Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  “C’mon, Jen, you know.”

  I felt my face go red and couldn’t understand why I was embarrassed. Discussing sex with the one person that knew me the best shouldn’t bring on schoolgirl blushing.

  “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You like your multiple orgasms, don’t you, Jen?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him ready to argue and then changed my mind. He laughed at my noticeable hesitation and discomfort. It had to be funny to witness. I tried to stay angry. I’d even compressed my lips into thin lines of anger until my face muscles began cramping. Despite all that, my mouth formed a smile and I found myself laughing along with him.

  “You’re laughing because you know I’m right.”

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  “I didn’t think you’d admit it.”

  “I’ll admit it.”

  Thankfully, he changed the subject. “How about an early dinner?”

  “Are you making it?”

  He shrugged. “I will if you want, but I thought we could go out somewhere nice. My treat.”

  It was better than sitting around waiting for the next argument to happen. But I had another idea yet. “Dinner at home sounds like a better plan. How about that?”

  “We’ll go home on Monday as planned.”

  “One of us could murder the other by then,” I murmured.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  He gracefully got to his feet before offering me a hand up. We walked to the cottage together talking about innocuous things. The type of light banter you’d expect between polite strangers. Or two individuals that were attempting to avoid topics that would trigger a humdinger of an argument, which was our situation. We went our separate ways once inside so I could take my second shower of the day and into a change of clothes.

  Our plan was to drive up to Geneva, located along the northern tip of Seneca Lake, and find a place for dinner. I’d access the internet from my Droid as we drove to get some ideas. We’d eaten at Belhurst’s and Geneva on the Lake with the Palmers before, but we didn’t have the proper attire packed for those fine dining establishments.

  I met Chris downstairs a half hour later. He greeted me with a smile and held the front door for me. I was already happy about accepting his offer. If we timed our dinner just right, we could easily waste three hours. Only 48 hours to go.

  Chapter Ten

  July 26, 1991 – Elmira, New York

  I sat in the waiting room of my OB/GYN’s office paging through an older issue of Newsweek with the headline, “AMERICA AT WAR.” Other moms-to-be sat around doing a similar action with other magazines. It would be my 36 week check up with the normal weigh, measure, and listen routine. It had been 36 long weeks. Our baby’s due date was soon approaching. As far as I was concerned, August 20th wouldn’t arrive soon enough. The hot July weather only compounded the physical discomfort I was having. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat wondering if the skin on my stomach could possibly stretch any further than it already had.

  Every time the door opened, I looked to see if it was Chris. While checking in, the kindly, older receptionist informed me he had called and was running late, but would be there momentarily. Instead of the Absentminded Professor, I was married to the “Harried, Mad Scientist” as he worked a summer internship with a company in Corning, New York. Chris was busting his butt trying to impress them so his internship would lead to a permanent job when he graduated in December.

  My name was called and as I set my magazine down, Chris came bursting in the door looking around until his eyes landed on mine. I smiled and waved for him to join me. I watched as the other women in the room admired him. He was definitely a sight to behold; tall, broad shouldered, and handsome. He was wearing a simple pair of khaki Dockers and a long sleeved dress shirt with a tie.

  “Sorry, I’m late.”

  I took his hand and pulled him along. “You’re not late. You’re right on time.”

  I fanned myself while I stood on the scale waiting to hear about how huge I was getting. The nurse seemed pleased when she told me I was doing well. She took us to an exam room, took my blood pressure, and told me the doctor would be along shortly.

  While sitting at the end of the exam table, I unbuttoned my shirt an additional hole. “It’s hot in here,” I complained.

  Chris had remained standing and replied, “I think it’s a little cool, myself, but I did just come in from outside where it’s sweltering.”

  Not long after our brief exchange, Dr. Calder came bouncing in after a loud knock at the door. She greeted us and began paging through my chart and the nurse’s latest set of notes. There were three OB/GYNs at the practice and, to make sure each mom-to-be met all of the physicians before their due date, they rotated the doctors for well visits. You never knew which doctor was going to be on-call when delivery time came. Out of the three doctors, I liked Dr. Calder the most. Chris and I gauged her to be in her early thirties. She was always upbeat, welcoming, and truly took her time answering my questions and giving detailed explanations meant to inform and put me at ease.

  “Everything looks really great, Jen, and you’re in the home stretch.”

  “The heat is killing me,” I told her as she had me lay back and she felt my taunt belly.

  “This baby of yours moving around a lot?”

  “Not like last night. It always seems to be active when I’m trying to go to sleep.”

  “I think it was doing somersaults,” Chris retorted. “At least that’s what it felt like from the outside.”

  “Even after they’re here they tend to keep their parents up at night,” she teased as she applied a dab of jelly on my abdomen and pressed the microphone against me.

  “That’s what we keep hearing from our friends and family,” Chris told her as he began sharing some of the more humorous anecdotes we’d heard about raising babies.

  I noticed the almost imperceptible change of expression on her face as Chris kept talking. She wasn’t really frowning, but it was conveyed in her eyes.

