The Day We Met

by Dusti Bowling

  “Yeah, and then I had the strongest reflexes the hospital staff had ever seen and that’s why you named me Lenna. Because I was as strong as a lion.” I snorted. “Now I’m as strong as a flea.”

  “You’ve always underestimated yourself.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen someone so wonderful think so little of herself.”

  I looked away from him. I didn’t want him to see the shame in my face—the shame at his knowing this about me.

  “Lenna,” he continued, “your mom and I love you. No matter what. And God loves you no matter what. He alone can save you from this self doubt and fear. Without him, we’re all nothing. But with him,” he leaned forward, “we can move mountains.” He kissed my forehead.

  The nurse reentered and told us she wanted to check my temperature again. She pulled the thermometer out of my mouth after it beeped and frowned. “One-oh three,” she announced.

  My dad shook his head. “The fever alone has got to be so bad for the baby.”

  “Yes, it is,” the nurse agreed.

  As the nurse left, my mom came back in. “Sweetie,” she said, standing near the doorway. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  I looked up at her. I was starting to feel dizzy now and desperately wanted to go to sleep. “Who?” I asked.

  “Lenna,” Will said as he walked through the door. “It’s me.”

  Chapter 21

  My mom and dad left the room. Will walked toward me but stopped about five feet from the bed, as though he weren’t sure whether to come any closer. He looked down at me with a somber face.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked him through chattering teeth. I clenched them together to stop the chattering, but that made my body shake more. I didn’t want him to see me shaking so badly, but there seemed to be nothing I could do to stop it.

  He moved closer to the bed. “Your mom called me. She said that… She said that you were very sick.” He shifted his weight from side to side. “And she said that the baby was dying and that you could die too.”

  I pulled the covers tightly around me. “And after she was done with the small talk, what did she tell you?”

  He smiled sadly, shaking his head. “Lenna,” he said in a scolding tone, “this is serious.”

  “I’m h-happy you came here to inform me of th-that.” I forced a smile, my lips twitching at the corners.

  He sat down in the chair where my dad had been and lowered his head toward mine. “Is the baby really going to die?” he asked.

  I studied his face carefully. This was the most I had seen of him in months, and he looked different to me. Older. Different.

  “Yes,” I answered. “The baby is going to die.”

  He nodded sadly and sat for a long time in silence. “I’m so sorry,” he finally said in a faint whisper.

  I shrugged. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. Just a freak thing.”

  “No,” he said. “I mean… I’m so sorry.” I watched him as he reached out one shaking hand and placed it on my stomach. He lowered his head and said, “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “For what?” I asked in a hoarse, trembling whisper.

  “For everything I’ve put you through.” He looked down instead of at me, as though he were truly ashamed. “I’ve been horribly stubborn. And prideful. It was my hurt pride that made me treat you the way I have. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

  I used a limp, hot hand to lift his face to mine. “I forgive you,” I said. “I forgave you as soon as you acted like a total jerk.” I pretended to think for a moment. “Actually, I forgave you all those times you acted like a complete jerk. All those m-many, many times.”

  He took my hand from under his chin and held it between his, intertwining our fingers securely. “Your hand is so hot,” he said, lifting it to his mouth and kissing it gently. “I missed you so much,” he whispered. “This whole year has been like agony for me.”

  “Me too,” I said. “But I’m happy it happened.” He looked confused at what I said. “It was good for us,” I explained, but he continued looking baffled. I smiled. “I think I needed some time away from you to realize how much you mean to me.” I reached out with my free hand and touched his face. “I won’t take you for granted again.”

  “And I’ll take you any way I can get you.” He closed his eyes to my touch. “As a friend or anything.”

  “I like the s-sound of or anything,” I told him.

  His face lit up but immediately fell again. “Lenna, before that can happen, you have to deliver this baby. You have to deliver it now.”

  “That’s why mom sent you in here. To convince me to let them induce.”

