“Oh, that’s very good, sweetheart. Definitely a good sign. Do you know what hospital they brought her to?”
“Yes, I have all the particulars written down. Just come home so we can go and be with her.”
“Eva?” Joseph hesitated to ask. “What about the baby?”
“The nurse had no information on the baby. Joe, if anything happens to it I’ll never forgive myself. I was so angry at first. Now I’ve come to love that baby.”
“I know, Eva. I know. We both have,” Joseph said in an almost confessional tone. “I’ll be home as fast as I can.”
“Joe, maybe it would be better if someone drove us into the city. Neither of us will be able to concentrate on the road.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll see if I can find someone in the lab.”
“Joe?” Eva said, almost in a whisper.
“Yes, Eva.”
“What if it turns out badly?”
“We can’t think that way, Eva. Sarah’s a strong girl, a runner, a swimmer. Look, I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay, Joe.”
“Good-bye, sweetheart.”
Joseph hung up and put his head in his hands, giving himself permission to be scared for just a moment. He longed for the time when Sarah was young, when he could keep her safe. He’d been helpless on that front for a long time now.
Bob Fong, his colleague and friend, gently asked, “Is there something I can do?”
Joseph looked up and saw the concern on his face. “Sarah’s been in an accident. Some sort of construction accident in the city. I’ve got to pick up Eva and go to the hospital.”
“Could I drive you and Eva into the city? Let me deal with the rush-hour traffic. I’d like to help.”
“Oh, that would please Eva. She suggested that someone drive us in. Thank you, Bob. Thank you very much.”
* * *
Bob, Joseph and Eva were surprised by the good time they made. Perhaps the frigid temperatures had kept people at home, or sent them scurrying to the warmth of a Metro North train car. Whatever the reason, the traffic kept moving and in thirty-five minutes, Bob Fong was driving into the circle in front of the hospital’s main entrance. He dropped off his passengers and left to search out a space in a nearby parking garage.
Eva and Joseph hurried through the revolving door of the lobby, fumbled to find their licenses to provide picture ID for the security guard and headed straight to the plump, middle-aged Hispanic woman at the information desk.
“We’re looking for information on our daughter,” Joseph said urgently. “Sarah Abadhi, A-B-A-D-H-I.” Spelling out “Abadhi” was a family tradition, since nine out of ten people couldn’t guess the correct spelling of the Hungarian surname.
“Abadhi. Let me see.” She scanned the computer screen in front of her. “Your daughter is in surgery.”
It was as though someone had run an electrical current through Eva’s body. “Surgery?” she asked. “What type of surgery?”
“I don’t have that information. I’m sorry. But they’ll be able to tell you more at the surgical waiting room on the second floor. The elevators are down the hall. Take any elevator to the surgical wing,” the woman said in a calm, friendly way.
“Should we wait for Bob?” Eva asked Joseph.
“No, he’ll figure it out. Let’s go.”
* * *
The surgical waiting room was large and bright, furnished with teak-framed armchairs and sofas. As Joseph and Eva hurried toward the information desk, they passed a host of distractions for the loved ones of those under the knife: several flat-screen televisions, coffee and tea carafes, Internet stations, local newspapers and stacks of magazines.
They introduced themselves to the older white gentleman manning the desk. “We’re the parents of Sarah Abadhi. We were told downstairs that she’s in surgery. Is that correct?” Joseph asked.
The man looked at his clipboard and seemed unable to find a match. Once again, Joseph spelled out the family name.
“Oh, Abadhi. I was looking under the Os. Sorry. Yes, she is in surgery with Dr. Gotbaum.”
Eva blurted out, “What kind of doctor is he?”
“Why, he’s an orthopedic surgeon, and a damn fine one, from what I hear,” the man responded cheerily. Looking further at his clipboard he added, “I see here that your daughter is being operated on for fractures of the right leg.”
Both Eva and Joseph breathed a sigh of relief. It was her leg, not her head, her spine or an essential organ that was injured. The fact that the man had high praise for the surgeon was a bonus.
