Another Marvelous Thing

by Laurie Colwin

  Grey took off his jacket and shoes, and curled up next to Billy. He pressed his nose into her face and looked as if he could drift off to sleep in a second.

  “Childworld called about the crib,” he said into her neck. “They want to know if we want white paint or natural pine. I said natural.”

  “That’s what I think I ordered,” Billy said. “They let the husbands stay over in this place. They call them ‘dads.’”

  “I’m not a dad yet, as you pointed out,” Grey said. “Maybe they’ll just let me take naps here.”

  There was a knock on the door. Grey sprang to his feet and Jordan Bell appeared.

  “Don’t look so nervous, Billy,” he said. “I have good news. I think we want to get this baby born if your pressure isn’t going to go down. I think we ought to induce you.”

  Billy and Grey were silent.

  “The way it works is that we put you on a drip of pitocin, which is a synthetic of the chemical your brain produces when you go into labor.”

  “We know,” Billy said. “Katherine went over it in childbirth class.” Katherine Walden was Jordan Bell’s nurse. “When do you want to do this?”

  “Tomorrow,” Jordan Bell said. “Katherine will come over and give you your last Lamaze class right here.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?”

  “It usually does,” said Jordan Bell. “And if it doesn’t, we do a second-day induction.”

  “And if that doesn’t work?”

  “It generally does. If it doesn’t, we do a cesarean, but you’ll be awake and Grey can hold your hand.”

  “Oh what fun,” said Billy.

  When Jordan Bell left, Billy burst into tears.

  “Why isn’t anything normal?” she said. “Why do I have to lie here day after day listening to other people’s babies crying? Why is my body betraying me like this?”

  Grey kissed her and then took her hands. “There is no such thing as normal,” he said. “Everyone we’ve talked to has some story or other—huge babies that won’t budge, thirty-hour labors. A cesarean is a perfectly respectable way of being born.”

  “What about me? What about me getting all stuck up with tubes and cut up into little pieces?” Billy said, and she was instantly ashamed. “I hate being like this. I feel I’ve lost myself and some whimpering, whining person has taken me over.”

  “Think about how in two months we’ll have a two-month-old baby to take to the park.”

  “Do you really think everything is going to be all right?” Billy said.

  “Yes,” said Grey. “I do. In six months we’ll be in Maine.”

  Billy lay in bed with her door closed reading her brochure from the Loon Society. She thought about the cottage she and Grey rented every August in Jewell Neck, Maine, on a lagoon. There at night with blackness all around them and not a light to be seen, they heard hoot owls and loons calling their night cries to one another. Loon mothers carried their chicks on their back, Billy knew. The last time she had heard those cries she had been just three months pregnant. The next time she heard them she would have a child.

  She thought about the baby shower Penny had given her—a lunch party for ten women. At the end of it, Billy and Grey’s unborn child had received cotton and wool blankets, little sweaters, tiny garments with feet, and two splendid Teddy bears. The Teddy bears had sat on the coffee table. Billy remembered the strange, light feeling in her chest as she looked at them. She had picked them both up and laughed with astonishment.

  At a red light on the way home in a taxi, surrounded by boxes and bags of baby presents, she saw something that made her heart stop: Francis Clemens, who for two years had been Billy’s illicit lover.

  With the exception of her family, Billy was close only to Grey and Penny Stern. She had never been the subject of anyone’s romantic passion. She and Grey, after all, had been fated to marry. She had loved him all her life.

  Francis had pursued her: no one had ever pursued her before. The usual signs of romance were as unknown to Billy as the workings of a cyclotron. Crushes, she had felt, were for children. She did not really believe that adults had them.

  Without her knowing it, she was incubating a number of curious romantic diseases. One day when Francis came to visit wearing his tweed coat and the ridiculously long paisley scarf he affected, she realized that she had fallen in love.

  The fact of Francis was the most exotic thing that had ever happened in Billy’s fairly stolid, uneventful life. He was as brilliant as a painted bunting, He was also, in marked contrast to Billy, beautifully dressed. He did not know one tree from another. He felt all birds were either robins or crows. He was avowedly urban and his pleasures were urban. He loved opera, cocktail parties, and lunches. They did not agree about economic theory, either.

