The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

by Kilpack, Josi S.

  I grabbed some socks and little knit caps, then one of those bouncy chairs for good measure. I did not think about buying two of everything to stock myself up; instead I thought only of December and what she would find helpful. When I passed the women’s sleepwear department, I chose a set of blue silk pajamas for December, size large, so that she’d have plenty of room to recover in them.

  She looked about the same when I got to the hospital except that the medication made it hard for her to focus her eyes, so she looked drugged. She said she’d slept, but then fell asleep as soon as I stopped talking. Lance came at almost noon, horrified he’d slept so late. I grabbed lunch in the cafeteria, called Paul and Stormy with an update, and walked around the hospital, feeling stir-crazy and wishing I had taken up knitting so I would have something to do. I’d never tended a bedside. It was very boring now that I was no longer terrified.

  I returned to the room in time to hear the tail end of the nurse’s conversation with Lance. “I’ve notified the doctor, and he’ll come in and talk to you both, but I just wanted you to be aware.”

  I picked up my pace and stepped into December’s view. Her eyes were wide and glassy. The nurse left as I hurried to December’s bedside. “What happened?”

  Lance repeated what the nurse had said: December’s blood pressure wasn’t responding as well as it had been yesterday and had been slowly increasing all day. They’d given her something different, but unless she showed marked improvement in the next hour, they were going to have to induce labor.

  Lance and I both assured December she would be fine. I pointed out a few situations I knew of where babies had come early and everything had turned out great. December, who had kept things together so well, broke into tears.

  The doctor came, reviewed the chart, and explained everything very calmly. A nurse changed the IV bag to something new. An hour passed, and they took December’s vital signs. The new medication wasn’t working. The baby was showing signs of distress. I was going to become a grandma . . . today.

  Chapter 27

  “You did great,” I said, brushing December’s hair from her face.

  She’d insisted on attempting natural labor, but at six am Sunday morning, when she hadn’t progressed as they’d hoped, they ordered a C-section. The epidural made her even sicker, and she cried through the whole procedure even though she couldn’t feel anything. As soon as the doctors delivered the baby, he was taken to the Newborn Intensive Care Unit. He was six weeks early, and his cry sounded like a mewing kitten. Lance kissed December’s forehead before following the NICU team down the hall at her insistence.

  Her body was shaking; one of the nurses had assured me it was a reaction to the epidural, but it was frightening to watch.

  “You did great,” I said again, trying not to cry anymore, wanting to be strong for her. I’d never seen December so undone. She’d always been very even-keeled, solid. It made me reflect on the fact that childbirth and motherhood pushed all of us to our limits sometimes. She’d gotten off to an intense start, but she was a mother now. My little girl was a mom.

  She opened her eyes that were still dilated from the medication. “He’s okay?” she asked in a shaky voice.

  “He’s strong and healthy,” I said, repeating what the nurse had said before they hurried him to the unit, just in case. “And he’s beautiful.” But judging from the expression on the nurse’s face at the computer on the other side of December’s bed, though, everything wasn’t fine just yet.

  “You need to get some rest,” I told her. “We’ve got everything covered.”

  “I want to see him,” December said.

  “You’ll see him later,” the nurse answered, though the question hadn’t necessarily been directed toward her. “Your mom’s right. You need to rest. I promise your little man isn’t going anywhere.”

  I nodded my agreement, still smoothing December’s hair, touching her arm, doing everything I could to assure her that everything was okay.

  “I’m cold,” December said.

  “I’ll get you another heated blanket,” the nurse said. “But it’s the medication that’s making you cold, and it’ll wear off.”

  The nurse left, and I stayed, hating that I couldn’t do more. I started humming, needing something to calm my nerves if not December’s. After a few bars, I realized I was humming “Ave Maria.” I almost stopped. How long had it been since I’d sung a hymn? But December’s eyes were closed, and the music seemed to be comforting her. I kept humming as I moved around to the head of the gurney to continue stroking her hair.

  The nurse came back and put the warm blanket over December, who pulled it all the way up to her chin. She was still trembling, but it seemed to be lessening. After a few minutes, the nurse wheeled December’s gurney down the hall to a private room. It was another fifteen minutes before she was settled, and she fell asleep almost immediately. When the nurse came in to update her chart, I followed her out of the room. She was about my age, but taller.

  “So, what happens now?” I asked.

  The nurse turned to me in the hall. She explained that they were watching December carefully but didn’t expect anything else to happen. Her blood pressure was already coming down, though it might be a few weeks before it was back to normal. They were keeping an eye on her kidneys as well. She was young and strong, and therefore was probably going to be just fine.

  “Thank you,” I said, realizing as I faced this woman that I had an opportunity to get some answers of my own. “Um, could I ask you something else?”

  “Sure.”

  “Um, have you ever heard of tubal ligations not working?”