Joseph asked, “Do you have any information on the baby? Our daughter was nearly due to deliver our grandchild.”
The man flipped to a previous page on the clipboard and then looked up with a smile. “Well, I see congratulations are in order. Your granddaughter was delivered by Dr. Hanna before Dr. Gotbaum began his surgery.”
Eva and Joseph didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They embraced each other, fighting back tears. Finally, Eva asked, “Can we see our granddaughter?” It felt strange and thrilling to utter the words “our granddaughter.”
“Well, she’s been taken to the neonatal unit on the fifth floor. If you want to head over there, give me your cell number and I’ll let Dr. Gotbaum know when he’s out of surgery.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you so much,” Eva said, amazed to be feeling joy mingled with her fright.
They jotted down their cell numbers and left for the neonatal unit. On the way, they ran into Bob as he emerged from the elevator.
“Sarah’s in surgery, Bob. And apparently, they delivered the baby already. I guess we’re grandparents,” Joseph said bashfully, looking at Eva and smiling.
Bob extended his hand to Joseph and kissed Eva on the cheek. “Congratulations to you both. Boy or girl?”
“It’s a little girl. That’s all we know. We’re on our way to the neonatal unit. Please, come,” Eva said. “We’re scared, we’re happy. We don’t know what we are. We could use someone who’s thinking straight. Bob, that will have to be you.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” he said with a little grin.
The new grandparents and their appointed voice of reason took the elevator to the fifth floor and followed the signs to Maternity. The three expected to find a nursery filled with row after row of healthy, swaddled infants in clear plastic tubs — the way babies were displayed when their children were born. But healthy newborns had long since started rooming with their mothers. The only nursery to be found was the neonatal intensive care nursery. A young, African-American receptionist — not much more than a teenager — sat at a desk outside the NICU.
Joseph spoke first. “We were told at the surgical waiting room that our granddaughter had been brought to the neonatal unit. Is this the right place?”
“What name would the baby be under?” the young woman asked.
Eva and Joseph looked questioningly at one another. Sensing their uncertainty, the receptionist jumped into the void. “Generally we use the mother’s last name for the baby while it’s in the hospital. It makes record keeping easier.”
“Oh,” Joseph said. “It’s Abadhi, A-B-A-D-H-I.”
The young woman entered the name into her computer and looked up with a smile. “Yes, your granddaughter was admitted to the intensive care unit about half an hour ago.”
Jubilant just moments before, the new grandparents were again filled with dread. Bob stepped in. “What’s the baby’s condition, if I may ask?”
The receptionist scanned her screen. “According to the information available to me, her condition is satisfactory. If you like, I can get the doctor or the baby’s nurse to tell you more.”
Eva jumped at the offer. “Oh, that would be so good of you. We would so appreciate talking to someone who can tell us about our baby. Thank you so much.”
While keeping an eye on the jittery people on the other side of her desk, the receptionist called into the NICU to summon someone to
meet with Baby Abadhi’s family.
“Someone will be out in a few minutes to talk with you. We have coffee and tea in the waiting room. It’s just down the hall and to the right. Please help yourself.”
Eva realized she hadn’t gone to the bathroom since long before Reginald Washington’s call. She ducked into the ladies’ room, and the power of suggestion led the men to find their way into the men’s room. More comfortable on one level, they all met at the cheerfully decorated waiting room.
Bob made himself a cup of tea. Then, seeing his friends’ agitation, he tried to blunt their worst fears by touting the hospital’s excellent reputation. As he was sharing the story of his brother’s successful knee replacement performed at the hospital, a tall, slender, gray-haired man in a white coat came into the waiting room. All three got to their feet.
“I’m Bart Feinberg, your granddaughter’s doctor.” He shook hands firmly with Eva, Joseph and Bob.
Joseph made the requisite introductions and then gave voice to the question foremost in each of their minds. “How is the baby, Dr. Feinberg?”
Eva held her breath and said a silent prayer.