  She checked the Doppler again and then resumed moving it around to various places along my belly. She paused a moment, wiped the gel off absently before interrupting Chris to say, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’m going to see if Ultrasound is available.”

  I scrambled and grabbed her wrist pulling her up short. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  “I’m having a difficult time finding a heartbeat,” she told me. “Ultrasound will tell us more.”

  The ultrasound revealed the final, devastating blow, and our worst nightmare. Our baby had died in my womb. Two hours later, I was admitted into the hospital. I was running a fever which was the reason I felt hot and clammy. I was doing my best to hold myself together. Chris was doing his best as well. We were still trying to process everything. Just the night before we were in bed together, his hands on my pregnant belly as the baby kicked, nudged, and turned. Putting on a show for its parents.

  The nurses started an IV antibiotic, per doctor’s orders, as soon as I arrived. Dr. Calder came in a short while later to administer Prostaglandin to soften my cervix. I didn’t take the news at all well when they told me I would be delivering my baby vaginally versus a c-section. I mean, how fair was that? All the wait and excitement and expectations of pregnancy with the normal concerns of having a full-term, healthy baby only to find out it was all for nothing. And now, to make matters worse, I was going to participate in the delivery as if nothing had happened. Why couldn’t I be knocked out and let them do all the work? I was scared and my heart was breaking. Even as my doctor calmly explained to me that a natural delivery was in my best interest for my future reproductive health, I argued with her through hiccupping sobs and tears until Chris asked her if we could have a moment alone.

  And that’s where we were. Neither of us had talked to the other. Stunned silence. He finally pulled a chair up beside the bed and took my hand even though I fought to pull it away
. I didn’t want to be touched. However, he wasn’t going to give in and grasped it firmly.

  “It wasn’t meant to be, Jenny,” he offered words Dr. Calder had used in the ultrasound room.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’m hurting just as much as you are, sweetheart, and I’m here for you. We have to stick together now and offer each other comfort to get through this. You heard her. There was nothing you could have done differently to stop it. It happened for whatever reason. Now, we have to get through this next part. I won’t deny it’s going to be hard, but we need to do this and then you need to get stronger. You’re running a fever because you have some infection starting already. You’re my first priority.”

  “Then don’t make me do this.”

  “How about I see if the doctor can prescribe something to help you sleep? Like she said, this is going to take a while. You can take a nap, rest up, and I’ll call our parents and let them know what’s going on. I’m sure you’d feel better with your mom here.”

  I nodded my consent. My mom had always taken care of me. Protected me from things that scared me and made me feel better when I was feeling my worst. She’d understand my side and help them see reason. Chris didn’t know how it felt. He wasn’t the one carrying our baby. He hadn’t a clue what it was like having a life growing inside your body; a silent passenger receiving nourishment and shelter. Completely dependent on you and you alone.

  My mom was sitting beside my bed and reading a book when I woke up. As soon as she saw that I was awake, she put her book down and came to me kissing my forehead. I didn’t know how long I had slept. All I knew was, before I fell asleep, I wasn’t feeling any discomfort and now, I was experiencing some moderate cramping.

  While her lips were still pressed against my temple I asked, “Did Chris tell you?”

  “Yes, everything. I’m so very sorry. I wish I could make it all go away for you, sweetheart.”

  I looked around. “Where is he?”

  “You were sleeping so soundly and, he figured with me here to sit with you, he’d go to work and get things in order since he’ll be out for the next day or two.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “He left me? Now? With what’s going on?” I sat up and looked around wildly as if I’d find him in one of the corners napping in a chair because what my mother had said couldn’t possibly be true. It was inconceivable. “He really left,” I murmured feeling dejected and sank back on to the bed.”

  “You were sleeping, honey. There wasn’t anything he could do anyway. You doctor said nothing is going to happen until early morning at the earliest,” my mother soothed as she patted my hand. “Besides, I think Chris needed some privacy.”

  “He…he told me we’d get through this together.”

  “And he’ll be here. Jenny, it’s hard for a man to show his emotions in front of others. He needed some time alone and I’m sure that’s what he’s using this time for more than anything else.”

  It took me a moment to realize I was building up for a good cry. My breathing had turned into choppy gulps of air and my throat burned from the great effort I was using to hold back the sobs that wanted to come out. Finally, I couldn’t. I grabbed onto my mother as if she were a lifesaver meant to keep me from drowning. And maybe she was. With Chris gone, I permitted what I’d been holding in to pour out of me. My mother gathered me against her as she sat beside me and left me go. It didn’t take long and she was crying right along with me, reassuring me that Chris and I would get through it and try again someday. I couldn’t even think about trying again. None of that worked to discount what I was feeling. It wasn’t a simple miscarriage I was going through. If I had gone into premature labor instead, my baby would have been perfectly viable at 36 weeks. That afternoon, would have been bringing on a completely different outcome.

