Fertility: A Novel (27 page)

“You’re a smart little fellow,” Rick said to his young patient. “When you’re in pain you should seek help. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Yes, I am very lucky that I am here. It makes me happy. I am very happy now,” the little boy said.

“So your pain has gone away?” Rick asked.

“Oh, no, no. The pain is very bad.”

“Then how can you be happy?” Rick asked, perplexed.

“Oh, I am so happy because you are going to attend to the cause of my suffering. What a lucky boy I am!” the little boy chortled. “The path to happiness is within us all. Now that I have realized a way to end my pain, I am a happy boy.”

“Well, all right then. Please lay down so I can examine you,” Rick told the boy.

“Oh, yes, Doctor. Please, whatever you say,” the boy said agreeably.

Rick lifted the boy’s robe and examined his belly. The little boy cried out in pain when Rick examined his right lower quadrant. He looked at the boy’s labs. His white count was sky high. The kid likely had appendicitis.

“So, Tenzin — should I call you Tenzin?”

“Some people call me His Holiness, but you can call me Tenzin if you like.”

The kid must have a god complex, Rick thought, but he would leave that for the shrinks to deal with. “Tenzin, if you had to give your pain a score from one to ten, with ten being the worst, what score would you give the pain when I examined you?”

“Oh, yes. Ten, definitely ten,” the boy said assuredly.

“Well, I think we will have to take out your appendix. It probably has become infected,” Rick explained.

“Oh, thank you. I look forward to my operation!”

“Can I ask you another question, Tenzin?”

“Yes, of course, Doctor.”

“You have such pain, you need an operation and yet you are happy?” Rick asked his young patient.

“Decidedly so. Very happy. But I will be even happier when you cut out my miserable appendix.”

Then the young boy laughed and laughed, making even Rick laugh. He awoke smiling at six a.m. He had a smile on his face as he showered and dressed. He felt rested and ready for whatever the day would bring. Rick couldn’t get over the little boy in his dream, happy because the cause of his pain was about to be rooted out. There was a kernel of wisdom there, he thought. He’d have to try to find the time to write that dream down before he forgot it.

The dreams had a good effect on Rick. He actually whistled as he poured his cereal into the biggest bowl he could find in the cupboard. He wolfed down his breakfast and drank more than his share of the coffee, leaving Jeff scratching his head as he put a bagel in the toaster. Before they headed out for the hospital, Jeff checked the indoor/outdoor thermometer on the kitchen window: a balmy seventeen above zero. Not great, but an improvement over what had come before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rick had a satisfying morning. He transferred a four-year-old girl out of the PICU — a child who had been critically injured when her parents’ entertainment center fell on her as she scaled its shelves to reach a toy. It had been touch and go, but on day five after the accident, she began to rally. Now her recovery was exceeding Rick’s best hopes. She would need some physical therapy after the casts were removed, but he expected that in years to come, her accident would become part of family lore: the child so rambunctious she had risked death to retrieve a plaything. He also was happy about the two-year-old boy whose pneumonia had overwhelmed his lungs. Rick was able to wean him off the ventilator and discharge him to the peds floor.

But the most satisfying part of his morning was the epiphany he had while getting a cup of joe from the lounge. He suddenly knew he could handle whatever he had to face. So he’d been catapulted into fatherhood against his will. What did that matter now? There was a living, breathing child in the world that belonged to him and Sarah. The dream of the two of them swimming together had only served to make obvious what some part of him already knew: She was the woman for him. For years, he’d mocked the notion that everyone had a perfect soul mate. But now he wasn’t so sure something like that wasn’t at work.

At that moment, as Rick stirred the poor excuse for coffee, he felt better than he had in months. He knew what he had to do. He was like the little monk in his dream. He’d identified the cause of his suffering. Now he would deal with it. He’d go to Sarah and level with her, tell her he wanted to be with her and their baby. He would man up, take on his new responsibilities and get on with life. Only then, like the little monk
sans
appendix, could he conquer the misery he’d known since leaving Sarah. He laughed out loud just at the recollection of the little boy in monk’s robes giggling through his excruciating pain. Really, he thought, he had to write that dream down.

