When she leaves, I look at Eric, and my chin trembles.
“No, no, no, don’t cry, champ,” he says.
He hugs me and, feeling the pain return, I protest.
“This hurts a lot.”
I take Eric’s hand and twist it with the same intensity with which I feel my gut, and, even though I know I’m hurting him, he doesn’t say a word. He holds me tighter.
“I can’t, Eric . . . I can’t stand the pain,” I murmur.
“You have to, sweetheart.”
“Tell them to give me the epidural now. Get Medusa out of me; do something!”
“Take it easy, Jude.”
“I don’t want to!” I shout. “If you were in such pain, I would move heaven and earth to help you.”
As I say that, I realize I’m being cruel. Eric doesn’t deserve this. I pull him by the hand and make him come closer.
“I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry, honey. There’s nobody in this world better than you to take care of me.”
He doesn’t need any of what I’m saying.
“Quiet, sweet—”
But my angelic and quiet moment doesn’t last long. The pain attacks, and I twist his arm.
“God . . . God . . . This is really hurting again!”
Eric calls the nurse and asks for the epidural. She sees I’m hysterical, but says she can’t give it to me until the doctor approves it. I curse everything. Absolutely everything. Yes, in Spanish so they don’t understand me. The pain is getting more intense, and I can’t stand it.
I’m a bad patient . . .
I have a potty mouth . . .
I’m the worst . . .
Eric tries to distract me with a thousand words of love. He makes me breathe like they taught us in the prenatal classes, but I can’t. The pain makes me clench, and I don’t know if I’m breathing, if I’ll scream, or if I’ll end up wanting to shit on the relatives of everyone in the hospital.
I’m sweating up a storm.
I’m shaking . . .
I feel a new contraction coming . . .
I squeeze Eric’s hand, and he encourages me to breathe again. I breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe.
Once again, the pain stops. But it’s increasingly more frequent, more intense, and more devastating.
“I shit on everyone!”
Eric hands me a fresh washcloth for my face.
“Fix your eyes on one point and breathe, sweetheart.”
I do as he says, and the pain stops.
But then I foresee that it’s going to start again, and he’s going to tell me for the umpteenth time to fix my gaze . . . So, I grab him tightly by his tie and bring his face close to mine.
“If you tell me one more time to fix my sight on a single point, I swear by my father that I’m going to gouge your eyes out and nail them on that fucking point,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything. He just holds my hand while I squirm in bed, dying from pain.
God . . . God . . . It hurts!
Surely if men gave birth, they would’ve already invented having babies in a test tube.
The door opens, and I look at the doctor like the girl in The Exorcist. I’m feeling murderous . . . I swear I could kill her. Without flinching, she removes the sheet and puts a hand on me again.
“For a first-timer, you’re dilating very quickly, Judith.” She looks over at the nurse. “You’re almost six centimeters. Let Ralf come and give you the epidural. I think this baby’s in a hurry to get out.”
Oh yes . . . the epidural!
Hearing this is better than an orgasm. Or two . . . Or twenty.
I want tons of epidural. Long live the epidural!
Eric dries the sweat on my brow.
I writhe with a new contraction.
“Eric?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I don’t want to get pregnant ever again. Can you promise that?”
The poor man agrees. No one would dare take the opposite position at a time like this.
I dry my sweat and say something when the door opens, and a man comes in, introducing himself as Ralf, the anesthesiologist. When I see the needle he’s carrying, I get dizzy.
Where are they going to stick that?
Ralf asks me to sit up and lean forward. He explains that he needs me to be totally still so as not to damage my spine. I’m overwhelmed, but I’m 100 percent willing to cooperate, and I hardly even breathe.
Eric helps me. He does not pull away from me. I notice a small pinch when I least expect it.
“It’s done,” says the anesthesiologist. “You already have the epidural.”
I’m surprised. That’s fast!