  Nevertheless, they spent what now seemed to Billy an enormous amount of time together. She had not sought anything like this. If her own case had been presented to her she would have dismissed it as messy, unnecessary, and somewhat sordid, but when she fell in love she fell as if backward into a swimming pool. For a while she felt dazed. Then Francis became a fact in her life. But in the end she felt her life was being ruined.

  She had not seen Francis for a long time. In that brief glance at the red light she saw his paisley scarf, its long fringes flapping in the breeze. It was amazing that someone who had been so close to her did not know that she was having a baby. As the cab pulled away, she did not look back at him. She stared rigidly frontward, flanked on either side by presents for her unborn child.

  The baby kicked. Mothers-to-be should not be lying in hospital beds thinking about illicit love affairs, Billy thought. Of course, if you were like the other mothers on the maternity floor and probably had never had an illicit love affair, you would not be punished by lying in the hospital in the first place. You would go into labor like everyone else, and come rushing into Maternity Admitting with your husband and your suitcase. By this time tomorrow she would have her baby in her arms, just like everyone else, but she drifted off to sleep thinking of Francis nonetheless.

  At six in the morning, Bonnie Near woke her.

  “You can brush your teeth,” she said. “But don’t drink any water. And your therapist is here to see you, but don’t be long.”

  The door opened and Penny walked in.

  “And how are we today?” she said. “Any strange dreams or odd thoughts?”

  “How did you get in here?” Billy said.

  “I said I was your psychiatrist and that you were being induced today and so forth,” Penny said. “I just came to say good luck. Here’s all the change we had in the house. Tell Grey to call constantly. I’ll see you all tonight.”

  Billy was taken to the labor floor and hooked up to a fetal heart monitor whose transducers were kept on her stomach by a large elastic cummerbund. A stylish-looking nurse wearing hospital greens, a string of pearls, and perfectly applied pink lipstick poked her head through the door.

  “Hi!” she said in a bright voice. “I’m Joanne Kelly. You’re my patient today.” She had the kind of voice and smile Billy could not imagine anyone’s using in private. “Now, how are we? Fine? All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. First of all, we’re going to put this IV into your arm. It will only hurt a little and then we’re going to hook you up to something called pitocin. Has Dr. Bell explained any of this to you?” Joanne Kelly said.

  “All,” said Billy.

  “Neat,” Joanne Kelly said. “We like an informed patient. Put your arm out, please.”

  Billy stuck out her arm. Joanne Kelly wrapped a rubber thong under her elbow.

  “Nice veins,” she said. “You would have made a lovely junkie.

  “Now we’re going to start the pitocin,” Joanne Kelly said. “We start off slow to see how you do. Then we escalate.” She looked Billy up and down. “Okay,” she said. “We’re off and running. Now, I’ve got a lady huffing and puffing in the next room so I have to go and coach her. I’ll be back real soon.�
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  Billy lay looking at the clock, or watching the pitocin and glucose drip into her arm. She could not get a comfortable position and the noise of the fetal heart monitor was loud and harsh. The machine itself spat out a continual line of data.

  Jordan Bell appeared at the foot of her bed.

  “An exciting day—yes, Billy?” he said. “What time is Grey coming?”

  “I told him to sleep late,” Billy said. “All the nurses told me that this can take a long time. How am I supposed to feel when it starts working?”

  “If all goes well, you’ll start to have contractions and then they’ll get stronger and then you’ll have your baby.”

  “Just like that?” said Billy.

  “Pretty much just like that.”

  But by five o’clock in the afternoon nothing much had happened.

  Grey sat in a chair next to the bed. From time to time he checked the data. He had been checking it all day.

  “That contraction went right off the paper,” he said. “What did it feel like?”

  “Intense,” Billy said. “It just doesn’t hurt.”

