Daisy (11 page)
The house was empty when I got home, and I headed for the bedroom. Could I just sleep for the next six months? Please?
I sat heavily on the side of the bed and, for the first time, brought my hands up to my stomach. I didn’t think I really looked pregnant yet, just top-heavy, but I
was
pregnant. Within the next few weeks, I wouldn’t be able to hide it, and I would feel this . . .
baby
move. Whether I liked it or not, my condition would soon become obvious to everyone. I needed to make a plan. The first item on that list was telling Paul.
Oh, my stomach rolled at the thought. I still, even after all this time, had no idea how he would react. But I couldn’t keep waiting for some kind of inspiration, and the longer I waited, the harder it was going to be to explain
why
I had waited. I looked at the alarm clock next to our bed. It was seven o’clock. He would be back anytime.
I heard my cell phone ringing in the kitchen, so I stood up to answer it. I headed toward my purse on the counter before realizing my phone was on the table. Apparently, I hadn’t put it in my purse when I went to my showdown-gone-bad with Paige. I felt so embarrassed for having reacted like that. She must think I was totally insane.
I picked up my phone. It was December’s number calling, but the display said it was the sixth missed call from her number. I quickly answered it. “Hey, sweetie,” I said, trying to focus on this moment.
“Mom?” December said in her trying-to-be-strong voice. “I’ve been trying to call you. There’s something wrong. My doctor wants me admitted to the hospital.”
By the time Paul came home, I’d already made my flight arrangements for the next morning, and I was almost packed.
He sat on the bed while I went between my closet and my dresser, choosing clothes I knew had a looser fit. I had planned to tell him about the baby—our baby—tonight, but I couldn’t do that now. Not like this; not when I was leaving.
While I finished packing, I explained that December had gone to her regular appointment yesterday but her doctor had had some concerns. They’d sent her home with instructions to follow, then told her to come back today to see how she was responding. Long story short, they told her to get to the hospital. Her blood pressure was nearing stroke level, her kidneys were shutting down, and she needed intervention quick. Lance, her husband, took her to the hospital immediately, and the doctors got her on some medication that was keeping her blood pressure stable, but it wasn’t going down like they wanted.
“They’re watching her closely, but will have to do a C-section if things get any worse.”
“How long will she be in the hospital?” Paul asked.
“Until she has the baby,” I responded.
“How far along is she?”
“Thirty-four weeks,” I said, feeling my stomach drop. “She isn’t due until February.”
“How long are you going to stay out there?”
I turned to look at him and wished he was coming with me. Well, I kinda wished he was. I stopped my packing and came to stand in front of him, wondering if he’d noticed how fat I was getting. I touched his cheek. “I don’t know,” I said. “If they end up taking the baby early, I’ll stay as long as I can.”
Right then, I had a horrible thought. What if something happened to December’s baby, and my baby was okay? I pushed that thought far away. As Paul rested his hands on my hips and looked into my eyes, I almost told him everything. For that brief moment, it seemed so plausible that he would be stunned and then excited. Maybe he’d kiss my belly and wrap his arms around my expanding waistline.
But the moment passed quickly as everything else crowded in to take its place. Now wasn’t the right time; December needed to be my focus. I bent down and kissed Paul on the top of the head, then returned to my packing. My bags were by the door before I realized I hadn’t talked to Stormy. I called her cell phone and explained about her sister’s situation. She wanted to come with me, but since I didn’t know how long I’d be in Ohio and she still had school, that wasn’t an option. Luckily, she accepted my explanations.
Eventually Paul and I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep much as I tried to sort through my daughter’s situation along with my own circumstances. I almost prayed for December and the baby, but then I remembered my last prayer—the one I’d offered when I took those pregnancy tests. I was making progress in my own acceptance of this baby, but that didn’t mean I’d let God off the hook for having done this to me. And now December? I’d been raised to believe in a loving God. But sometimes I wondered.
I picked up a rental car at the Cincinnati airport and called Lance once I had finished signing the contracts. “How’s she doing?”
“Fine,” he said, calm as always. “She’s showing some response to the medication. I hope we didn’t call you out here for nothing.”
“No, I’m glad you called,” I said. Was I ever. “The rental car has a GPS so I should be there soon.”
