Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  My mother took Hudson out of my arms and the first thing he did was look for the Easter Bunny and start crying again. Great. I’d traumatized my son with a make believe holiday character. I was certain it would all come out in therapy someday when he was an adult.

  “Are you having contractions?” my mother asked while rubbing comforting circles on Hudson’s back.

  I had been having some minor cramping, but I’d attributed it to Braxton-Hicks contractions like I’d had with Hudson the month leading up to his birth. Since my water broke, they were slightly more intense. I explained it to the two older women as we made our way to my mother’s car.

  “At this point, it would be easier having Chris go directly to the hospital. We’ll have to stop by the house first, get my bag packed, grab the baby’s bag, and call my OB/GYN,” I said, thinking out loud.

  By the time we arrived at the hospital an hour later, my mother was still unable to contact Chris. He wasn’t answering his work phone or his cell phone. I was mildly miffed with him, but she kept telling me not to worry he had plenty of time to get there. I was still miffed. And nervous.

  The baby was early and with my amniotic sack rupturing on its own, there was no putting it off. The baby was coming. When the nurse checked me she announced I was a solid four centimeters. Dr. Steiner was on call and on his way. I was settled into the labor and delivery room one down from where I gave birth to Spencer. Call me morbid, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe it was a common plight for moms who had lost infants. Even with Hudson’s easy delivery and good health, I still focused on what could happen when things went wrong. I knew I came off as paranoid when I began interrogating Dr. Steiner upon his arrival. He patted my arm and calmly told me he needed to read my chart and do my exam before he could even begin to answer every question I posed to him.

  Dr. Steiner was an older man. The founding doctor of the woman’s health center I went to. This would be the first time I had him for a delivery. Dr. Calder delivered Hudson as well as assisted with Spencer. I liked the birthing philosophy of the center. They believed in a relaxed, calming atmosphere for the mother-to-be while welcoming family and friends to be involved in the birthing experience. If I wanted, I could have up to eight people in the room for the delivery. Of course, I wasn’t going to. I was more of a private person. More reserved. I’d permitted my mom to join us for Hudson’s birth and, provided everything went well with baby number three, I’d consider letting Marti in. With any luck, my husband would make it in time.

  Chris finally breezed in at 3:30 delivering apologies and kisses. Apparently they were on the verge of something “cutting edge” in the lab and he got caught up in it. I wasn’t progressing nearly as quickly as I had with Hudson so my anger abated not long after he said his tenth apology.

  Even though Dr. Steiner wasn’t sure the baby would get the full benefits of the dosage, I was given a corticosteroid injection to promote lung development. At 37 weeks, the baby just made the cut off for full term. Other than taking that precaution, he felt the baby was ready to be born.

  At 8:00PM, my nurse asked most of our visitors to leave my room so I could get some rest for the night. I was only at six centimeters and absolutely miserable. In all honesty, I was relieved when she cleared them out. She encouraged me to try and get some sleep. It wasn’t likely. Not with the pain I was experiencing.

  Chris sat beside me when we were alone and ran his fingers through my hair. “Just close your eyes, babe. You need your rest.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Can I get you anything? Are you warm enough?”

  “A glass of chardonnay sounds great.”

  He bent down and kissed my forehead as he chuckled softly. “I don’t think they allow that in the hospital.”

  “Will you rub my back?” I asked hoping the action would bring me some comfort.

  He helped me roll onto my side and began focusing his hands along the sides of my spine. Kneading the tense muscles. Chris was great. Not only did he rub my back, but he talked to me softly about his latest scientific breakthroughs at work. A subject he was quite passionate about and I always enjoyed listening to when he got going. It brought him to life. I appreciated his passion even more so now as he took my mind off of the contractions.

  At two in the morning, I began to push our son out. Even with my hair a tangled, wet mass and my face contorted with pain, Chris told me how beautiful I was and how much he loved me as he coached superbly. His undivided attention was focused on me and making me comfortable. He never stopped his kind words even as my own may have been less than genial.

  “C’mon, Jen, the baby’s head is crowning. You need to give me some good, strong pushes now to work this baby out,” Dr. Steiner directed.

  I wasn’t even in a position to push. I’d sort of slouched to the side of the bed. “I’m tired.”

  “I know you’re tired, babe, but you’ve done such a good job so far and you have a little more to go,” Chris said softly inches from my face. “You can do it. I’m here with you.” He squeezed my hand.

  “I can’t do it anymore, Chris. I can’t. I’m too tired.”

  He accepted the cool washcloth again from his mother. She was seated behind him. He began wiping my face gently with it. His eyes searched my face. “I’ll help you sit up and we’ll do it together.”

  The next contraction hit and I didn’t need any help sitting up. As a matter of fact, I almost stood up in the stirrups. Chris slid in behind me while I was forward. He put his legs on either side of me and held me in position while rubbing my lower back. I had no choice but to stay like that. It was a pretty slick move on his behalf.

  I gave up dragging my feet. It wasn’t worth it. I’d only managed to stretch the delivery time out. When the next contraction hit, I took both of the handholds and pushed until my arms started shaking and I needed a breath.