  “Oh, sure,” the nurse said, as though it happened all the time. “Especially the ones they were doing ten or twenty years ago. They’d often knot the tubes, or clamp them instead of cutting and cauterizing. With the older procedures, the younger the patient, the more likely that the tubes could grow back together, or grow around the clamps—that kind of thing.” She paused. “Your daughter’s awful young to make that kind of decision, though, and preeclampsia isn’t something she needs to fear should she decide to have another baby. It’s most common in first pregnancies.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t about my daughter; it’s . . . something else.” I shifted my weight to my other foot. “If that happens—the tubes growing back—and a woman gets pregnant, is there an added risk to the baby?”

  “Not really,” the nurse said. “Unless, of course, it’s an ectopic pregnancy. That can be pretty common in those kinds of situations, but assuming the baby implants correctly, it’s just like a normal pregnancy.”

  I was glad to hear that; I knew I was past the ectopic pregnancy stage. My reaction surprised me, though. Was I glad? “Good, I was just, you know, curious.” Though why anyone would just be curious about something like that was beyond me.

  “It would be important, though, for the woman to get good prenatal care, especially if she were older and not expecting to get pregnant—which is usually the case in pregnancies following failed tubals. Older moms have increased risks to both her health and that of the baby.”

  I didn’t like the way she was looking at me and I smiled really wide and nodded quickly. “Thanks,” I said, and turned away.

  Older moms. Grandma-moms. I was going to be one of them.

  Chapter 28

  December wanted to nurse, but her colostrum hadn’t even come in yet, and Tennyson—Lance gave up arguing about names when he saw December in labor—was so small that he struggled to even take a bottle. The doctors had to put him on a feeding tube. December cried about that, too. She’d worked so hard to come up with a birth plan that reflected all her goals and expectations, but it had unraveled completely. She couldn’t see her baby until she was well enough, and she was still sick from the medication they’d pumped through her veins. Lance and I took turns rubbing her feet and bringing her glasses of water.

  It was almost seven o’clock Sunday night when I presented myself at
the NICU and washed up as though I were going to perform a surgery or something. I put on the gown then followed the nurse to the tiny Plexiglas box where my grandson lay, hooked up to tubes and wires. I was shocked to see him like that, and I stared for several seconds until a nurse approached me.

  “Would you like to hold him?” she asked.

  I looked up at her. “Can I?”

  She indicated for me to pull up one of the many rocking chairs placed around the room. It took a few minutes for her to adjust Tennyson’s wires and tubes correctly, but then she handed me his tiny little body and helped me settle him on my chest. She put a blanket over both of us, and I adjusted our position until I could look into the swollen, scrunched up face.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the nurse said before pulling a curtain around us to give us some privacy.

  I could feel the faintest heartbeat against my chest, and emotion filled me up from top to bottom. Tears rose in my eyes. “Hello there, Tennyson. I’m your grandma. Can you believe that?”

  He puckered his lips, and I laughed, deciding to take that as an answer that it was hard for him to believe it too. “You sure know how to make an entrance,” I whispered, overcome by the spirit of this infant child. I went on to tell him about his mom and dad, as though I were his tour guide for this new adventure he’d undertaken. I talked about Stormy, about California, and all the fun things we would do when he came to visit. I told him about Paul and then . . . then I told him about my baby—his aunt or uncle—and struggled to wipe my eyes with my shoulder as I imagined holding my own child this same way in not too many months.

  I could barely breathe with the understanding that filled me in that instant. I’d been taking a journey to accept this, tiptoeing closer, but suddenly, it was so real. I wasn’t simply carrying a baby—I was carrying my baby. And I would hold it soon, and love it, and nurse it, and raise it up into a whole person, like December and Stormy.

  How terrifying. How exquisite.

  In that instant, I felt like I was in the eye of a storm. I knew my journey wasn’t over, but for the first time, I felt a glimmer of excitement and positive anticipation. The fact that I was having a baby was as unbelievable as ever, but a different kind of unbelievable. This disbelieving moment was sweet and tender and somehow invigorating.

  “We’d better put him back.”

  I blinked up at the nurse, who was standing a few feet away. I hadn’t heard her approach but nodded my agreement. Again, returning Tennyson to his crib was a process that took a few minutes, but eventually I was looking through that Plexiglas box again, watching the little person who would now be a part of the rest of my life.

  As I stared, the eye of the storm passed by, and my fears returned. I didn’t want this. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t do it. But the moment of understanding I’d had helped ease some of my fears. Just knowing I had felt that assurance was something. Surely I would get there again, to stay. I could only hope.

  Chapter 29

  Sunday became Monday, and after heading to the hospital in the morning, I spent three full hours in the cafeteria on the phone with my office, helping them find their way through the work I’d left on my desk. Year-end was not a good time to be a no-show, and I was reminded, twice, of the mandatory training meeting Thursday afternoon about upcoming procedure changes, effective January first. I could not miss it.

  By two o’clock I was finally able to put aside the urgent work and tune back in to December. She was looking better, feeling better, and though she’d been able to go see Tennyson with Lance that morning, she was ready for another trip. I couldn’t believe she could walk already, but I stayed at her side and steadied her as we made the slow trek to the NICU.

  “The nursery isn’t ready,” December said. “At the house. It’s not done.”

  “I’ll work on it when I go back tonight,” I assured her. “It’ll be ready by the time you come home, I promise.”

  “When do you have to go back home?”