  “Yes,” he confessed. “But I sent myself in here to tell you that I love you.” He didn’t look at me, as though afraid of my reaction to his telling me this. “Like I said, this year has been agony for me.” He squeezed my hands in his so tightly it hurt. “I won’t lose you again.” He looked at me with fearful eyes. “I won’t be able to bear it.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek and fell to the sheets pulled up around me. I breathed in deeply and squeezed his hands. “And I won’t hurt you again.” I cried harder now with the acceptance of my own decision. “I’ll give my consent to induce.”

  He nodded and got up to leave. “I’ll tell them.”

  “Will you do me a f-favor?” I asked him before he left he room.

  “Anything.”

  “Will you call Heather? She wanted to be here for the birth.”

  “Of course.” He walked out the door, leaving me completely alone for the first time since I had gotten to the hospital.

  I closed my eyes and laid my head back against the pillows. I reopened them a few seconds later, and a new nurse stood in front of me with a thermometer in his hand. I looked up and down his scrubs with silly children’s faces all over them. My eyes landed on his face, which broke out in a smile. The smile was contagious and I found myself smiling back. “Who are you?” I asked.

  “I’m the nurse from upstairs.” He pointed the thermometer at my mouth. “Now say AHHH!” I laughed at his enthusiasm, and he took the opportunity to shove it in my mouth.

  As we waited for the thermometer to beep, he told me about how he normally works upstairs, but how much he loved coming down to the maternity ward to see the new babies and check on the moms. “I just love babies!” he exclaimed as the thermometer beeped. He pulled it out of my mouth and looked at it, but didn’t tell me what it read. Instead, he placed it on the table next to my bed and said, “The days when babies are born are some of the most joyful.”

  My smile vanished. “Not for me.”

  The nurse sat down in the same chair where my dad and Will had both sat. “Why not?” he asked, his face attentive.

  “Because...” My voice quivered, but not from fever this time. “My baby’s going to die.” I looked into the nurse’s caring brown eyes. “He probably won’t even make it through the birth.”

  The nurse shook his head. “No.” He smiled. “He’s a strong baby. He’ll make it.”

  “No,” I said, “you don’t understand.” I shook my head. I didn’t feel like explaining it to yet another person. Not then.

  “No, I do understand,” he said, his face full of empathy. “I’ve read your chart.”

  “Oh.” I twisted the sheets in my hand. “Why would you think the baby would make it?”

  “I don’t think he’ll make it. I know he’ll make it.”

  “And how do you know that?” I snapped. Who was he to tell me something like that? Who was he to get my hopes up, just to have them squashed? I was about to tell him how I felt, but he leaned over and put an ear to my belly, stopping me. He seemed to be listening for something, and I wondered if he wasn’t a little crazy. “What are you—” I started to ask, but he shushed me before I could complete my sentence.

  Finally, he nodded and, lifting his head back up, told me, “Jeremiah would like me to tell you that he appreciates you carrying h
im around for eight months, nourishing him, and giving him life and all that.”

  I smiled. “And what else did Jeremiah say?”

  The nurse put his ear back to my belly. He nodded again and lifted his head back up. “He said it was a warm and cozy ride, and he enjoyed your late night conversations, but he didn’t like all the salsa you ate. Your acid reflux kept him up all night sometimes.”

  I laughed out loud then stopped. “I did eat a lot of salsa. How did you know that?”

  He shrugged. “Pregnant women love salsa.”

  “Is that all he said?” I asked.

  “He did say one more thing.” He looked at me more seriously this time, and I waited anxiously to hear what else my son had told him, ridiculous, I knew, but I waited anyhow.

  The nurse put his hands on my belly. “He told me he thinks you are a brave, wonderful mother. And he truly can’t wait to meet you when he comes out.”

  I couldn’t help it—I started sobbing uncontrollably at this. “I want to meet him too,” I cried. “But I don’t think it’s possible anymore, not with the fever and infection and now the induction. And he’s so early.” I shook my head voraciously. “No, it’s not possible anymore.”