“Your granddaughter was born by Cesarean section a little over an hour ago. She was immediately able to breathe on her own. Her color was good and she scored well on the tests we put every newborn through. She weighed in at a hefty eight pounds, one ounce, which for my practice is a bruiser. She was brought to the NICU as a precaution because of the unusual circumstances that preceded her birth.”
Eva allowed herself to exhale, then took the doctor’s hand in her own and patted it. “Oh, that’s the best news I’ve heard today. You mean to say, she’s doing well?”
“Very well, indeed. And if she continues to do well, I anticipate moving her out of the NICU tomorrow.”
Joseph’s response was more cautious than his wife’s. “We’re not privy to the extent of our daughter’s — the baby’s mother’s — injuries. What effect do you think they’ve had on the little one?”
“It’s my understanding that your daughter’s injuries were confined to her leg, her lower leg I believe. She had some blood loss and was given a unit of whole blood before the baby was born. Your daughter’s injuries seemingly have not affected the baby. There were no signs she was in distress in utero. Right now she’s pink, she’s responsive and she has a good, strong sucking reflex. Everything we like to see in a newborn.”
“So it’s your best guess that the baby wasn’t hurt by the accident?” Joseph persisted.
“She is apparently well and indistinguishable at this point from a healthy newborn whose mother did not suffer trauma before birth,” the doctor said, hedging his bets by the use of “apparently.”
Now it was Eva’s turn. “So, Doctor, when can we see the baby and hold her? A baby should be held and kept close. Don’t you think? I’m no neonatologist; I’m just a mother…and, I guess, now a grandmother too,” she said, pleased at the thought.
“You’re absolutely right. Skin-to-skin contact is very important for newborns. And the bonding between the baby and her family is as important as her medical care. I believe the staff is done with all the admission procedures that are our normal protocol here in the NICU. Assuming you’re currently well and not fighting off any communicable illnesses, I think we can arrange a visit right now if you’re ready,” the doctor offered.
“We’re healthy. As for ready, oh yes, I’m ready.” Eva looked at Joseph, who nodded his okay. “Yes, we’re ready.”
Bob didn’t want to intrude on his friends’ introduction to their first grandchild. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll head down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich. I’d also like to call home and let Irma know the good news about the baby. Can I bring either of you anything?”
“Not right now, Bob. But thanks. Thanks for being here. It means so much to us both,” Eva said.
“Let me echo Eva’s sentiments. We appreciate all of your help,” Joseph said. “And if you could, would you check again on Sarah — just in case the message didn’t get through to the surgeon on our whereabouts?”
“Sure. That’s a good idea, Joseph. I’ll let you know if there’s any news.”
Dr. Feinberg led Eva and Joseph into a room adjoining the NICU, where they could wash their hands and put on yellow paper gowns and masks. As they were about to enter the NICU, the doctor turned to them both and said, “By the way, before your daughter was put under anesthesia, she told the orthopedic surgeon that if the baby was a girl, it was to be named Anna.”
Joseph stood motionlesss. Anna was his mother, a woman who had witnessed the slaughter of her first husband and children in a Nazi concentration camp. Because she was tall and strong she had been allowed to live as a slave laborer. Taunted mercilessly by the guards for her strength and stamina, she had been made to strip naked in the dead of winter in front of all the other slave workers — so she could prove she was a woman. Now the good Dr. Feinberg was about to introduce Joseph and Eva to another Anna Abadhi, a fresh, new life, but one that was already marked by trauma and survival.
Once in the brightly lit, noisy NICU, Eva and Joseph could hardly believe the size of the babies they passed. Some of the infants would fit in Joseph’s hand. Others were the size of full-term newborns, but were attached to life-sustaining ventilators and nasal tubes. As they came to the last incubator — or “open warmer,” as the doctor referred to it — they saw a sleeping, relatively large baby wearing a white knitted cap and diaper. It had a little round belly with a newly tied umbilicus. Electrodes were attached to the baby’s chest, delivering information on her vital signs. The baby was asleep on her back with her arms splayed at her sides, blissfully unaware of the hum and activity of the NICU.
