“Oh,” Maizie said. “It’s bad.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and she took it, holding tight. She was panting, trying to do the breathing that they had worked to perfect.
“That’s it,” he said. And he tried to breathe with her.
“The baby’s coming,” Maizie said.
“We’ll take care of everything,” said the nurse.
In the labor room, in the confusion of his getting the hospital gown on, and the mask, Leo heard Maizie whimper, and he realized that they had been separated. Someone, another nurse, talking in a hurried but very calm voice, told him he had to go back out and sign some papers. “We did all that,” he said. “We’re pre-registered.”
“Leo?” Maizie’s voice.
He pushed past the nurse and stepped into the little room where Maizie lay, her hands gripping the metal sides of the bed.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, help.”
Leo took her hands. “What’s the object,” he said. “Fix on something.”
“Hah,” Maizie said. “Ah. Hah. Hah. Ohhhhh.” She closed her eyes and seemed to be straining to get up. Then she lay back and looked at him. “I’m cold.”
“It’s going to be fine,” he said to her.
A nurse or doctor had lifted the sheet over her and reached in. Then she stood back and snapped the rubber glove off her hand, smiling. “This your first?”
“Yes,” Maizie said.
“You’re doing wonderfully.”
“The baby’s coming,” Maizie said. “I walked in the snow.” She looked at Leo and began to cry. “I walked in the snow.”
“You’re not quite dilated yet,” the nurse said. “So do your breathing. It’ll be a while.”
“I feel like it’s coming,” Maizie said.
“It is, honey. But it won’t be right away.” The nurse, whose hair was the color of sunlight on straw, nodded at Leo and stepped out of the room.
“I walked in the snow,” Maizie said again, crying.
“I know,” he said. “I know, my darling.” He leaned down and put his arms around her. A contraction had started, and she was doing the breathing, trying to get it right. But then she was just gasping, and holding on. “Oh, please,” she murmured. “Please, God—it hurts. Is it supposed to hurt this much?”
“Is it easing off?” Leo asked.
“There—oh, a little.”
The door opened and a man looked in, a doctor—not Maizie’s doctor. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. Moyer, and I’m on call this evening. Dr. Ransom is in surgery, an emergency. So I’ll be doing the delivery.” He stepped over to the side of the bed and touched Maizie’s shoulder. “We doing all right?”
“It’s hurting her bad,” Leo said. “Can’t you give her something?”
The doctor spoke to Maizie. “We’re going to give you an epidural, but it’ll take a little while. Can you hold on a bit?”
“I guess so,” Maizie said. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with the backs of her hands.
The doctor put a rubber glove on, then lifted the sheet and examined her. Then he, too, snapped off the rubber glove. “Everything’s going just fine.”
“Oh,” Maizie said. “Oh, no.”
“Try not to tense up,” the doctor said.
“Oh, God,” Maizie said. She held Leo’s hand so tight it hurt. He leaned down close to her ear and tried to do the breathing. “Don’t,” Maizie told him. “You’re cutting off my air.”
“Remember the exercises,” he said.
“I remember the fucking exercises,” Maizie said through a groan. Then she lay her head back and breathed out, a long, sighing breath of relief.
The doctor was looking at Leo. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’ll be all right.” Then he tapped Maizie’s knee. “Listen to your coach.”
When he had gone out, she asked for a cold washrag on her lips. “They’re so dry.”
Leo accomplished this, using one of the rags they had brought with them. She was quiet, and he touched the damp cloth to her mouth, lightly, using his other hand to caress her forehead. When she opened her eyes to look at him, he had the sense that she didn’t quite recognize him.
“Is it starting again?” he asked her.
“No.”
They waited. Perhaps five minutes went by, and then five more. She asked for the wet rag again, lay back, and closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened them again.
“Anything?” Leo said.
“No.”
Presently she said, “If this is false labor—”
“It’s not false labor,” he told her.
They were quiet a moment. “Leo,” she said abruptly, “that phone call tonight—”
“You don’t need to be worrying about that now.”
“I am worried about it.” Her tone was aggravated and tired.
He held her hand, and waited.
“I’ve been friendly with Marty Gehringer, but nothing happened. Do you understand me?”
“Maizie, for God’s sake,” he said.
“I could talk to him, and that was all it was.”
Leo was silent.
“It had nothing to do with you.”
Unable to help himself, he said, “Apparently.”
“Oh, hell,” she said.
“Look,” he told her. “Can we concentrate on this? I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” she said.
“Maizie, this is not the time.”
She was silent. Another minute or so went by. He thought she might’ve drifted off to sleep. But then she opened her eyes and looked at him. “I have the feeling something awful is going to happen,” she said.
“Stop it,” he told her.
They were quiet again. Somewhere in another room, a woman shouted.
“I love the walls here,” Maizie said. “I wouldn’t want to miss anything.”
He put the damp rag on her forehead.
“Thanks,” she said.
Again, they heard the scream.
Maizie looked at him. “Oh, hell,” she said, and seemed about to cry.
“Is it starting again?” he asked her.
“No.”
He waited.
“Ohh,” she said. “Now it is. It’s—ohhh, a hard one. It’s—mmmm.”
