Look at You Now

by Liz Pryor

  “It’s okay, I’m glad you’re here, so glad, Mom. And you’re not falling apart. You never do, you’ve held it together for so long.” She was likely the best winger-of-life on the continent. I could see sitting there next to her, she really was doing the best she could.

  We decided to go to the movies that day. Dorothy loved the movies. We walked into the small, musty theater in town and sat down to watch The Great Train Robbery. She whispered to me at least a dozen times, in a dozen different ways, how flawless a specimen of a man Sean Connery was. All I could do was laugh. We ate grilled cheese sandwiches and ice cream afterward. We talked about the twins, and her work, and the coming of spring. Dorothy loved springtime, the hope it brought and the chance for new beginnings. “You have your new beginning coming up here soon, Liz,” she said.

  When we pulled back into the facility parking lot, both of our spirits were better. “I almost forgot, I brought you something,” Dorothy said.

  “You did?”

  “Well, I felt so terrible, but I didn’t know what to get. So here …” She reached under the car seat and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. I burst out laughing.

  “Mom, are you kidding me?”

  “What? You didn’t think I knew you smoked?”

  “Well, I mean, I don’t know but …” For Dorothy to have brought me cigarettes meant that she obviously felt beyond horrible. I was a kid, and I was pregnant, and she thought nicotine was a wretched burden—she’d recently quit herself. The gesture was so absurd, it somehow made me feel better.

  “Thank you, Mom.”

  “One more thing, Liz.” She looked out at the sky and then dramatically turned and asked me, “Is there anything you can think of, anything at alllllllllllllll that I can do to make this easier on you? Other than not go on vacation again?”

  “Well … there is one thing that’s been on my mind.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m worried you won’t make it here to be with me when it comes time to have the baby. I’m very worried, actually.”

  She put her hand on her forehead and moaned.

  “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad, Mom. I’m just, I’m scared.”

  Dorothy sat up straight and enunciated her words. Which is what she did when she was trying to make a point. You never wanted her point to include the w-h words. She’d blow the sound hard and long: whhhhhhhhat, whhhhhhhhere, whhhhhhhhhy. She spoke loudly and clearly: “I will be here, no matter whhhhhhat. I will not miss it. You have my word of honor.” Her word of honor? She’d never given her word of honor to me. A person’s word of honor was the highest and most valued statement of promise in our family. She ingrained the concept in our heads when we were very young. It began when she and my dad went out at night, leaving the seven of us kids with some poor sitter. When she needed to trust us to do what she said, she’d put us on our word of honor. She’d make us say it back to her, and it always worked. It actually pissed me off when she asked for my word, as the years passed, because it meant I would have to do whatever it was I said I’d do. It was nonnegotiable.

  “Wow, okay, I know you’ll be here. Thank you, Mom.”

  She smiled. “I do love you, Liz.”

  I got out of the car and looked back at her. “Hey, Mom, next time I see you, this will almost be over,” I said. And I shut the car door. My heart was lighter as I walked back inside.

  • • • •

  It happened on a Thursday afternoon, almost three weeks later. I was sitting in my chair in the lounge watching the same card trick I’d seen a dozen times. I couldn’t figure out how Jill did it. I asked her to do it again and again and again, hoping I’d catch it. As she pulled my card out of the deck for the umpteenth time, I felt my stomach tighten. I put my hand on it. It tightened again super hard, as though there were a vise-grip turning too far in one direction, and my stomach was caught in it. I didn’t say anything at first, but after a while the gripping began to hurt, badly, and I started to freak out. It was here. This baby was finally coming. I leaned over the chair with an intense pain and held my breath, as though that might somehow relieve it.

  Jill calmly got up and led me to our room, where she tried like hell to keep me distracted. I was a shockingly horrific patient. She did everything she could to occupy me: cards, concentration, hangman, tic-tac-toe. By midnight, the pains were twelve minutes apart. The closer they got, the clearer it became. There was no way out. I was going to give birth to a person out of my vagina. I was scared to death. I told myself to get a grip, to calm down, to have faith, but it was completely useless.