  I spent a sleepless night tossing around on the uncomfortable hospital bed. The cramping that I felt earlier had intensified tenfold by morning. Dr. Dubinsky came in at 7:15 during morning rounds and checked to see if my cervix had thinned from the Cervidil suppository. It had and he also informed me I was at a solid three centimeters. Before he was done with the exam, he ruptured my amniotic sack which resulted in a warm gush bringing me that much closer to delivery. He then ordered Pitocin to be administered with my IV. Just as Dr. Calder had done the day before, Dr. Dubinsky talked to me with such kindness. Pity written all over his face.

  I pushed Chris away when he tried to kiss me. I didn’t want to hear how proud of me he was or that it would be over soon. He hadn’t returned to the hospital until 9:30 the night before and I was mad at him for it. He was gone for six hours. How dare he run away while I was dealing with the hardest event ever to happen to me? Too bad that he didn’t want to show his emotions in front of others. I had to do it. I was stuck there. I had no choice.

  The hard contractions began about two hours later provoking my nurse to check my dilation. I was at a solid five and progressing nicely. She explained that the doctor had ordered the Pitocin dosage increased every hour.

  While other family members made short visits before returning to the waiting room, my mom was a constant at my bedside. Offering me ice chips for my dry mouth since I wasn’t permitted to have anything else in the event a stat c-section was needed. She wiped my face off with a cool washcloth since sweating seemed to be a new hobby of mine. She even gave me back rubs to help get my mind off of the contractions. I’d been giving my husband the cold shoulder to let him know how it felt to be alone when your world was seemingly falling apart.

  By 5:20, I was fully dilated. Dr. Calder was the on-call physician as of 5:00, but Dr. Dubinsky stayed on to assist in the delivery. And it wasn’t easy. After a few, brief modifications, my bed turned into a birthing bed complete with leg rests and handholds.

  I did my best to concentrate on what I was being told to do and not so much about why I was doing it. I’d convinced myself that detachment was the only way I was going to survive. If I thought about it too much, I’d focus on our loss, dissolve into tears again, and it wouldn’t be productive.

  Unable to stay angry with Chris, I’d taken his hand when I needed to begin pushing. My mother had my other hand and kept talking to me.

  At one point, Dr. Calder asked me to take a break from pushing which seemed crazy. While I may be able to sit back and stop pushing, my body seemed to have a mind of its own. The contractions were just as strong during my break. I knew I was groaning with great effort.

  “You’re doing great, honey. I’m so proud of you,” my mom told me as she dabbed at my forehead with the washcloth.

  Dr. Calder asked me to bear down again and I did without hesitation. She announced when the head was out and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see anything. And then the delivery was over.

  Chris bent down, burying his head in my neck as he lost his composure. My mother tried comforting both of us while she cried softly over her first grandchild that “wasn’t meant to be.”

  Dr. Dubinsky approached us and said, “There wasn’t anything you could have done differently, Jennifer. Unfortunately, the baby was entangled in the umbilical cord. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Would you like to hold your daughter?” Dr. Calder asked as she held the forever silent infant in a receiving blanket. “We can give you a moment alone with her.”

  The counselor that had met with us the day before was present and offered her input, “It’s entirely up to you. Holding the baby is sometimes helpful for parents in working through the grieving process.”

  She’d mentioned it to us before. Only then, the very idea made my heart feel as if it was being torn into tiny pieces. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Now that I knew the sex of my baby. I met Chris’ eyes and silently consulted with him. He shrugged and my mother stepped in.

  “Go ahead, Jenny. If you don’t, I fear you’ll regret it for the rest of your life,” she soothed. “I’m right here with you.”

  I agreed and for the next half hour, I hel
d my baby. Ten little fingers. Ten little toes. Wisps of brown hair that formed a swirl around the crown of her head. A cupid’s bow for her mouth. If her color wasn’t slightly off, she’d have appeared in a peaceful sleep. Almost perfect. Almost ours.

  We named her Spencer Katherine before she was taken away.

  Chapter Eleven

  Present Day

  We ended up at Ports Café. Lucking out when a reservation cancelled moments before we arrived, otherwise, we’d be looking for a different venue on this busy holiday weekend. Chris even joked about purchasing a lottery ticket since that type of luck never seemed to happen for us in such a way. He was convinced it may be the start of a new trend.

  Our table for two was located out along the front porch where we had a view of nearby Route 14 and the lake beyond. Chris ordered a bottle of Fox Run Cabernet Franc while we perused our menus.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re going to order?” I asked as I looked across the table at him in his reading glasses and thought, “When did he change from young, virile, and handsome to older, distinguished, and, well, sexy?” It surely happened a while ago and I just hadn’t taken the time to notice. How long ago did we become two ships passing in the night? I could complain about his never being home, but what I was talking about was a simple matter of observation. Or lack of as was the case.

  “The entire time we were driving I was thinking about a large piece of red meat, but the striped bass and scallops she mentioned is winning me over.”

  “I initially had a cold salad in mind, but the crab raviolis sound more appealing.”

  While we dined on appetizers and chatted about everything, sans work or our marriage, I attempted to remember the last time we’d been able to talk like that. I suppose part of me was baffled by it in light of our volatile weekend. One minute indifferent. The next at each other’s throats with comments meant to wound. Regardless, being in a public place had brought out our manners proving we could be civil.