“Let me introduce you to your granddaughter, Anna,” Dr. Feinberg said. “If you’d like to pull over some chairs, we’ll have Anna in your arms in no time.”
Joseph spotted two free chairs and dragged them simultaneously across the room. Dr. Feinberg swaddled the sleeping newborn in a white receiving blanket and placed her in her waiting grandmother’s arms. Eva and Joseph were mesmerized by the perfect baby.
Being jostled from her comfortable, climate-controlled open warmer made the baby stir. She opened her eyes, big round eyes — Sarah’s eyes — and stared at her grandmother’s face. That was almost too much for Eva.
“Look, Joe. Look at those eyes. Don’t they remind you of Sarah?”
“It’s uncanny, really. I feel like I’m looking at the newborn Sarah all over again.”
“Dr. Feinberg,” Eva asked, “would it be okay if we peeked under her hat to see her hair? Our daughter was born with bunches of thick black hair.”
“By all means. Take off the hat and check your granddaughter out.” As Eva slipped off the hat, she and Joseph started to laugh. It was clear that, at least in one respect, this baby was not a replica of her mother. Though she had bunches of hair, it was platinum blond.
“One can tell very little from a newborn’s hair color in terms of what its ultimate coloring will be,” Dr. Feinberg explained, trying to ward off any possible disappointment the new grandparents might have.
“Well,” Eva laughed, “I, for one, am rooting for blond. My mother and I were blonds. It’s clear that this baby is favoring my side of the family. A very intelligent choice,” she said while she gazed lovingly into the eyes of her granddaughter. “Good for you, Anna.”
The neonatologist always got a kick out of parents’ and grandparents’ search for likenesses in the newest member of their family. He marveled at how they latched onto the shape of a baby’s fingers or toes, how it made its fist, how it burped — if it burped — as signs that the infant belonged to their clan.
“Well,” the doctor said, “she may very well remain a blond, but then again, she may not. I wouldn’t bet the farm on it. But hair of any color is a wondrous thing, as far as I’m concerned.” He laughed, patting his bald spot.
“Just so,” Joseph agreed. “We’ll
love her no matter the color of her hair.” Just then, his cell phone rang.
The doctor jumped in before Joseph had a chance to answer it. “Oh, I’m sorry but you can’t use your cell in here,” he explained. “It interferes with our telemetry. But you can step outside the NICU anytime and use your phone there.”
“Oh, of course, I understand,” Joseph said apologetically, sending the call to voice mail. “I wasn’t thinking. It’s been quite a day.”
“Not to worry,” the doctor reassured. “Look, I’ve got some paperwork to get to before I head home. I want to reiterate that Anna is doing well. It’s my hope that we will be able to move her to the special-care nursery down the hall tomorrow morning.”
Joseph stood up and shook the doctor’s hand. “It’s been very nice to meet you. And thank you so much for being careful with the baby. In my own work — as well as in life — my philosophy is to err on the side of caution whenever in doubt. I very much appreciate your approach.”
“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Careful is our middle name. We know we have some pretty important patients, and that their families are counting on us,” he said, motioning to the fragile babies around the room. “We take our work seriously, but we love what we do. If all goes well, our payoff is a beautiful little kid. Not bad wages, I’d say.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Eva said, tearing up while rocking the baby from side to side.
The doctor and Joseph shook hands again before he left to face his pile of insurance forms and dictation. Joseph was anxious to get back to Bob to find out where they were in Sarah’s surgery.
“Eva, I’m going into the hallway to see what Bob has to say. If the surgery is over, would you rather stay here with the baby while I speak with the doctor by myself?”
Eva was torn. She didn’t want to let go of Anna. She was so sweet, drifting off and then opening her eyes and staring at her. On the other hand, Eva wanted to hear what the doctor had to say about Sarah’s injuries and the results of the surgery.
“Find out what Bob has to say. If the doctor is ready to meet with us now, I’ll leave with you. But if the surgery will go on a while longer, I’ll stay here with the baby. She shouldn’t be alone, Joe. If all was well, she’d be with Sarah now.”
Fertility: A Novel Page 18