Thirty people attended the brunch reception at Uncle Henry’s house. Those who didn’t care for mimosas had lumumbas made from brandy and chocolate milk. Grace appeared to have more fun than anyone. There were few enough people that she managed to talk with everyone long enough to find out about them. With Grace few things were about her.
During our moment she said, “I wish Mr. Henry could have been here today. I loved him.”
“He loved you too. You gave him great joy in his last months.”
“You know, he told me my leukemia was cured.”
“He did?”
“Yes, one day in the library he put his hands on my head and prayed for me. He said, ‘Dear God, You have promised that if we ask according to Your will, whatever we ask will be done. I know that it is not Your will that this child should have leukemia. I am asking You to cure her of this disease.’ When he finished, he said to me, ‘Gracie, you believe that you are cured.’ Every day after that, when we prayed, he thanked God for curing me.”
Grace and Grady honeymooned on St. Eustatius, a tiny island in the Caribbean. When the travel agent suggested they might want to try someplace else due to hurricane season, Grace told her she wasn’t worried about hurricanes. God wouldn’t ruin her honeymoon, and He didn’t. The hurricane hit three days after she got home.
That Thanksgiving Mary wanted the family to come home, so that is what they did. She invited Jessie and Bill too, but they had planned a trip to Europe. Jessie had only been to England, and Bill wanted to show her other places he had visited. Jon and I took the opportunity to visit his parents in Sarasota.
Mary did well for six months. Then she developed back pain. Scans showed that her cancer had metastasized to her spine. She stayed with Jeff and Elaine while she had radiation to her back lesions. This gave her good pain relief for a few weeks, but by the time Erin got home from college, she had liver metastases as well. She decided against more chemotherapy, which she thought would make her feel worse even if it gave her more time. She wanted her last summer with Erin to be as good as possible. They went through all of Mary’s photographs and made scrapbooks. Mary told Erin stories about ancestors that she had never met.
Elaine came for a prenatal visit on June 28. She was thirty-nine weeks by dates and by ultrasound, which also confirmed a footling breech presentation. When I came into the exam room, Elaine sat patting the baby’s head, which rested just beneath her heart.
“It looks like the position hasn’t changed,” I said.
“No, the little head is still pushing on my stomach.”
“Your ultrasound showed that you have a fibroid tumor just above the cervix. I think that is keeping the baby from turning, and I don’t want you to go into labor with the baby in this position.”
“Why not?”
“Because there is a risk of having a prolapsed cord which is very dangerous for the baby.”
“What do we do?”
“A Caesarean section before labor begins.”
“When?”
“What are you doing Wednesday afternoon?”
“Having a baby?”
“Works for me.”
“Could you tie my tubes at the same time?”
“It’s easy. Only adds five minutes to the procedure, but what if something happens to this baby?”
“Something can always happen. There is never a guarantee, but we have enough, and I would not ask Jeff to do the vasectomy again.”
On Wednesday, even Mary and Erin came with George to be present for the birth of Jeff and Elaine’s second little girl and last child. While they waited, Erin showed the family one of the scrapbooks she had made with her mother. Jessie looked at the old photos with pleasure; some of them had been hers. Ellen missed it as she was even more ill.
The University of Pittsburgh called on July 5—they had a liver for Ellen. Jessie and Bill drove Ellen and Joshua through the night to Pittsburgh so that Ellen could be there for surgery the next morning. For someone who had the most complicated pregnancy possible, Ellen had the most uncomplicated liver transplant. The surgical procedure was uncomplicated as was her postoperative course, and she tolerated her antirejection drugs well. Jessie and Bill found a furnished apartment where they could all stay for the six weeks after Ellen got out of the hospital. She had to have frequent follow-up and so could not go home to Lexington immediately. Jessie stayed to oversee Ellen’s nursing care, and Bill stayed to be with Jessie.
Erin decided to take a semester off from college so she could be with her mother. As soon as Jessie came home from Pittsburgh, she was off to Washington to help Erin care for Mary.
“I wonder what I would have done if I hadn’t retired,” Jessie said on one of her brief trips back to Lexington.
Mary Green died late in the day, September 26, 1999. Visitation for family and friends was held at the funeral home three days later. Jon and I drove to Washington for that. I watched Jessie in amazement as she made decisions and watched for the needs of Erin as well as her own children. They had all loved Mary. Bill Tarter and Martha Green provided the most support for George, who seemed to be going through life in slow motion. Almost everyone in the small community came to the funeral home that night to offer their condolences.