  Jill had a pad and pen and moved the Snoopy clock onto the floor where she was trying to get me to play Battleship. She tracked, timed, and documented the labor pains like a statistician.

  “Liz … you’re okay!” she said every time I shrieked from the pain.

  “No, I’m not, it fucking hurts, Jill. I’m not kidding.”

  “I fucking believe you, but it’s supposed to hurt.”

  I winced.

  “Okay, you know what? You should pack your shit. Let’s pack it up, you’re almost outta here. You want outta here, remember that? It’ll give us something to do.”

  “Grab my suitcase,” I said. We began gathering my things. Jill was emptying the drawers until I said, “Wait … here. Just keep this stuff.” I handed her the maternity clothes, the towels, and the burner and pointed to the food.

  She smiled big. “Shit, I hit the jackpot.”

  “Yeah, people just kill for towels and maternity clothes, Jill.” She laughed. Then the pain got worse.

  “Owww, owwww,” I said. She stroked my hair.

  “You’re okay. Hey, I might have so much stuff I’ll have to get a new bag.”

  “Really? You’d actually get a new bag? Please let me give you my bag, my suitcase?”

  “No, you need it.”

  “Owww. No, I don’t. I can use the shopping bags from my dad. I’m gonna throw a fit right now if you don’t say yes.”

  “Okay, fine, fuck yes!” She put my suitcase down near her trash bag.

  A big pain came and I screamed, “FUCK SHIT FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER.”

  “Jesus, Liz. Try and breathe.” She sat me down on the bed. “You okay?”

  “NO, stop asking me that.”

  “Mean pregnant bitch.”

  The pain waned. I relaxed for a second and managed a smile. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. You’re a good reminder to not have fucking sex.” She pushed her bangs out of her face and her little red heart tattoo caught my eye. It was between her pointer finger and her thumb.

  “What’s the deal with the tattoo, Jill?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was just a stupid thing I did one night when I was kinda drunk. I’d just broken up with another asshole and got this idea to get a heart there to remind me that I don’t need a fuckin’ guy to love me. I don’t need anyone to love me. I guess it’s there to remind me just to like myself.”

  “Geez, Jill, that’s kinda deep.”

  “Well, I’m a deep person, Liz P.” She calmly got up and checked the clock on the floor. “I can’t believe you’re going. You’re gonna have this kid and leave here. I’m gonna miss the shit out of you.”

  I leaned over again and tried breathing loudly, but just ended up full-on shrieking in pain.

  “I’m getting Alice,” Jill said. “She has to call your mom. I’ll be right back.” I looked at the bags and guitar case leaning against the wall. The bed, where I’d cried myself to sleep so many nights. I scanned the room and took a photograph in my mind. It was a place, no matter what happened in my life, I knew I was never going to forget. I looked and saw my stuffed dog Henry’s ear sticking out from underneath the pillow. I grabbed him and held on to his leg. Alice and Jill came through the door. Jill was holding on to her stomach laughing.

  “Like her sleeping hat?” She pointed to Alice’s purple-and-black plastic hat that looked like a shower cap. Her pink polka-dotted robe had
a zipper all the way up the front. On her feet she had what looked like rubber rain boots that were covered in terry cloth. “She works at the circus at night, did you know that, Liz?”

  Alice folded her arms. “Well, this is what I get for gettin’ woken up at one in the morning. I already called your mom. She’s on her way.”

  “How long will it take her?”

  “Don’t you worry, she’ll be here. Looks like you’re ready to go.” Another pain hit hard. I squeezed the shit out of poor Henry. Alice and Jill came and helped me up off the bed. Alice stroked my hair and said, “Yeah, you’re ready.”

  When the two paramedic-looking nurse guys arrived with the wheelchair, I was suddenly overtaken with fear, to the point of wanting to throw up. Jill put her hands on my shoulders and said, “You can do this.” Then she grabbed a pen from the table and picked up my hand. She drew a little heart on it between my pointer finger and thumb and colored it in, so it looked just like hers. I looked down and smiled a little, and then hugged her hard. Just as I was about to leave, Wren came walking in in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

  “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, she is, Wren, it’s time,” Alice said.