I thought I’d get dizzy from the pain of the puncture but so far, nothing. He explains that he leaves a catheter in in case the doctor needs to administer more anesthesia. Then he picks up his gear and leaves. Eric and I stay behind in the room, alone. Eric kisses me.
“You’re a champ.”
This is so nice. He has so much patience with me and shows me so much love with his words and actions.
Ten minutes later, I notice the horrible pains have begun to subside and then disappear. I feel like the Queen of Sheba. It’s me again. I can talk, smile, and communicate with Eric without looking like a seven-headed hydra.
We call Sonia and ask her to go by our house to pick up the bag with the Medusa stuff. She’s out of her mind knowing we’re at the hospital. I don’t even want to imagine what my father and sister are going to be like.
Then I call Simona. I know how important it is for her that I call her myself and make her promise to come with Sonia to the hospital when she goes home to pick up the bag. Otherwise, she’ll have doubts about my wanting her here now.
Then, after much consideration, I call my father. Eric thinks it’s the fairest thing. But as I already assumed, on learning I’m in the hospital to give birth, the poor man goes into a real spiral. I notice it in his speech. When Papá gets nervous, he can’t always be understood. He doesn’t make sense.
He hands the phone to my sister. Another one with nerves on fire. Screaming and cheering is enough for Raquel. I finally give the phone to Eric, who tells them he’ll send his plane to pick them up in Jerez.
When we hang up, he carefully kisses me on the lips.
“The day is here, sweetheart. We’re going to be parents.”
I’m scared but happy.
“You’re going to be an excellent father, Mr. Zimmerman.”
Eric kisses me again.
“So, Hannah if it’s a girl. What if it’s a boy?”
The door to the room opens, and Björn comes in, flushed.
“Man . . . James Bond is here,” he says.
He looks at me. The joke isn’t funny, so he reconsiders.
“How are you?”
“Perfect now. I had an epidural, I don’t feel pain, and I’m OK.”
Eric is calmer now too. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s had a hard time. My God, I love him so much! He and Björn talk for a little while, and I have to laugh when I hear Eric say, “Twelve minutes, buddy. It took her exactly twelve minutes.”
Björn is stunned. It took him almost an hour. Traffic was horrible.
“How’d she get you here, flying?”
“No idea. I was watching Jude. But, wow, that Mel, what a character!”
“She must be unbearable,” murmurs Björn. I laugh.
I’m chatting with them, calm and relaxed, when Sonia comes in with Flyn and Simona. Everyone kisses me, and I smile even though I can’t feel my legs. This is so intense. They feel like cardboard. While everyone’s talking, Flyn grabs my hand.
“We’ll meet Medusa today?”
“I think so, honey.”
“Wow!”
The door opens again for Norbert. When he sees me, he smiles, and I wink at him. Ten minutes later, a nurse comes in and says there are too many people in the room. As always, Björn takes care of everything without anyone telling him and leads the oth
ers to the cafeteria.
Flyn protests. He doesn’t want to be separated from me. He wants to be the first to see Medusa. I finally convince him that it’s OK to go.
“Flyn is going to be a great brother,” Eric says when we’re finally alone.
The door opens yet again, and the doctor comes in. I’m overwhelmed when I see she removes the sheets from round me. Fuck, she’s going to stick her hand inside me again. That’s so painful! But with the epidural, it doesn’t hurt.
“The delivery room! Let’s meet your baby.”
She calls the nurses, and, when they take me, I don’t want to let go of Eric.
“He comes with me,” the doctor says. “He has to pretty up to go into the operating room.”
I let go of his hand and blow him a kiss. My God, what a moment. When we get to the delivery room, my heart is going a thousand beats a minute. I’m terrified. I don’t hurt right now, but the idea of meeting Medusa terrifies me. What if Medusa doesn’t like me as a mother?
They transfer me from the wheelchair to the stretcher in the room, and the nurses leave. Two women wearing surgical masks connect me to several monitors and ask me to put my feet in the stirrups.
“Well, ‘Tell me what you want.’ What a most original tattoo.”
I laugh.