  My stomach sank. I wanted to stay so much, but I knew I couldn’t. “I need to be back by Thursday.”

  December didn’t say anything, but a few moments later she sniffled, and I saw her wipe at her eyes with the sleeve of the new pajamas I’d bought her.

  “Oh, sweetie,” I said, feeling tears come to my eyes too. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could stay longer.” I had tried to come up with any way I could make it work, but there were no options. There were things that needed to be done that only I could do. “I can probably come back out for Christmas.” I cringed at the expense, but was willing to swallow it. If I worked late and got ahead of my policies, instead of behind, I could probably take a few extra days for the holiday.

  “I need to sit down,” December said as we passed a bench in the hallway. I helped her gingerly sit, and once I let go of her arm, she wiped at her eyes more completely. Her chin still trembled and for a moment she looked so much like the little girl she had once been.

  “I can’t do this,” she said under her breath, bringing her hands to her face. “How can I do this? I’m not ready.”

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” I told her, rubbing her back and stroking her hair. “You’re already up and walking, and you’re not as swollen as you were yesterday.”

  She shook her head, and her shoulder-length brown hair fell forward. “He’s not coming home with me,” she squeaked. “They’re keeping him here. Lance has to work—he has to—and I can’t drive myself to the hospital until I’m off my medication.” She began to sob, then put a hand to her belly as though it hurt her.

  I pulled her into my arms and held on as tight as I dared while trying to think of her options. I automatically thought back to the resources I’d grown up expecting to be there and make up the difference—church and family. But December didn’t have either of those things. I hadn’t raised her with a church, and she had no family here in Ohio.

  “Do you have friends who could take turns bringing you to the hospital?” I asked.

  She shrugged and was trying to stop crying as though embarrassed by the breakdown, but I felt horrible. I was supposed to be the person helping her right now, and I could stay only two more days. I had the crazy idea I should just quit my job and fix this. But there was Paul and Stormy to consider, bills to pay, and health insurance to keep. After another minute, December apologized, and I helped her walk the rest of the way to the NICU. The nurse led us to Tennyson’s isolette and asked if December wanted to hold him.

  She unbuttoned the top buttons of her pajamas so he’d have more contact with her skin. The nurse said she’d come back in a minute to see if she could help December nurse. December seemed to lose all her tension and worry once Tennyson snuggled into her chest. She wrapped the sides of her pajama top around him, and then the nurse settled another blanket over the top of them, wrapping them together like a cocoon. December rocked slowly back and forth, closing her eyes as though soaking him up like the rays of the sun. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “Could Grandma come?”

  “Grandma?” I repeated. Was she talking about me or . . . my mother? Here I’d been trying to find solutions and the obvious one hadn’t even been a consideration. I was equally quick to discount it. “She’s a long way away,” I said, but then felt bad. It was an option, and while my mother and I weren’t all that close, December had had a bond with her from the first few years of December’s life.

  “I know, but when I talked to her last week, she said to let her know if I needed anything.” December’s eyes became a bit more pleading. “I could really use her help after you leave.”

  “I’ll call her,” I said, realizing that I hadn’t even called to tell her about her great-grandson being born.

  “Thanks, Mom,” December said, closing her eyes and looking more relaxed. Which is why I would call my mother and ask her to fill the role I couldn’t fill in my daughter’s life. Again.

  Chapter 30

  Lance came to the hospital after he
finished work. The poor boy looked exhausted, but I sensed they wanted to be alone so I kissed December and drove back to the house where I set to work cleaning the house, doing the laundry, and organizing the baby things December hadn’t expected to need for several weeks. Even the newborn clothes looked huge. Maybe I could find some more preemie outfits tomorrow. I couldn’t move the desk out of the nursery by myself, so I did everything else I could think of besides that.

  My cell phone rang around eight o’clock. I took a deep breath when I saw it was my mother calling me back. When I’d talked to her earlier, she’d been abrupt with me, saying she’d see what she could do. I’d hung up the phone more tense than ever, realizing that one of my biggest stumbling blocks about being a mother was the relationship I had with my own. It had never been a good one, and even after raising two children, I feared my children would feel toward me the way I felt toward her. Except they didn’t. Not really.

  “Hi,” I said when I answered the phone.

  “Daisy, hi,” she said in her abrupt way. My mother was a nurturer, but if you didn’t know that, you wouldn’t guess it right off. She’d always been blunt and sharp at the same time, and I had to consciously keep myself from taking offense. “I’ve worked it out with your father and your sisters for me to come out tomorrow.”

  “So soon?” I’d planned to fly home on Wednesday and hoped that maybe she and I would miss each other.

  “Yes, yes, it all came together. I’ll be able to stay a week.”

  “Wow, a whole week.” I knew I shouldn’t be jealous that she could stay longer than I could, but I was. “December will be so grateful.”

  “The poor thing,” Mom said, though she still had that clipped tone that seemed at odds with her words. “Hard to start out motherhood this way.”

  I clenched my jaw. How about it being hard to start out motherhood as a seventeen-year-old single mom? I’d never had sympathy from my mother for my start. But I was instantly embarrassed by my thoughts. What was wrong with me?