  “I’ll never see you again, I know it. So bye,” Wren said.

  I smiled. “Bye, Wren, good luck with everything.”

  “Gonna suck without you, Liz,” Wren mumbled.

  Jill looked over at her. “Thanks a lot, Wren.”

  “See you, Jill …” I said.

  “Later, bitch,” she said, smiling.

  The nurse men wheeled me out of the lounge and headed through the dark tunnel toward the hospital. It felt like I was heading to the burning fires of hell. I was brought to a small room with no windows and told to change into a gown. My nausea took over and I threw up on the floor. A small, curt nurse with short blond hair handed me a barf pan and said, “Next time hit that.” She told me the doctor would be in to check me in a while. I sat on the plastic sheet covering the hospital bed with the gown on backward, so I could cover myself up. There was nothing I could do but scream when the pains came. I’d brace myself and try to breathe, and the breath would lead to a grunting, guttural shouting. I didn’t recognize what the hell was going on inside me. It felt like I’d hit a panic button I didn’t even know existed, and there was no shutting it off. My whole body was involved. The nurse came in and nearly yelled at me to be quiet. She turned the lights down, checked the barf bin, and said that I should try to sleep. I asked her for some water, and a while later she came in with ice chips in a plastic cup. She said if I drank water I might throw up again. I sucked on some ice chips and dozed in and out of my screams, convinced I might actually pass out from the pain. Pass out or possibly die. I prayed to God like I was on my deathbed, prayed to God to let me and the baby live. The clock on the wall read two-thirty; I was sure I would die by three A.M. At three-fifteen someone came in the door. I turned and saw Dorothy. She was wearing her blue peacoat with a red scarf. Her hair was messy, and she looked tired. I burst into tears.

  “I can’t do this, Mom, and I mean it, I can’t,” I said. And then a pain came. She threw her stuff on the chair and held my hand as I screamed through it. She rubbed my forehead, left the room, and came back with the nurse, who took my hand and tried to shove a thick needle into a vein on the top. She finally got it in, and I shrieked.

  “You need to calm yourself, young lady,” said the nurse. “That kind of shouting gets all the other women on the wing agitated.” I hated her, I hated me, I hated everything, and I didn’t care. The needle was to hook up an IV so I wouldn’t dehydrate. Dorothy sat in a chair next to the bed and held my hand, her other hand holding her forehead, staring down at the floor. Dr. Dick finally wandered in after a few more pains.

  “How far apart are they?” he asked. Dorothy attempted to introduce herself, but he ignored her. He sat down and put his gloves on. Dorothy answered for me. “About six minutes.” His hands went up me while I was having a contraction; I screamed and squeezed the shit out of Dorothy’s hand. “You could wait until the contraction is finished, Doctor,” Dorothy said. The doctor continued to try to kill me.

  “She’s at about four centimeters,” he said. “She’s got several more hours to go until this baby is ready, maybe six or even ten. Get her to quiet down, put a muzzle on her if you have to.” He turned toward me, “You need to get ahold of yourself.”

  Several more hours? Dorothy stepped in front of the door blocking him from being able to leave. He stood right in front of her, but she held her five-foot-two ground like a lion.

  “She is a young, frightened girl in enormous pain. Your behavior is inexcusable. Whhhhhhere were you when they taught bedside manner in medical school?” I winced and tried to stay quiet. “I hhhhhighly suggest you figure out a way to relieve her pain, so the screaming can cease, or she will have not only this floor but your entire hospital wondering which doctor is caring for the pregnant teenager who has been given nothing to help manage the pain.”

  Dr. Dick smiled arrogantly and left. When the next pain came, Dorothy stood up and said, “Scream, scream all you need, sweetheart. Do it, scream bloody murder if it makes it feel better.” The pain came on and I screamed bloody murder a few times. Dorothy covered her ears, and the nurse came running back in.

  “I suggest you get the doctor and give my daughter some drugs,” Dorothy said. Finally Dr. Dick came back in, several minutes later. He looked at my mom with surrender.