  “Lenna,” he said. “Have faith.” He reached out and put his hand on my belly.

  “It’s so hard to have faith right now,” I said, my sobs subsiding.

  “I know,” he said. “But I’ll be with you throughout the whole thing. I’ll be with you and Jeremiah.”

  I was comforted by what he said, even though I didn’t know him. “Will the hospital let you stay in here?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Oh Lenna, you crack me up.” He put his hand on my forehead. “Now close your eyes and get some sleep. You have a hard day ahead of you.”

  “Another one?” I asked, letting out a big disappointed sigh.

  He laughed again. “You’ll be fine.”

  I felt my eyes grow heavy as he held his hand to my forehead. I closed them, then opened them again with a new realization. “How did you know my baby’s name?”

  He smiled. “It’s in my book—right next to yours.”

  “No, it can’t be in my chart. I never told—”

  “Shhh,” he said, soothing away my questions. “Sleep now.” He placed his hand on my forehead as he had before. “Everything will be okay.” I felt my eyes grow heavy again. I closed them, and when I opened them a while later, he was gone.

  As I looked around, my parents and Will came bursting into the room. “Oh sweetie!” my mom cried. “We’re so relieved. We told the nurse, and she’ll be in here right away to start the Pitocin.”

  I felt agitated as I continued looking around the room. “Where did my nurse go?”

  “Sweetheart,” my mom sat on the edge of the bed, “she’ll be right in with the Pitocin.”

  “No.” I shook my head anxiously. “No, the other nurse.”

  “You only have one nurse,” my mom said, looking at my dad, who looked concerned. The nurse walked in carrying a syringe.

  “Here she is,” my dad said, sighing with relief. “She’s here now.”

  “No,” I said again much louder. “No,” I repeated, lowering my voice. “There was another nurse in here, a male nurse, right after Will left. He took my temperature and spoke to me for a while. Where did he go?”

  My mom’s face actually looked frightened as she looked from the nurse to my dad and back to the nurse.

  “Lenna,” Will said, “I’ve only been out of here for like ten seconds. No one else was in here.”

  “Yes there was!” I cried. “There was a male nurse wearing scrubs with kids’ faces all over it. He had dark brown hair.”

  My mom got up, and I could hear her whisper to the nurse, asking her if I was hallucinating from the fever. The nurse shook her head. “Probably just dreaming,” she assured my mom.

  “I wasn’t dreaming,” I said, frustrated. “There was a man here—a male nurse. Please go find him,” I pleaded with all of them. “He said he would be here for the birth. Please find him. He needs to be here.”

  Will put his arms around me to calm me down. “Will,” I whispered into his ear. “There was someone here.”

  “I believe you,” he said, hugging me tightly. “But right now we need to focus on keeping calm. Will you keep calm if I go look for him?”

  I nodded and wiped my eyes. After Will left the room, and while the nurse was injecting the Pitocin into my IV line, I looked at my mom and dad and told them, “He was here.”

  Chapter 22

  Nobody prepares you for the intensity of the childbirth contraction. Nobody can. Nobody can tell you that, at times, it feels like your body is being torn apart from the middle, or that, at other times, it feels like someone is repeatedly punching you in the abdomen with a fist the size of a boulder. Perhaps this was just my experience, or perhaps it was the induction or the infection or the added fever, but I had never felt so much pain in my entire life. I never knew such pain existed.

  The contractions began shortly after the nurse started the Pitocin. They had me walking the hospital hallways to try to help get things moving. A contraction would hit, and Will would hold me up while Heather would say annoying things like, “Breathe, Lenna,” or “You’re doing a great job.” Eventually, I told her to shut her stupid mouth, and that’s how we knew it was time for me to lie down again.

  I lay down on the bed, and they strapped the monitor back around my belly. We didn’t have the monitor to make sure the baby was okay, but simply to see if the baby was still alive. In the event the baby’s heart stopped, there would be no emergency C-section. It wouldn’t be a shock but an expectation fulfilled.

