now, you listen to me, girl. You don't want no Cesarean. You got to turn that baby."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You do like I say. You get yourself up on your hands and knees and you start-to rockin' that baby."
"I think I'll wait for Dr. Wheeler, thank you."
"Hush. I got me four boys and six girls and all but one of them breech. I turned every last one of them. Now roll over."
Anything to get this crazy woman out of my room. I rolled, al though my belly barely cleared the mattress. With her instruction, I began to rock back and forth. She rubbed my back, and after a minute, I realized she was humming. "Go down Moses," it was. I'll never forget it. She hummed it over and over. I swear she hypnotized me. The pains didn't seem to come so sharp or so often.
I have no idea how long I kept it up because time seemed to collapse on itself.
I heard the door open, and Dr. Wheeler's voice. "Well, Taisie, I see you got her turning that baby. Let's us see how far she's got."
My decision to go natural-no epidural-suddenly seemed the dumbest decision I had ever made. And where the hell was Morgan? Patsy told me she'd call him and Eli whether I liked it or not. This was all Morgan's fault. When he showed up I planned to rise up off this bed and strangle him with my bare hands.
Dr. Wheeler and Taisie helped turn me back over. I felt like a turtle on its shell with all four feet in the air.
Dr. Wheeler looked between my legs. "Whoo-ee! Taisie, help me get her on the gurney or she's gonna have this baby right in this bed."
All God's Creatures Page 10