* * *

Two floors above him, in Sarah’s seventh-floor room, happiness was in scarce supply. Sarah didn’t know which was worse, the physical agony or the crushing sense of failure as a mother.

Visitors came in a steady stream and stayed only briefly so as not to tire her out. They offered warm congratulations and promises to help in any way they could. Bob Fong and his wife Irma were first, followed by Aunt Ellen and Uncle Max, Harry and Toby Meinig, Dr. Scholl and Doris. Everyone remarked what a miracle it was that Sarah and the baby had survived the accident. But nothing about the day of Anna’s birth seemed miraculous to Sarah.

There was one visitor who provided some relief, and that was Dr. Feinberg. His twice-daily visits brought reassurance that Anna was doing well, reminding Sarah that she had succeeded in one important way: nurturing her daughter for nearly nine months.

On the third day following the accident, Dr. Feinberg came into Sarah’s room for his early morning visit. Eva was off warming Anna’s breakfast bottle and Sarah and Anna were alone in the room. It was hard for him to tell who was more distraught, his hungry patient or her mother.

“Hello, Sarah. I could hear Anna down the hall even with your door closed. I would say we don’t have to worry about her lungs. She’s clearly got a good set.”

Sarah was on the verge of wailing herself. She couldn’t see how he could make light of the baby’s distress. Raising her voice over the baby’s screams, she cried, “There’s nothing I can do for her. She doesn’t want the pacifier. I can’t nurse her. I can’t walk the floor with her. I can’t even rock her in a chair. What kind of mother does this poor baby have?”

Eva returned with the bottle in time to hear the last of Sarah’s lament. She quickly took the pacifier from Sarah’s hand and replaced it with the bottle. As soon as Sarah put the nipple to Anna’s lips, the baby began sucking heartily. A look of contentment came over her face.

“There, that seems to be doing the trick,” Dr. Feinberg said, thinking it was time for a version of the pep talk he gave parents of his very tiny, very sick patients. “Sarah, this is your first baby. I can tell you from both personal and professional experience that even if you were fit as a fiddle, there would be times when you wouldn’t be able to comfort Anna. Babies can often be inscrutable, defying a parent’s best efforts to make them happy. I think you’ll find that parenthood makes even the most able-bodied and clever among us feel wholly inadequate at times. People wiser than I have said becoming a parent is the great leveler, reducing us all to self-doubt.”

“I’ve read the books, Dr. Feinberg. I understand there will be times I won’t be able to figure out what’s troubling her. But there was nothing in any of the books about what happened to us.”

“Fair enough. You have a unique situation to deal with. But you won’t be incapacitated forever. And while you heal, you have expert help here,” the doctor motioned to Eva, “a real pro who seems to have done an excellent job of raising you.”

Eva piggy-backed on that. “Sweetheart, Dr. Feinberg is right. I know this isn’t how any of us imagined the days surrounding Anna’s birth. But soon you’ll be up and around and you’ll be able to send me packing.”

It was all too much for Sarah. She’d indulged in such sweet expectations for the arrival of her baby. She could see now what a mistake that had been.

“I don’t think either of you can understand how awful it is to be too helpless to take care of your child,” Sarah said, trying hard not to dissolve into tears.

“Of course, you’re right about that,” Dr. Feinberg said soothingly, sensing this mother was close to her breaking point. “Forgive me if it seemed I was minimizing your problem. It’s a very real problem. But my hope and expectation is that it will be a self-limiting problem. As you heal, you will be able to do more and more for Anna. Eventually, I feel certain that you’ll be able to care for your baby without any assistance.”

“But she gets one chance to be a newborn. She’s starting her life with a loser for a mother. I might as well still be under that pile of rubble as far as she’s concerned.”

“Sarah, I want to encourage you to remember that these are just the first days of many, many years of being with and caring for your child. This is a painful time, but also a joyous time. My advice is to try to concentrate on the joy you feel for your daughter. It will make the time it takes for you to heal much more bearable.”

