Sarah moved quickly to implement her early morning routine. Anna knew the drill: crib for a few minutes with a favorite bunny while her mother disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower. Once the shower was done, Anna got to crawl around the apartment while Sarah filled her diaper bag with supplies and goodies for the day’s adventures. Sarah threw on some jeans and a sweater before she dressed Anna from her repository of baby gifts. Today was a purple fleece outfit from Aunt Ellen and Uncle Max. She tied the laces on the baby’s sneakers — a gift from Doris — and put Anna on her hip. They stopped at the refrigerator for the insulated breakfast bag that she’d packed the night before. Sarah nuked the bottle to take out the chill, and then tucked it in the bag’s side pocket. Coats on — and then they set off. Sarah put the diaper bag on the stair lift and walked down the two flights, right hand on the railing, left arm holding Anna tight.
Sarah got the baby in the stroller, which they kept locked to the railing of the basement stairs. She stowed her bags in its storage racks just as a neighbor came down the stairs. He held open the doors, allowing her to negotiate the stroller through the entry foyer. Sarah and the baby emerged onto the dark street at 6:25 and headed west. The radio hadn’t lied. The wind was calm. There was a glimmer of light emerging from the east. When they got to Lexington Avenue they headed north.
Along the way Sarah noticed little bundles on the sidewalk — plastic grocery bags filled with leaves. She had to smile as she thought of the enormous plastic bags her father needed every autumn when their massive maple and oak trees let go of their leaves. As a child, she had reveled in those leaves. When she had been drafted as a teenager to help her father gather them into huge piles, she had cursed them. City born and raised, Anna would have to depend on weekend visits to her grandparents’ house for opportunities to jump into a mound of dry, crackling leaves. On the other hand, she’d likely never spend a Saturday afternoon raking until blisters formed. Such were the pluses and minuses of a childhood in the city.
She stopped at the cafe on her route and got a paper and a large dark-roast coffee to go. She stowed the paper and put the coffee in the cup holder before proceeding west to Central Park. The light was quickly changing. She hurried to get to her favorite bench so she and Anna could take in the sunrise over breakfast. As they arrived at their destination, Sarah organized their morning repast. Anna watched her every move, kicking her legs in excitement as she saw her mother open the container of yogurt. Sarah alternated a spoonful of yogurt for the baby with a sip of her coffee. The next course was Cheerios on the tray so Anna could pick them up one at a time while her mother enjoyed a yogurt of her own.
These early morning breakfast picnics were savored by mother and baby alike, but their days were numbered. The Indian summer they’d enjoyed would inevitably come to an end. But even if, by some miracle, the weather remained mild, the outdoor breakfasts would cease when the calendar year drew to a close. Two more months. That’s all the time they had together before Sarah went back to work full time. Just the thought of it gave her pause. It wasn’t the prospect of being elbow deep in legal work that sobered her. On the contrary: Part of her was itching to get back to the office, to have a reason to wear the suits hanging in her closet and to work with Harry and Doris again. What troubled her was the idea of being away from Anna for so many hours every day. She wondered if she was entering into a bargain with the devil in order to regain her professional life.
She and Rick had talked about getting a nanny to come care for the baby, but he felt uncomfortable handing his daughter off to a stranger who would be alone with her all day. He preferred a setting where Anna would be around other children, with lots of adult oversight. The hospital’s childcare center had an opening in their one-year-olds’ class after the first of the year. They’d visited in October. It was clean, bright and institutional. Sarah had to take a deep breath every time she thought of Anna being there from morning until night. One saving grace was that Rick could drop by for lunch every day. Another was that Grandma Eva had arranged her spring teaching schedule so that she could watch Anna on Fridays.
Sarah felt like their little family was on the cusp of a big change. Next month they’d be moving to a two-bedroom apartment on the eleventh floor in the building next to Jeff’s. It was an elevator building and the location was great for Rick. But she’d miss her apartment where their baby had been conceived and their love affair had begun. Still, there were practical considerations. The new apartment was larger, closer to daycare and the hospital. The elevator would make climbing stairs optional — an alternative form of exercise on bad-weather days when a run by the river was less than ideal. And of course, if Devorah moved to New York to be with Jeff — which apparently was under discussion — Sarah might soon be living on the same block as her best friend. By any objective measure, the benefits of the move outweighed the drawbacks. Still, she would miss that one-bedroom walk-up.
Then there was the question of more children. On their honeymoon Rick had suggested that they stop using birth control and “live dangerously.” That had made Sarah laugh until she cried. So far their dangerous living had resulted in nothing more than two ordinary menstrual cycles. Sarah knew it sometimes took normal women months to conceive. But her reproductive tract was anything but normal. What if Anna was, as Devorah had said, a miracle baby? What if there was never another child for her and Rick?