  “I am reluctant to give your daughter drugs. There is a chance they will slow down or even stop the labor. She doesn’t want to be here for three days, does she?”

  Dorothy suddenly resembled a wild dog. “YES … YES, she does if it will lessen the pain. SHE DOES! LOOK AT HER!” The doctor pointed to the IV and told the nurse to begin a flow of some drug and left the room. I started to feel woozy, and five minutes later I was convulsively throwing up. The nurse and Dorothy couldn’t get the barf pans in front of me fast enough. After an hour or so the vomiting stopped, and the pains felt slightly more manageable. I tried to breathe through them. Dorothy fed me ice chips and blotted my sweaty forehead. She dozed off a few times but was awoken every time the doctor checked me and I wailed in pain.

  By four P.M. the next day, almost twenty hours after the labor started, I had finally dilated to nine. The nurse and doctor stood at the end of the bed. The nurse was opening bags, readying the baby scale, and shaking bottles on a tray she’d wheeled in. They both had cloth masks over their faces. The doctor sat on the stool, pushed my legs apart, and said, “It’s time to push.” The nurse pulled a lever that made the bed fold up. My mom stood next to me and gritted her teeth. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t passed out from the pain yet. The pressure down below was so intense it felt as though it was going to blow the insides out of my body. I pushed as hard as I possibly could, again and again and again. And then I hit a point where my choice became to either push harder into what felt like a burning rage of fire, the kind of pain that is impossible to choose, or to ease up on pushing and return to the contractions that assured me I was going to die anyway. I chose to push one last time toward the fire. My eyes and face filled with blood and pressure.

  My mother kept her eyes on me and screamed, “Push, Liz, PUSH FOR GOD SAKES. Get it ouuuuuuttttt!”

  I heard the doctor say, “There it is, keep pushing.”

  I shrieked in pain as I felt the raging burn of fire, and then the baby’s body as it thrust out of me.

  “Okay, that’s it. It’s out, healthy … little small, but good,” Dr. Dick said. I looked down and saw something small and gooey-looking. I whispered with the greatest relief I’d ever felt, “It’s over, Doctor.” The doctor turned, handed the baby to the nurse, took the rubber gloves and mask off, and headed toward the door. The nurse walked over to the little table with the light. I could hear the baby crying. I lay back down, looked up at the ceiling, and smiled. My mother grabbed my hand.

  “Well d
one, Liz. Thank God, it’s over. Now, don’t look over there.”

  All I could think is: I didn’t die. Dorothy looked over at the nurse and in a slight Kate Hepburn voice asked, “Could you please go out of the room with the child now?”

  “I’m getting the vitals, ma’am. We’ll be out in a minute.” The baby was still crying. I looked over at the small steel table with the light and saw two little feet sticking up in the air. I smiled and knew I’d never see more than that, but it was enough. And then I burned the image in my mind, to stay with me forever.

  The nurse rolled the steel table toward the door. She turned toward me and said, “This one’s a real cutie.” And she left. I placed my hand over my stomach and stayed quiet on the bed for a long time. When I opened my eyes again, Dorothy was standing over me in her coat and scarf, with a tired smile.

  “You’ve been asleep awhile, honey.”

  “Mom, are you leaving? Why do you have your coat on?”

  “I wish I didn’t have to,” she said, “but I have to get back to the twins, and while you rest here I’ll rest at home. I’ll come right back first thing in the morning. There is a nurse who works upstairs on the third floor. Her name is Annie. She’s going to take you to a private room with a lot of space and big windows, where you can eat and rest and sleep tonight. Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  She leaned over and kissed my hair. “Goodbye, sweetheart, I’ll see you very soon.” She walked away and then closed the door behind her.

  • • • •

  The room was completely quiet. The tears slipped out the sides of my eyes, down my cheeks, as I lay perfectly still. And felt the inside of me begin to lighten. I did it. The baby lived and I lived. It was over. I lay alone for a long time in the dark quiet.

  • • • •

  “Liz?” A youngish-looking nurse peeked her head in the door. “How you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m Annie. I’m going to roll you out of here and take you upstairs, if you’re up for it? We can get you settled in a nice room, get some food in you.”