  “You’re still in the early stages,” said Jordan Bell when he came to check her. “I’m willing to stay on if you want to continue, but the baby might not be born till tomorrow.”

  “I’m beat,” said Billy.

  “Here’s what we can do,” Jordan said. “We can keep going or we start again tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Billy.

  She woke up exhausted with her head pounding. The sky was cloudy and the glare hurt her eyes. She was taken to a different labor room.

  In the night her blood pressure had gone up. She had begged not to have a shot—she did not see how she could go into labor feeling so terrible, but the shot was given. It had been a long, sleepless night.

  She lay alone with a towel covering one eye, trying to sleep, when a nurse appeared by her side. This one looked very young, had curly hair, and thick, slightly rose-tinted glasses. Her tag read “Eva Gottlieb.” Underneath she wore a button inscribed EVA: WE DELIVER.

  “Hi,” said Eva Gottlieb. “I’m sorry I woke you, but I’m your nurse for the day and I have to get you started.”

  “I’m here for a lobotomy,” Billy said. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to run a line in you,” Eva Gottlieb said. “And then I don’t know what. Because your blood pressure is high, I’m supposed to wait until Jordan gets here.” She looked at Billy carefully. “I know it’s scary,” she said. “But the worst that can happen is that you have to be sectioned and that’s not bad.”

  Billy’s head throbbed.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she said. “I’m the section.”

  Eva Gottlieb smiled. “I’m a terrific nurse,” she said. “I’ll stay with you.”

  Tears sprang in Billy’s eyes. “Why will you?”

  “Well, first of all, it’s my job,” said Eva. “And second of all, you look like a reasonable person.”

  Billy looked at Eva carefully. She felt instant, total trust. Perhaps that was part of being in hospitals and having babies. Everyone you came in contact with came very close, very fast.

  Billy’s eyes hurt. Eva was hooking her up to the fetal heart monitor. Her touch was strong and sure, and she seemed to know Billy did not want to be talked to. She flicked the machine on, and Billy heard the familiar sound of galloping hooves.

  “Is there any way to turn it down?” Billy said.

  “Sure,” said Eva. “But some people find it consoling.”

  As the morning wore on, Billy’s blood pressure continued to rise. Eva was with her constantly.

  “What are they going to do to me?” Billy asked.

  “I think they’re probably going to give you magnesium sulfate to get your blood pressure down and then they’re going to section you. Jordan does a gorgeous job, believe me. I won’t let them do anything to you without explaining it first, and if you get out of bed first thing tomorrow and start moving around you’ll be fine.”

  Twenty minutes later, a doctor Billy had never seen before administered a dose of magnesium sulfate.

  “Can’t you do this?” Billy asked Eva.

  “It’s heavy-duty stuff,” Eva said. “It has to be done by a doctor.”

  “Can they wait until my husband gets here?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” said Eva. “It has to be done. I’ll stay with you.”

  The drug made her hot and flushed, and brought her blood pressure straight down. For the next hour, Billy tried to sleep. She had never been so tired. Eva brought her cracked ice to suck on and a cloth for her head. The baby wiggled and writhed, and the fetal heart monitor gauged its every move. Finally, Grey and Jordan Bell were standing at the foot of her bed.

  “Okay, Billy,” said Jordan. “Today’s the day. We must get the baby out. I explained to Grey about the mag sulfate. We both agree that you must have a cesarean.”

  “When?” Billy said.

  “In the next hour,” said Jordan. “I have to check two patients and then we’re off to the races.”

  “What do you think,” Billy asked Grey.

  “It’s right,” Grey said.

  “And what about you?” Billy said to Eva.

  “It has to be done,” Eva said.

  Jordan Bell was smiling a genuine smile and he looked dashing and happy.

  “Why is he so uplifted?” Billy asked Eva after he had dashed down the hall.

  “He loves the OR,” she said. “He loves deliveries. Think of it this way: you’re going to get your baby at last.”

  Billy lay on a gurney, waiting to be rolled down the hall. Grey, wearing hospital scrubs, stood beside her holding her hand. She had been prepped and given an epidural anesthetic, and she could no longer feel her legs.