She averted her eyes from the doctor, concentrating on Anna, who had dozed off after taking her fill. “Your advice is very logical, Dr. Feinberg, but it’s not so easy to follow.”

“I know it’s not. And if you feel the need for some help with your feelings of frustration, I want you to know that my service has counselors who help new parents who’ve gone through traumatic births of varying sorts. I hope you’ll avail yourself of their assistance. They’re there to help, just like the rest of us. And their role in getting good outcomes for our babies is every bit as critical as that of the doctors and nurses.”

Eva was worried. Sarah had always been a perfectionist. She was never any good at dealing with disappointment. She thought back to the ceramic bowl Sarah had made in first grade. She had been so proud of that bowl, but when it slipped from her hands and shattered, she had refused to cry. All she said was, “I never liked it anyway.” Oh, what a tough nut she could be, always working so hard to be in control. Lying helpless in a hospital bed, needing her mother to take care of her most basic needs and the needs of her baby, was probably more than she could take.

“Dr. Feinberg, if Sarah decided to take advantage of the counseling service, whom would she contact?” Eva asked quietly.

Her daughter’s response was as instantaneous as it was furious. “Mom, I don’t need a counselor!” Her outburst caused the baby to start.

“It was just an idea, sweetie.”

“I’m upset for a perfectly legitimate reason. God, I’m not a head case,” she pleaded as the tears streamed down her face.

“Sarah, you may be the sanest person in this room,” the doctor said gently. “All I’m saying is, you have a lot on your plate and if you would like to talk to someone to help sort it all out, we have staff members who are good sounding boards. But it is totally your call.” He traded Sarah the baby bottle for the box of tissues on her nightstand.

“Thank you for at least acknowledging my situation. I know you mean well by your offer…but for now, I think I’ll try to sort things out on my own.”

“As I said, it’s completely your call.” The doctor held the bottle up to the light. “By the way, I see Anna downed almost three ounces in just a few minutes. You’ve got a good eater there. That makes me very happy.”

The words had a soothing effect on Sarah. “You really think she’s going to be okay? After all she’s been through — including a helpless mom?” she asked as she dried her eyes and blew her nose.

“Her exciting entrance to the world aside, she looks to be one terrific newborn. In fact, I was thinking of discharging her from my service later today.”

“What does that mean — discharging her from your service?” Sarah sniffed.

“It means she can go home today with her grandparents and come every day to stay with you, but as a visitor rather than as a patient,” the doctor explained. “She needn’t be hospitalized anymore.”

“Oh, I guess that’s a good thing, right?” Sarah asked hesitantly.

“A very good thing,” the doctor assured her.

After the reception her last question had received, Eva steeled herself before she tried another. “Doctor, how much time could Anna spend here during the day? What I’m trying to get at is, would you limit the baby’s hospital visits?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” the doctor said. “I think the nurses would probably like to have Sarah to themselves until they’re done with the morning routines. I would think that after nine, Anna would be a welcome visitor, as long as she was with you or your husband or another caregiver. And she can stay as long as you like, until visiting hours are over at nine at night. That would make for a long day, of course, but it would be entirely up to Sarah. If she decides that’s too long, Anna would be able to go home earlier.”

“So are you thinking we should start this tonight?” Sarah asked.

“I’ll check back later today, and if all is well, yes, I’d suggest we start tonight.”

“I feel torn about it. She has such a beautiful crib to sleep in and I got everything ready for her arrival before — you know, before everything happened. She should be going home like any normal baby would and getting used to her surroundings. But I won’t be there….” Her voice trailed off as tears once more started streaming down her face.

It was heartbreaking for Eva to see Sarah so miserable. She and Joseph had both been touched by how beautifully she’d prepared her apartment for the baby: a fully equipped nursery, clothes sorted by size from newborn to toddler two, wall decorations and pictures, whimsical nightlights, photo frames in primary colors. She even had nursing pads to absorb the anticipated leakage from her overfilled breasts. Sarah had thought of everything except, of course, the inconceivable. Eva remembered what her father used to say: “People plan and God laughs.” That God could allow Sarah to suffer so made Eva want to scream.