  “That was great, Jen. Give me the same thing on the next contraction,” the doctor encouraged.

  And I did just that again and again until the bright pink and squirming infant was placed on my chest. Chris cut the cord and the nurse quickly wrapped him up and took him away. There were no longer any doubts over his lung development. The baby screamed his head off.

  The nurse returned with him swaddled tightly in a receiving blanket. On his head was a jersey knit cap with the bottom rolled up. He seemed to settle down for the first time since he’d been born when I cradled his face under my chin and talked to him. The nurse smiled and made the comment that he already knew who his mommy was.

  Chris stroked our son’s plump cheek with the tip of his index finger as he said, “Look at how perfect he is, Jen. He doesn’t look like a preemie.”

  “There’s nothing preemie about him,” the nurse told us. “He weighs in at eight pounds seven ounces and measures twenty inches long. He would have been huge given three more weeks.”

  “Dear Lord,” I muttered at the prospect.

  Chris gave me another peck on my forehead. “Just think, the next one could be a ten pounder.”

  “The next one?” I asked with wide eyes. “Now may not be the best time to discuss that, Christopher. Not after getting stitches somewhere I really don’t want to think about.”

  “You’ll change your mind. We’ll try one more time.”

  I knew what he meant by his comment. He knew I had wanted a girl this time around. Both of us did. We felt cheated from the first time. But the idea of having another baby so close together wasn’t immediately appealing to me. As it was, I’d have two in diapers at the same time. Not easy. And I had my job to think about. I was the new teacher in my former alma mater. I continually felt like I needed to prove myself. Motherhood and career could prove to be a difficult juggling act and now another ball had been thrown into the mix. Even though the baby was planned this time, I hoped I could manage it all. The key was prioritizing and staying organized. My mom helped when she could since Chris was always working late through the week and often
over the weekend.

  No. For the time being, two was more than enough. Chris would just have to accept it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Present Day

  “Jen.”

  Crying oneself to sleep wasn’t a recommended way to catch up on a lack of it no matter what the circumstances, I thought while Chris gently shook me awake.

  “What time is it?” I asked while keeping my face tucked into the crook of my arm.

  “Almost 12:30,” he answered softly. “I didn’t know what to do. You probably didn’t sleep well last night so I knew you were tired. On the other hand, I’m sure you want to leave sooner rather than later.”

  He was leaving out the more likely possibility. He was afraid to disturb me. My earlier comment about feeding him his balls must have stayed with him.

  “Did you pack up everything already?”

  “Uh, no. I was hoping to sit down with you and talk about this most recent issue before we returned home. Carson mentioned he may be home this evening and I’m sure neither of us want to air this business in his vicinity.”

  Most recent issue. Holy Christ. Was he talking about adultery or our last income tax return?

  “Was I a good wife, Chris?” He didn’t answer right away. “Chris, did you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” he said on a sigh. “I can’t believe you have to ask me that.”

  I uncovered my face and rolled to my side to find him kneeling beside the bed with his eyes intently on me. “No. Really. I do. I have no problem telling you why I’m unhappy when you ask, so it would be therapeutic to know what you think. That’s why I’m asking.”

  He looked to his hand where it rested on his bent knee. “You have been a wonderful wife. A wonderful mother.”

  “Until April of this year or were there other times I failed?” I asked and then added, “Of course, we can’t forget to mention those three months after we lost the baby. I wasn’t a very good wife then either.”

  He took a seat on the floor using the dresser for a back rest. “What happened when I was in college had nothing to do with you. It just happened.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my own behavior, it’s that it doesn’t just happen. You can claim drunken weakness, but if you truly didn’t want it to happen, you could have stopped it. But you didn’t. I wasn’t drunk with Steve and each time I knew it was wrong, but it didn’t stop me.” I explained candidly.

  “You’re purposely trying to provoke me.”

  “Yes, I am. You’re right. I want you to be honest with me,” I stated firmly. “At this juncture, don’t you think we owe it to each other?”

  Chris had his long legs stretched out in front of him and they disappeared somewhere under my bed. His hands were laced together and placed on his lap. And, apparently, were easier to look at than it was to meet my eyes.

  “When did it happen?”

  He took a deep breath. “The weekend before we went to New York.”

  My heart seemed to skip in my chest as a dull pain invaded it slowly. “I see.”

  “I should have told you. I wanted to tell you because it meant nothing and I was so ashamed with myself and the guilt was… unbearable.”

  “But you couldn’t because your wonderful wife was battling depression and you were afraid of what she may do.”

  “I decided it was in the best interest of our marriage if I never told you.”

  “Even afterwards?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. Ever.”

  “A lot of time has passed since those bad days. You should have told me.”

  He met my gaze. “You mean like the way you came to me about him?”

  I held his eyes and replied succinctly with, “I planned on telling you this weekend. Only at home. It took that long to build my courage up. The guilt was insufferable.”

  “Do you know why I brought you here?”

  “You were going for a Hail Mary pass. You wanted to rekindle what was left of our relationship. It worked for you in New York,” I said with a tight smile. “Only this time, it’s too late.”