“My husband loves it.”
The three of us laugh. The doctor comes in with Eric by her side. He’s wearing green pajamas and a most ridiculous hat. I laugh again.
She stands by me and explains how I’m supposed to push. Having the epidural, I won’t feel the pain, so I have to push whenever she asks or when I see the monitor’s red light come on and stop when she tells me to. I’m scared, but I’m sitting here, ready to do it right.
The doctor positions herself between my legs, and, when the red light on the monitor on my right blinks, she asks me to push. I take a breath like I was taught in my classes, and I push . . . and push . . . and push . . . and push.
Eric encourages me. Eric helps me. Eric doesn’t move an inch from me. I repeat the same routine so many times that, despite not feeling pain, exhaustion begins to take its toll on me. Between pushes, a surprised Eric tells me I’m quite strong. I’m impressed with myself too. I realize I’m pushing like a beast.
The doctor explains that Medusa is pretty big and wedged in such a way that, despite my dilation and my pushing, it’s still hard to come out.
The monitor light turns red again. I keep pushing. Time passes, and I just push and push. I hold it, hold it and hold it, and then, drained, I put my head down.
“Hey, Dad . . . don’t miss the next contractions. Your baby is already here,” the doctor tells Eric.
That perks me up, and my eyes fill with tears, especially when I see Eric’s face full of excitement and disbelief. I push and push again and feel something coming out of me. Eric opens his eyes so wide.
“His head is out, Jude . . . his head!”
I want to see, but, of course, I can’t!
Although it’s better that way because seeing a head poking out of my vagina might be traumatic for me!
The doctor encourages me. “C’mon, Judith, one last push. As soon as the shoulders come out, the rest of that little body will follow.”
Exhausted but exhilarated, I do it again when the light flashes red. I push . . . push . . . push and push until I notice a huge weight leaving my body.
“We got it!”
I can’t see anything. I only see Eric.
His eyes fill with tears, and he grins. His look softens at that moment, and I think it’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen him. I’m so thrilled. I cry with happiness when, suddenly, Medusa’s cry fills the room.
“It’s a boy,” says the doctor, “a beautiful boy!”
I’m this boy’s mom!
Eric’s breathing is so agitated.
“C’mon, Dad,” says the doctor, “come here and cut the umbilical cord.”
I cry. I want to see my child. What’s he like?
Eric releases my hand, cuts the cord, and then comes back to me. He lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me.
“Thanks, sweetheart. He’s beautiful. Beautiful!”
In that instant, they put my Medusa on my belly. My baby. My child. Amazed, I look at him, I touch him, and we both cry.
“Hello, little one. Hello, dear, I am your mamá.”
Am I already babbling nonsense?
I never imagined I would experience a moment like this . . .
I never imagined I would feel what I feel . . .
I never imagined I would feel so complete . . .
Eric kisses me, and I touch my child. He’s perfect, wonderful. And he’s as blond as his dad and looks just like him.
Eric and I can’t stop grinning. Then one of the nurses holds the baby while the doctor finishes caring for me and removes the placenta. Eric and I follow the nurse with our eyes. We see her test the baby several times and wash him as our little one cries. She puts a band around his wrist, dresses him, and weighs him.
“Seven point nine—almost eight pounds!”
“Almost eight pounds!” I say.
When the doctor finally finishes with me, the nurses bring him to my bed. They transfer me and put my baby in my arms.
My God, this is the most beautiful moment of my life!
I look at him with an incredible love. I watch him and fall in love with him. He’s so handsome. Perfect. Eric doesn’t blink and grins when he sees that the wristband says, “Zimmerman Hab.610.”
Again a big, handsome blond Zimmerman has come into the world to make trouble.
“Let’s name him after you, Eric Zimmerman,” I say.
“After me?”
I nod and, with a smile I know will touch Eric’s soul, I add, “In a few years, I want another Eric Zimmerman to fall madly in love with another woman and make her as happy as you make me.”
Eric grins nonstop.