Leo held her hand. Together they tried the breathing, and it went a little better this time. The contraction eased off.
And then the doctor and nurse were there. Leo saw that the doctor’s hands were freckled, that his wedding band seemed to cut into the ruddy flesh of the ring finger. “Could you excuse us, please? Just while we administer the epidural.”
He went out into the corridor, and along it to the waiting room. James and Helena were sitting side by side against the far wall, James reading a magazine, Helena watching a couple make their way out the door. She saw Leo first, and stood. “Already?”
“No,” Leo said, and remembered, with a little unbidden rush of elation, that he was going to be a father. “They’re giving her an epidural.”
“But everything’s all right?”
It struck him that he had always liked Helena so much. He embraced her. “She’s in a lot of pain. But the doctor says everything’s fine.”
“The epidural will help,” James said. His face looked ashen, and perhaps it was the light. When he put the magazine back in its place on the small table at his side, Leo saw that his hands shook. James ran his thin fingers through his hair, then seemed to let down.
Helena said, “Are you all right, James?”
“I’m not having the baby,” James said irritably.
“You look like you’re about to collapse. And don’t talk to me in that tone of voice.”
“I’m fine,” James said. “Really.”
“I’ve got to get back,” Leo said, letting go of her.
“We’ll be here,” Helena said. Then she sat down and put her arm over her husband’s shoulder. “You’d think James was the f
ather.”
In the labor room, Maizie lay propped on pillows. The pillows were from the bag that she had packed weeks ago in preparation for this—and now, after the rehearsals and practice sessions, someone else had put the pillows under her, and Leo felt guilty.
“Sorry,” he said. “I told James and Helena they didn’t have to stay. But they’re staying anyway.”
“Leo, it hurts me. I’ve had two really bad ones close together. And these people left me. They just left me alone.”
“I’m here now,” he said, and felt the blood rise to his cheeks. “Do you want me to get you something?”
“No.”
“Do you want the rag again?”
“I’m being such a coward, Leo. But I can’t help it.”
“Is the epidural—”
“Nothing helps. It’s going to come again and I’m so scared.”
He held her hands, and when it started, he worked with her to do the breathing, but at the height of it, she yelled. It was a sound he would not have believed; it terrified him. Then she was trying to breathe again, trying to count. “Ohhhh, God,” she said when it had subsided.
The room seemed to be growing smaller, all the colors in it growing sharper, more defined and more lurid. The light hurt his eyes. Somewhere off in another room, another woman moaned and then screamed.
“What is this,” Maizie said. “This is where they take you.”
He wet the rag again and put it to her lips.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do you want it on your forehead?”
“Yes.” She gasped. “Oh, God.” Then she was trying to sit up, her face contorted.
“Is it starting?” he said.
“Ohhhhh, Jesus Christ God.” Her nails cut into the skin of his palm, and she was trying to do the breathing again, and failing. “Ohh, stop it. Please, make it stop.”
“Where is everybody?” Leo said. “Jesus.”
The pain eased, and now Maizie was crying. “I can’t do it.”
Leo held her. “Again?”
She shook her head. “I can’t do it, Leo. I can’t do it.”
“Let me see if I can get the doctor,” he said, and was secretly ashamed for the sense of relief he felt himself moving toward—to be out in the hall, to be heading freely away from this little room, with its instruments and its electronic sounds and its dry white light. “Do you want me to go look for the doctor?”
“No,” she said. “Please don’t leave me.” The words were spent in a breath, and she was gasping again, trying to pant, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. “Ohhh, please. Help it—oh nooo. No.” She lay back, and for an instant he thought she might’ve passed out. But then she had come forward again, and her hand relaxed. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I think the epidural is taking effect.”
“I want to know where the hell the doctor is,” Leo said.
“They said we’d be here alone for a while. I’m only five centimeters.”
“I think a doctor should be here.”
“I want you here,” she said.
He kissed the top of her head. “Want the washrag again?”
“I’m dying of thirst,” she said.
He wet the rag, and she put her head back. And the nurse came in. The nurse raised the sheet, paused, then moved back to the door. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“We’re in a lot of pain,” Leo told her.
The nurse walked over and took Maizie’s other wrist, looked into her eyes. She checked the monitors and then smiled. “It’s all normal. On schedule. When you get to ten centimeters, we’ll move you into delivery.”
“When will that be?” Leo said.
“Just a while longer,” said the nurse.
“I’m having the baby,” Maizie said.
The nurse smiled. “Is the epidural working?”
“Nothing’s working.”
“I know it feels that way.”
“Ohhh no, I can’t. Leo, please.”
Leo held her while she cried and groaned, and when he looked again, the nurse had gone. Beside the bed, the console with the monitor on it made a soft beeping sound. He couldn’t decide if he had heard it before. Maizie panted, sweating, then slowly relaxed. “I can’t do it, Leo, please.”
“It’ll be okay, baby,” he said.
“If it would only stop.”
He wet the washrag again, but she didn’t want it.
“I can’t breathe as it is.”
The doctor came in and examined her. “Progressing nicely,” he said.
“She’s in a lot of pain,” Leo said.