  He nodded. “That’s partly the reason. I also brought you here to see the cottage. It’s for sale.”

  “Why would that matter to us, Chris?”

  “We’ve always had so much fun at the Palmer’s with the boys. You love it here. I thought if we bought it, we could spend more time away together, I’d have a chance to…” he trailed off and looked away from my penetrating stare.

  “Win me back?” I inserted for him. “I’m afraid it’s too late.”

  His mouth turned into an unpleasant snarl. “We’re supposed to grow old together, Jen. The thought of you…with…anyone else…you may as well eviscerate me. It would be less painful.”

  “Don’t worry. You managed to give me a taste of my own medicine last night. I guess that’s why they say the truth hurts. The only thing is, you’ve carried that secret all this time and yet you still treated me as the only one breaking our marriage vows.”

  “It didn’t mean anything.”

  “I’ve said the same thing.”

  “It’s different and you know it.”

  “No, it really isn’t.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hypocritical man talk.”

  “Do you know why it’s different?” he asked as he got to his feet so quickly I almost missed the action.

  I sat up. Ready to defend myself if need be. “I’m curious.”

  His finger was in my face. “Because I can honestly say that the entire time she was getting me off, I was pretending it was you. You were my fantasy woman that night. It’s always been you,” he said with all the bluster in the beginning that quickly went to a softer tone by the end. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t go from having you whenever I wanted to not having you at all. When we lost the baby, I lost you. You shut everyone out.”

  “I’m sorry my depression made you cheat,” I said facetiously.

  “That’s not what I meant! Damn it! That’s not what I said!” he yelled vehemently.

  I swung my legs off the bed and stood up to go toe to toe with him. That was when my sock-covered toes actually made contact with his solid hiking boot and stars came into my line of vision. I cursed wildly while hopping around on one foot.

  Chris took hold of my shoulders to steady me. “What are you doing?!?”

  “I stubbed my motherfucking toe on your goddamn bed last night. You know, when you scared the hell out of me with your noises from the porch while you were getting shitfaced?” I yelled hotly.

  Chris pushed me back to the bed and forced me to take a seat. He gave me a quelling look when I began to argue. I held my tongue.

  “Give me your foot,” he ordered as he knelt in front of me.

  I hesitated, scowling at him long enough to make him grab it and basically force it up on his own. He pulled my ankle sock off and inspected my toes.

  “I think it’s broken,” he stated with conviction.

  I tried pulling it away. “No. It’s just sore.”

  He touched the tip of my middle toe, wiggled it a little causing me to almost launch myself off the bed as I cursed like a sailor again. “Jen, it’s grotesquely bruised and swollen.”

  “It’s a sprain. Now let go of my damn foot,” I hissed.

  But Chris wasn’t intimidated by my tone. “Let me just move it again to make sure.”

  I whipped my foot away. “That doesn’t prove anything, you jackass! A sprain is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, too. Jesus!”

  Chris took a deep breath steeling himself up for his next move. He was up, reached for my waist, and took a hold of me. If he thought I was in the mood, he was sorely mistaken. I told him so. Despite my protests and flailing arms (some of the flailing making decent contact with his body,) he lifted me up into a fireman’s hold and carried me out of the room and down the stairs. It would have been impressive if I wasn’t so pissed.

  Once we arrived on the first floor, he grabbed
his keys without struggling with his load, and announced, “I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

  “Noooo! For God’s sake, Christopher! Put me down!”

  It was ridiculous really. I told him that. I told him it was a complete waste of time, but he insisted with such intensity, I simply settled into the passenger seat and kept my mouth closed until we arrived at Schuyler Hospital. I refused to be carried in and made my way to the ER limping along in my socks. The heat from the blacktop probably giving the bottoms of my feet second degree burns with each blistering step.

  My anger didn’t abate while I sat for nearly an hour and half waiting to be seen. When the middle-aged, female physician finally arrived, she greeted me with an introduction and an apology. Chris was an unwanted spectator. I told him several times to stay in the waiting area. He refused even though I told him I didn’t need him. Ever. His intrusion between doctor and patient went even further when he took it upon himself to answer the physician’s question about how it happened.

  First, my husband laughed heartily capturing the woman’s attention and then he offered, “Well, you see, Dr. Kingsley,” he paused before clapping me on the back good naturedly, “She was so excited to join me in the master bedroom last night, she rushed in and stubbed her toe. I think it’s broken and needs medical attention, but my wife didn’t want to spend time in the ER because it would detract away from our special weekend.” He then stroked my arm while giving me a devilish wink. “Right, muffin?”

  I was speechless. I stared at him while my brain wrestled with what I needed to do first; give in to the urge to bludgeon Chris or pay attention to the now smirking doctor.

  Instead of answering her, she must have confused my livid silence with embarrassment because she said to me, “You hit it pretty hard, did you?”

  “Yes,” I replied through clenched teeth. “But I’m fine. Really. It’s not like you can cast it anyway if it is.”

  She narrowed her eyes while maintaining the smirk and said, “Why don’t you allow me to make the diagnosis since you’re here and all?” She looked at my chart before reaching for my left foot. “I’m going to remove your sock and take a look.”