On the way home, Jon said, “It was wonderful how the whole community turned out for George and the family. I guess there are advantages to living in a small town.”
Jeff invited his whole family for Thanksgiving, and Jessie helped Elaine prepare the food. Uncle Henry’s antique dining room table had the last leaf added. In addition to Jeff, Elaine, Sara, and baby Mollie, Jessie, Bill, Ellen, Joshua, Carl Henry, Grace, Grady, Jon and me, we were joined by George, Erin, and Martha, who had not yet shared this feast at Uncle Henry’s table.
I looked around the table and wondered at the suffering, love, and forgiveness it had taken to bring them all to this place. I watched Martha listen as Erin talked about going back to school in January. I realized that while Jessie would keep her promise to Mary and treat Erin like the rest of her children, Aunt Martha was likely to be special for Erin like Uncle Henry had been for me.
I watched as George placed his hand on Carl Henry’s shoulder and gave him a loving pat as he talked about living in Boston. I wondered if George appreciated the irony that his only grandchild who could carry on his family name was Carl Henry.
After Jeff offered thanks, he said that Jessie had an announcement to make. Martha, Erin, and George all looked at her anxiously, as though something else terrible was going to be announced. When Jessie said, “I declare this the opening of the eating season,” we all laughed.
What seemed like a perfect day was made more perfect when at four o’clock in the afternoon, Grace said, “I think I need to go to the hospital.” A caravan followed her.
Grady went to the office to admit Grace while I accompanied her to Labor & Delivery. I could not imagine that Grace would be ready to deliver; she was thirty-four years old and pregnant for the first time, but this was Grace. Her cervix was completely dilated, the baby’s head was at a plus-two station, and the membranes were bulging. During my exam her water broke, and with the next contraction some dark hair was visible as she pushed.
“We’re going to have a baby soon,” I said. I took a quick trip to the waiting room to tell the family they would not be waiting long. I looked through the window as I approached and was stopped still. There, seated at the table in the middle of the room, was Jessie with George on one side and Bill on the other. They had settled to look at the scrapbooks they had made. Jessie had one for each of her children; Bill brought Elaine’s, and George brought the ones that Mary had made after she became ill. All of the children, spouses, and grandchildren stood around them and looked over their shoulders. They talked and laughed as they looked at the old photos and clippings.
“Grace labored while we ate Thanksgiving dinner,” I said as I opened the door. “She’s completely dilated and pushing. We’ll have a baby soon.”
&nb
sp; My trip to the waiting room almost caused me to miss the delivery. When I got back to the labor room, one nurse had Grace trying to blow over her contractions and not push; one nurse was on the phone paging me, and still another nurse rushed around trying to get the room ready for delivery. One look showed me that their effort was futile; Grace was ready whether the room was or not.
“Grace, push gently,” I said. With bare hands I controlled delivery of the head as she pushed out a screaming, healthy baby. While she held their daughter in her arms, Grady arrived from admissions in time for the birth of their son. Grace was fertile.
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I owe a debt of gratitude to my patients who have taught me much of life and love, not to mention medicine. In this work of fiction I have tried to show some of the compassion I feel for them in their real suffering.
I am grateful to my editor, Angie Kiesling. This is a better novel because of her. My gratitude goes to all of the staff at Morgan James Publishing, but especially to Terry Whalin, the acquisitions editor who first believed in me and helped get my manuscript accepted.
At the risk of leaving out some very important people, I need to name a few for whom I am particularly grateful. Ted Andrew Purcell, a talented designer and my nephew, helped with the concept and design of the front cover. I appreciate his contribution and willingness to listen as I talked about my story.
My beautiful and talented cousin, the late Nancy Henry Chadwick, was very supportive and encouraging as I struggled with lack of confidence in my ability to complete this project. She was a better writer than I will ever be, and she was the person who said she wanted to know more after reading the first page.
Carroll Hunt Rader, an author, editor, and my friend, was a great source of encouragement and the first person to read the whole manuscript. I am grateful for her support and practical writing advice. I am also grateful to Janet and Steve Bly who were mentors in my writing apprenticeship.
Others of my family, friends, book club, needlepoint group, yoga class, prayer group, and church family have helped in many different ways. Thank you one and all. May each of you have honey from the thistles in your life!
Saving Jane Doe Page 22