The baby brought Sarah’s brooding to a halt. She was demanding to get out of the stroller. Anna loved to “walk” between her mother’s legs while Sarah held her hands. This, too, was part of their morning routine. This morning Anna was more emphatic than usual about getting up and out. As Sarah lowered her to the ground, Anna stood motionless without reaching out for her mother’s hands. Then, with great concentration, she moved her right foot forward, then her left and then fell on her bottom. She wasn’t down long. She clambered to her feet and then, holding her arms out for balance, took several steps before landing on her derriere once more. Sarah called to Anna and stepped back a few feet. The baby got up, and this time made it all the way to her waiting mother. When she arrived at her destination, she received a welcome worthy of so great an achievement.
Sarah couldn’t wait to share the news with Rick, their parents and Bubbe Rivka. But that would have to wait. It was a little early to phone them, even about something as exciting as this. For the moment, Sarah would hold on to her delicious secret. As the sun rose above the buildings east of the park, Sarah knew that whatever else happened, she had a daughter who could walk. And that was no mean feat.
Acknowledgements
Many of us have friends or family members who have suffered when unable to have a child; some have experienced that agony firsthand. Infertility’s pervasiveness does little to reduce its sting. Fertility, a labor of love, has allowed me to explore the many dimensions of a rich, fruitful life, one of which springs from having and raising children.
Being able to cultivate bonds with other human beings is a kind of fertility. At the outset of the novel, our main characters, Rick and Sarah, are paragons of professional success. Despite their many accomplishments, their personal lives are anything but rich or fruitful. They have each erected protective walls to keep at bay anyone hoping to get close, allowing them to live safe — if barren — lives. But as their story unfolds, both Sarah and Rick are forced to slowly tear down those walls. The dismantling process is painful, and they become vulnerable to both the dangers and possibilities that intimacy can bring. Theirs was a story I enjoyed telling.
As I wrote Fertility I had the help of early readers. Melanie Novello, Cindy Seltzer Pollard, Joan Cappione, Kathy Kelly and Elsa Wilson generously shared their astute feedback. I am indebted to my old friend, Cynthia Frankel, for her careful reading of multiple drafts. She is a proofreader par excellence. Without the insights of my dear colleague and friend, Susan DeWinter, Sarah and Rick’s journey would have taken a different path. Her appraisal and analysis of an early draft was our
last substantive conversation before her untimely death. Fertility is a better book for her thoughtful critique. Erica Midkiff’s excellent copy editing skills and acumen improved the manuscript beyond measure.
To write with some authority about medicine and the law, I sought help from experts in both of those fields. Many thanks to attorneys Alan Kusnitz, Cathy Frankel, Grant Gelberg and Vincent Capuano for helping me learn about the working life of an ambitious law associate. Drs. Marguerite Uphoff and Harris Gelberg assisted in my understanding of the ramifications of heparin overdoses in infants. Pharmacist Joseph Muench offered his expertise on the workings of a busy hospital pharmacy. Shelley Dillon, a floor nurse in a university hospital, provided insights into the bedside care of severe trauma victims.
Finally, I gained an understanding of the physics that can lead to disaster when a heavy object falls from a height of twenty stories from my husband, Charlie Wilson. His doctorate in plasma physics notwithstanding, his clear, simple explanation — replete with diagrams — made it possible for me to describe the accident that turns the lives of our protagonists upside-down.
Of course, I take full responsibility for any errors in my portrayal of law, medicine and physics that appear in this book.
Lastly, I am indebted to my mother, Rebecca Gelberg. The idea for this novel came shortly before her ninetieth birthday celebration. She was the Rivka of my life and her spirit was a constant presence throughout the writing of Fertility. It is to her that I dedicate it.
Denise Gelberg
Ithaca, New York
Author Bio
Writer, teacher, Brooklyn native, Ivy League Ph.D. in labor relations, gardener, wife and mother are some fitting descriptors of Denise Gelberg. Since leaving the classroom in 2006, she has devoted herself to writing about the things that occupy her thoughts during long swims and runs. An advocate for children, she has written about the current state of education reform in the United States, including the book The “Business” of Reforming American Schools (SUNY Press). Fertility is her debut novel.
Denise Gelberg lives with her husband and two dogs — Sophie, a standard poodle and Rowdy, an aptly named wire fox terrier — on fourteen acres of rolling hillside ten miles west of Ithaca, New York.
Contents
Title page
Yiddish Terms
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Acknowledgements
Author Bio
Fertility: A Novel Page 35