I found the hospital easily enough, and within an hour of my plane landing, I was marching down the hall of labor and delivery. When I stopped a nurse and asked where my daughter was, she showed me to December’s room. I could see right away how swollen she was. Her hands and her face were round almost to the point of looking painful. She teared up when she saw me, and I hurried over to hug her as tightly as I could.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I said when I pulled back. We were both crying. “Are you okay?”
I stayed for the rest of the afternoon, talking or being silent as the situation warranted. Mostly, December was just scared, but the doctors were optimistic that they could hold off labor a little longer. Lance came that evening; he’d gone into work to make notes on his different projects in case someone needed to step in for him next week. I stayed for another hour before finally admitting I was dead on my feet. I’d left California at six o’clock that morning, and the flight was catching up with me fast. I hugged December, made Lance promise to call me if anything happened, and followed the GPS directions to their house in an older suburb with big trees and cracked sidewalks.
I was dragging when I finally shut the front door behind me but still went about making up a bed on the couch. It had only been a few months since I’d last been here, but I could see the changes in December’s little home. There was a car seat still in the box in the corner of the kitchen. On top was a pile of clothes and tiny little baby things. I touched a baby-sized baseball cap and felt a lump form in my throat. December had told me all about the baby shower her friends had thrown for her last weekend. She’d been absolutely glowing in the photos she’d posted to Facebook, but in hindsight, I remembered noticing that her face looked a little rounder than usual. I’d chalked it up to pregnancy weight gain, but more had been going on, and no one knew it. I’d sent her a gift certificate for Babies “R” Us.
Would a better mother have done something more personal?
The extra bedroom where Stormy and I had stayed when we visited last summer had been painted a light green—very calming. I sat down in the rocking chair, a hand-me-down from Lance’s mother, and began rocking back and forth. The crib wasn’t set up yet, but the pieces were stacked against the wall. Lance still hadn’t finished moving out the desk that had been in here when it was an office. I thought about trying to set up the crib, or at least move the desk out into the living room, but I didn’t feel up to it. I didn’t feel up to much of anything.
I closed my eyes and let the rocking motion soothe me—or I tried to. It was hard to let go of the tension, both what I’d left behind and what I’d come to. Facing December’s impending motherhood while hiding my own was very surreal. But how could I tell anyone about it now? December needed my help and attention. It would take away from her if I suddenly made an announcement. Was I grateful for the excuse? If I was being totally honest, I would have to say that I was, but that didn’t mean I felt good about it. Paige’s words were fresh in my mind. I still needed to grow up, but when would I find the time for that?
I fell asleep in the rocking chair and woke up around two o’clock in the morning when Lance came through the front door.
“I thought you were going to stay at the hospital,” I said as we met in the living room.
“All they had was a chair,” he said, stretching out his back. “And my back is killing me. December has her phone, though, and I made her promise to call.”
I’d forgotten that Lance had injured his back a few years ago in a waterskiing accident. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Come to think of it, my back wasn’t feeling all that swell either.
“I meant to borrow an air mattress for you to use like we did over the summer,” Lance said as he retrieved a prescription bottle from a kitchen cupboard.
“The couch is fine,” I assured him, not wanting him to worry about something so trivial. “She was okay when you left?”
“Yeah,” Lance said with a heavy sigh. “I’m hoping she’ll sleep better if she’s not worrying about me.”
He offered me their bed, but I refused. He needed it more than I did. We both turned in, and while the couch wasn’t all that comfortable, it was better than the rocking chair. I slept until almost eight and then made coffee and instant oatmeal for breakfast. Lance was still asleep, so after getting dressed, I left him a note and headed for the hospital.
On the way, I stopped at Kmart and, for the first time in years, headed to the baby department. I couldn’t believe how much stuff there was. Surely there hadn’t been so many things when my girls were little. I looked for several minutes before I found some preemie-sized pajamas, the dress kind with a drawstring at the bottom that I’d always preferred when my girls were little. They were so small, though. I shook my head, hoping that everything would be fine from here on out and December’s baby would wait until it was due. I knew better, though. The doctors were taking it one day at a time, but no one expected December to take my grandson to term.
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.
“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.