  I had been given the Pitocin at two o’clock that afternoon, as well as some prostaglandins to help ripen my cervix. I couldn’t understand why they used the word ripen, and it made me think of my cervix as a banana. By midnight, my contractions were powerful to the point of making me scream. The nurse periodically checked my dilation, and she seemed pleased with my progress.

  No one tried to get me to take any pain medication. No one mentioned the word epidural, but I could see the torment in my dad’s eyes every time I screamed from the pain. And I could hear the grief in my mom’s voice every time she asked the nurse if what was going on was normal.

  Heather fell asleep in a chair sometime in the middle of the night, but Will stayed by my side, even as the sun rose the next day. He let me squeeze his hand, and I knew I was hurting him, but he didn’t protest. My parents sat on the other side of my bed together, taking turns placing cool washcloths on my forehead while the other went out in the hallway to cry. As though I didn’t know what was going on.

  Sometime the next morning, I gave up. On everything—on getting through the birth without pain medication, on ever seeing my baby, on staying alive. I told the nurse I felt like I was going to die. I don’t know how the people around me reacted to my saying that because, by this point, I was unaware of anything except my own exhaustion and the pain—the tremendous pain and pressure.

  The nurse checked me again. “You have just a lip of a cervix,” she said. “You’re so close.” The contractions I had felt for so long started to change at that point. The pressure in the lower part of my body was unreal, and I gradually began to feel the all-consuming urge to push.

  As soon as the nurse realized I was ready, she helped prop me up. She proceeded to count as I pushed. “One, two, three, four…” she counted.

  But before she could get to five I screamed at her to shut up, shocking her and waking Heather back up. “I know when I need to push! I don’t need any help!” I yelled at her, and she backed off.

  The expulsive contractions went on and on, but at least I had a few minutes between them to sleep. And I did sleep, only to wake again to the powerful feeling building inside of me, and I would sit back up and ready myself for the pushing.

  Just as I felt like I couldn’t push through another contraction, the nurse said, “I thin
k you’ll start crowning on the next one.”

  My mom raised her hands to her face and cried. My dad put his arms around her. “We’re almost there,” he said.

  The nurse called for the doctor, and I was happy to see Dr. Rhoades, who had been absent during the whole ordeal.

  “You made it,” my mom said, obviously annoyed.

  “I’m sorry, Lenna,” she said. “I have two other women in labor right now.”

  “Of course,” I said through gritted teeth as another contraction built inside of me.

  “Well,” Dr. Rhoades sat on a stool between my legs, “let’s get this baby out.”

  I pushed as the contraction overtook my entire body, and Dr. Rhoades told me to ease up. Yeah right, as if I could. I had no control over what my body was doing or over the strength with which I was pushing. I had never known such strength existed within me.

  The contraction ended, and I laid my sweat-drenched head back in exhaustion. Will and my dad grabbed each of my limp hands in theirs while Heather looked on with amazement behind the doctor. My mom wiped my face with a cool cloth. “It’s almost over,” she said in a soft voice. “It’s almost over.”

  I felt another contraction building, and I started crying. “No more,” I wailed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Yes you can, Lenna,” the doctor assured me. “Now I need you to push. The baby is almost here.”

  And I pushed. I pushed and my mind went blank. All there was was the pushing. I was taken over by the most awful, stinging, burning pain, and I thought I was going to tear apart. I screamed in pain, but the doctor kept telling me to push, push, push. Despite the pain, I couldn’t stop the pushing.

  If I were an animal, I would be a lion.

  For the second time in my life, in the very same hospital, I let out a roar so loud, the people on the fourth floor of the hospital heard me.

  And then it was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  I stared up at the ceiling through blurred vision, waiting. Waiting to hear something—a cry. But I heard no cry. The room was completely silent as the tears rolled down the sides of my face onto the bed. It was over. It was all over.