  “Look at me,” she said to Grey. “I’m a mass of tubes. I’m a miracle of modern science.” She put his hand over her eyes.

  Grey squatted down to put his head near hers. He looked expectant, exhausted, and worried, but when he saw her scanning his face he smiled.

  “It’s going to be swell,” Grey said. “We’ll find out if it’s little William or little Ella.”

  Billy’s heart was pounding but she thought she ought to say something to keep her side up. She said, “I knew we never should have had sexual intercourse.” Grey gripped her hand tight and smiled. Eva laughed. “Don’t you guys leave me,” Billy said.

  Billy was wheeled down the hall by an orderly. Grey held one hand, Eva held the other. Then they left her to scrub.

  She was taken to a large, pale green room. Paint was peeling on the ceiling in the corner. An enormous lamp hung over her head. The anesthetist appeared and tapped her feet.

  “Can you feel this?” he said.

  “It doesn’t feel like feeling,” Billy said. She was trying to keep her breathing steady.

  “Excellent,” he said.

  Then Jordan appeared at her feet, and Grey stood by her head.

  Eva bent down. “I know you’ll hate this, but I have to tape your hands down, and I have to put this oxygen mask over your face. It comes off as soon as the baby’s born, and it’s good for you and the baby.”

  Billy took a deep breath. The room was very hot. A screen was placed over her chest.

  “It’s so you can’t see,” said Eva. “Here’s the mask. I know it’ll freak you out, but just breathe nice and easy. Believe me, this is going to be fast.”

  Billy’s arms were taped, her legs were numb, and a clear plastic mask was placed over her nose and mouth. She was so frightened she wanted to cry out, but it was impossible. Instead she breathed as Katherine Walden had taught her to. Every time a wave of panic rose, she breathed it down. Grey held her hand. His face was blank and his glasses were fogged. His hair was covered by a green cap and his brow was wet. There was nothing she could do for him, except squeeze his hand.

  “Now, Billy,” said Jordan Bell, “you’ll feel something cold on your stom
ach. I’m painting you with Betadine. All right, here we go.”

  Billy felt something like dull tugging. She heard the sound of foamy water. Then she felt the baby being slipped from her. She turned to Grey. His glasses had unfogged and his eyes were round as quarters. She heard a high, angry scream.

  “Here’s your baby,” said Jordan Bell. “It’s a beautiful, healthy boy.”

  Eva lifted the mask off Billy’s face.

  “He’s perfectly healthy,” Eva said. “Listen to those lungs.” She took the baby to be weighed and tested. Then she came back to Billy. “He’s perfect but he’s little—just under five pounds. We have to take him upstairs to the preemie nursery. It’s policy when they’re not five pounds.”

  “Give him to me,” Billy said. She tried to free her hands but they were securely taped.

  “I’ll bring him to you,” Eva said. “But he can’t stay down here. He’s too small. It’s for the baby’s safety, I promise you. Look, here he is.”

  The baby was held against her forehead. The moment he came near her he stopped shrieking. He was mottled and wet.

  “Please let me have him,” Billy said.

  “He’ll be fine,” Eva said. They then took him away.

  The next morning Billy rang for the nurse and demanded that her IV be disconnected. Twenty minutes later she was out of bed slowly walking.

  “I feel as if someone had crushed my pelvic bones,” Billy said.

  “Someone did,” said the nurse.

  Two hours later she was put into a wheelchair and pushed by a nurse into the elevator and taken to the Infant Intensive Care Unit. At the door the nurse said, “I’ll wheel you in.”

  “I can walk,” Billy said. “But thank you very much.”

  Inside, she was instructed to scrub with surgical soap and to put on a sterile gown. Then she walked very slowly and very stiffly down the hall. A Chinese nurse stopped her.

  “I’m William Delielle’s mother,” she said. “Where is he?”

  The nurse consulted a clipboard and pointed Billy down a hallway. Another nurse in a side room pointed to an isolette—a large plastic case with porthole windows. There on a white cloth lay her child.