Without him telling me, I know it’s the happiest day of his life. Mine too.
31
The first night in the hospital is pretty hectic.
After the pediatrician sees us and tells us the baby’s perfect, he asks me if I’m going to breastfeed or bottle-feed him.
I don’t intend to become a walking milk factory when I know that bottle-fed babies grow up wonderfully.
The day I spoke with Frida on the phone about it, she told me that didn’t seem right to her. She said breast milk is ideal. It immunizes; it’s the best. Sonia told me the same thing; she even told me about how breastfeeding and the maternal instinct interact. Well, my maternal instinct tells me to give him a bottle and that if anyone so much as touches my son, I’ll kill them.
When I mention it to Eric, he tells me it’s my decision. And since what I want from minute one is for my husband to be as much a part of this story as I am, I choose a bottle so it’s a shared ball and chain. I don’t give a shit what the rest of the world thinks!
When they bring a bottle with a little milk for our baby, I pass it to Eric.
“C’mon, Daddy, give him his first bottle,” I say.
I watch how my love lifts the baby from the crib, sits on a chair, and feeds him. The little boy, who is ravenous, quickly throws himself at the nipple like a beast and gobbles what he’s been crying for.
Once the feeding’s over, he falls asleep like a little colt. I can’t tell if I should clean the drool off the baby or his father first.
They’re both so cute!
After the feeding, the nurses come to take little Eric to his crib. They want me to sleep and rest. But the little boy has tremendous lungs and likes to be noticed. He has quite a temper!
Knowing it’s his son who’s screaming, Eric keeps him in my room and takes care of him all night. He rocks him, cradles him, talks to him. I watch them in the dark, my heart pounding.
I’m tired—exhausted—but I can’t sleep. My eyes don’t want to stop looking at the beautiful show my two Erics are putting on for me.
&n
bsp; “C’mon, go to sleep, sweetheart. Rest,” my love whispers. “He’s perfect, right?”
The little one wiggles in his arms.
“As perfect as you are, my beautiful love.”
He touches my head, which is a balm for me. He knows that relaxes me, and, finally, I fall exhausted into Morpheus’s arms.
When I wake up, I’m alone in the room. Light streaks in through the window, and, when I call the nurse, the door opens to Eric.
“Come on in, Grandfather. Your dark-haired daughter has finally woken up,” he says with a radiant smile.
When I see my father, I grin from ear to ear.
He rushes to hug me. Raquel follows with Lucía and Luz.
“Congratulations, my love. You have a beautiful baby.”
“A boy, Papá—what you wanted!” I exclaim.
My father nods. “I’m sorry, son. This time, I won the bet,” he says to Eric.
“I’m as happy as you are, Manuel. Don’t doubt it for a second.”
“Wow!” My sister hugs me. “What a handsome boy.”
“He looks just like Eric, right?”
“That’s why I said handsome,” my sister says, making me laugh.
Luz, my Luz, gets on the bed and hugs me and gives me a package.
“I have seen my cousin, and he is gorgeous, Tita.”
I smile at this and open the package. There’s a little Spanish national soccer team ensemble. I laugh.
“Do you want him to be kicked out of Germany?” I ask, and everyone laughs. “Where is my little guy, anyway?”
“They’re doing some tests, sweetheart,” says Eric. “Don’t worry; they’ll bring him back.”
When my father, Lucía, Eric, and Luz go have a drink in the cafeteria, my sister sits next to me.
“Congratulations, Judith. You’re a mom.”
Raquel hugs me.
“This is for life, Cuchu. Little Eric is beautiful, and I’m sure he’ll give you many joys. The bad thing is that they grow up, and one day they start going out with girls, looking at dirty magazines, and smoking joints.”
“Raquel . . .”
We both laugh. It’s impossible not to laugh with my sister.
“Well, tell me something new.”
“Jesús and I, by mutual agreement, filed for divorce twenty days ago.”
Tell Me What You Want—Or Leave Me Page 31