The doctor nodded and gave a small, cryptic smile. “It’ll be fine.” Then he touched Maizie’s shoulder. “Maizie, you’ve got a bit of a wait. The epidural should help. Soon you’ll be able to push, and that’ll make you feel better. Can you make it?”
Maizie nodded, glaring.
When the doctor had left the room again, she looked at Leo. “I hate this,” she said.
“They’re so blithe about it,” Leo said.
A few minutes later, the nurse came in again. “How’re we doing?”
“Drugs,” Leo said. “My wife is suffering.” He was almost crying.
“Oh, God, the baby is coming,” said Maizie. “Now.”
“I know it’s hard,” said the nurse. She moved to the foot of the bed and lifted the sheet. “Good Lord,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
“Ohhh,” said Maizie. “Leo!” She threw her head back and raised her knees with an involuntary jerking motion. Leo moved to her side, and her hands tugged at the sheet over her abdomen. For a second, she seemed to be squirming toward the head of the bed, but then the sheet was pulled back and Leo saw the baby’s head push out of his wife—it had come with a slippery ease that startled him—and now it was face down in a pool of streaked blood. “Ohhhh,” Maizie said with a deep, exhausted sigh. She was trying to see, lifting her head.
Leo reached down and touched the wet surface of the head, the shining, blood-soaked hair, wanting to turn the face up out of the blood but worrying about the neck. “Oh, Jesus,” he said. “Jesus, help us.”
“Leo,” said Maizie. “Leo—please. Ohhh, ohhh.”
He turned the head a little, looked at the small wrinkled mouth, the deeply shut eyes, and he couldn’t move, couldn’t get the face completely turned out of the blood.
“Leo!”
The baby’s head had slid out of his tentative grasp and was face down in the blood again. He was watching his own baby drown, and the only choice seemed to be to pull it up, and risk breaking the neck. He reached down and took the head in his hand, and couldn’t bring himself to move. In the next instant, the doctor burst in, and with tremendous urgency grabbed the baby by the head, his fingers digging deep under the tiny jaw, pulling. It was a struggle. The baby didn’t want to come. At some point during all this, Maizie had got hold of Leo’s hospital gown, and when a nurse looked at Leo and said “You, out,” Maizie gripped the gown even tighter, so that while the bodies closed in around the bed where the baby and Maizie were being worked on, Leo was prevented from moving out of the way. “You must leave,” another nurse said.
“No,” came Maizie’s voice, stronger than it had been in all the time they had spent in this room. “I want him here!”
Through the tangle of arms and moving shapes surrounding the bed, Leo saw his wife’s face. Maizie was looking down at where they were working to free the baby from her, and she was crying, saying a word he couldn’t make out. Finally she gave forth a long, sighing shout, and a nurse said, “It’s a…girl.”
“Oh, baby,” Maizie said. “Little baby. Let me see her.” She had let go of Leo’s hospital gown, and the backs parted. The hands of these others—Leo didn’t even know how many there were—guided him into the circle around the bed and toward Maizie, with the child on her belly. Leo’s new daughter was gasping, the eyes so tightly shut that he could not imagine them ever being strong enough to open.
But then they did open. They opened, and seemed to see, and the nurse with the straw-colored hair picked her up and took her to the clear glass bassinet on the other side of the room, to bathe her. He watched them stick some suction thing in the little slack mouth, and it seemed to him that they were handling her too roughly. But it was all just expert speed, and then Maizie spoke, still crying. He didn’t hear her. He moved to her side and leaned down to kiss her soaked forehead. The doctor was gently pushing on her stomach. For a few minutes, there seemed nothing at all to do except stand still and try not to get in the way. When the nurses were helping Maizie move onto another gurney, she looked at him and said, “Leo, it’s a girl.”
“Beautiful,” he said.
And Maizie kept crying.
“It’s over,” Leo told her. “It’s okay. You did great, honey.”
“Leo,” she said. “I wish she was here. Why isn’t she here?”
He put his hand at the side of her head and pulled her to his chest. “I know,” he told her. “I know.”
“Oh, why did she do it, Leo? Why isn’t she here for this? Why couldn’t she fight through it and be here? How could she do it to us?”
“Don’t,” he said.
The baby let out a small, fierce sound, almost of anger.
“Listen to that,” he tried to say.
“I wish she’d told me something. I would’ve helped her through.”
He kissed her cheek, and she turned and kissed him back.
A moment later, he said, “You know how it was that day when you were all looking for her, that Fourth of July?”
She leaned against his chest. “What.”
“Whenever there’s a big gathering like that,” he said, “music, dancing, and all that, I always think about how there are all these personal lives gathered together in the sound—like the sound holds them together. I’m not explaining this very well. It’s like there’s all these people living their own lives, with their own secrets and worries and desires, and the music connects them. It’s all part of their time with each other. And—but sometimes there are people who wander out of hearing, away from the others. The music can’t reach them, and when you call their names they can’t hear. Like the way my mother was, calling good-bye to me all the way to my school, just to keep the connection. And well, honey, maybe it’s like your mother just—got out of earshot.”
Wives & Lovers Page 17