The Rosie Effect (30 page)

Maya was expecting her third child, so the risk was reduced. ‘Your pelvic bones and vagina will already be well stretched.’

‘Thanks for sharing that, buddy,’ said her husband.

When I had finished, everyone clapped.

‘I gather you’re an OBGYN,’ said Heidi.

‘No, just a father, recognising that I have a valuable and fulfilling role to play in the pregnancy.’

She laughed. ‘You’re an example to us all.’

I hoped Rosie, sitting at the back, had taken notice.

We covered a number of topics, most of which I was able to expand upon. I was conscious of Jack’s advice, but I seemed to be the only knowledgeable person in the room other than Heidi. Everything seemed to be going very well. The topic moved to breastfeeding, where I had extended my research beyond The Book.

‘It won’t always be easy, and you fathers have to support your partners’ choice to breastfeed,’ said Heidi.

‘Or not,’ I added, since the word
choice
implies an alternative.

‘I’m sure you’d agree, Don, that breastfeeding is always the preferred option.’

‘Not always. There are numerous factors which may affect the decision. I recommend a spreadsheet.’

‘But one huge factor is the immunity that breastfeeding gives to the child. We need a very strong reason to deny our child the best immune system.’

‘Agreed,’ I said.

‘Let’s move on then,’ said Heidi. But she had left out a critical fact!

‘Maximum immunity is achieved by sharing babies among mothers. In the ancestral environment, mothers fed one
another’s children.’ I pointed to the Street Women. ‘Madison and Delancey are best friends, living in the same house with babies due concurrently. Obviously they should co-feed each other’s babies. In the interests of creating the best possible immune systems.’

I continued the argument with Rosie on the train home. In retrospect it was probably more of what Rosie would call a rant than an actual argument, due to all contributions being made by me.

‘Chapped nipples are reported to cause agony, but mothers are expected to continue feeding to improve the immune system. Yet a social convention, a
constructed
social convention with minimal underlying rationale, is enough to prevent a simple extension that—’

‘Please, Don, just shut up,’ said Rosie.

Rosie apologised a few minutes later, walking home from the subway. ‘Sorry I told you to shut up. I know it’s who you are and there’s nothing you can do about it. But you were just so embarrassing.’

‘Dave predicted embarrassment. It’s normal.’

But I was conscious that it was unlikely that anyone at Dave’s class had been the catalyst for the public breakup of two best friends and their employment relationship and an unstructured discussion involving most of the participants that violated the promise that the classes would be ‘non-threatening’.

‘Keep executing,’ Dave had said. To extend his baseball analogy, I was in imminent danger of being dropped from the roster. I needed help from the coach: my therapist.

‘I’m not your therapist, Don.’

I intercepted Lydia as she left the clinic at the end of the day. I’d had no success securing an appointment and detected obstruction. She refused my offer of coffee and insisted on returning upstairs to her office. I had come alone.

I told her everything, excluding the Rosie-Sonia substitution. More correctly, I
planned
to tell her everything, but the description of the Antenatal Uproar, which I commenced with in response to her question ‘What prompted you to come to see me?’, occupied thirty-nine minutes and was not finished when she interrupted. She was
laughing
. I could not have imagined Lydia laughing, but now she was laughing
inappropriately
at a situation that had driven my marriage to the brink of disaster.

‘Oh God, breastfeeding nazis. Women whose maids are their best friends. You know what David Sedaris says? None of these women have someone
else’s
maid as their best friend.’

It was an interesting observation, but not useful in solving my problem.

‘All right,’ said Lydia. ‘We didn’t get off to a very good start, you and I, and that’s partly my issue. We do need people like you. You should know that I cleared you with the police after the first session. The only child you’re a danger to is your own.’

I was shocked. ‘I’m a danger to my own child?’

‘I thought there was a risk. That’s why I used the lever of the police report to see you again. I wanted to make sure you were safe. Report me if you like, but I was doing it for a good reason, and now you’ve come back voluntarily.’ She looked at
the clock. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

I almost missed the social signal because it was so unexpected. She wanted to continue the conversation. ‘Yes, please.’

She left me and returned with two coffees.

‘I’m officially finished for the day. I’m an hour past officially finished. But I want to tell you something. It might help to explain a few things.’

Lydia sipped her coffee and I did likewise. It was of the quality I would expect from a university tea-room. I continued drinking it anyway, and Lydia proceeded with her explanation.

‘About a year ago, I lost a patient. She had postpartum psychosis. You know what that is?’

‘Of course. One birth in 600. Frequently no prior history. More common in
primagravidae
. First births,’ I explained.

‘Thank you for the clarification, Doctor,’ she said. ‘Anyhow, I lost her and the baby. She killed the baby and committed suicide.’

‘You failed to diagnose the psychosis?’

‘I never saw it. The husband didn’t report anything wrong. He was…insensitive, so insensitive he didn’t notice his wife was psychotic.’

‘And you considered me capable of similar insensitivity?’

‘I know you’re trying to do the right thing. But I thought Rosie might be at risk of depression and you wouldn’t pick it up.’

‘Postnatal depression occurs in between ten and fourteen per cent of births. But I’m adept at administering the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale.’

‘She completed the questionnaire?’

‘I asked her the questions.’

‘Trust me, Don, you’re not adept. But I’ve met Rosie. She’s remarkably robust, probably a result of her early life in Italy. She’s got your number. She obviously loves you, she’s got purpose and structure through her medical studies, she’s worked through her family issues, she’s got a good network of friends.’

It took me a moment to remember she was talking about Sonia.

‘What if she wasn’t studying? And didn’t have friends? And didn’t love me? Surely even the support of an insensitive husband would be better than zero.’

Lydia finished her coffee and stood up. ‘Luckily that’s not the position you’re in. But, paradoxically, having a husband like that is worse than having no supports. He may well keep the woman from taking some positive action by herself. In my opinion—and there’s research to support it—she’d be better off without him.’

29

I spent the next day at work, alone, attempting to deal with the problem generated by Lydia’s observations. I undertook some supplementary research on the desirable attributes of a father.

Non-violence
was at the top of the list. My actions had led to arrest and referral to an anti-violence class. My meltdown was virtually indistinguishable from the outbreaks of anger that Jack the Biker had discussed. I did not consider myself a threat to others, but I presumed many violent people would make the same self-assessment.

Drug Use—Lack of.
My alcohol consumption, already at the highest daily limit I had been able to find, had risen significantly during the pregnancy. This was doubtless a response to stress. Jack the Biker was right: it probably made me more vulnerable to meltdowns.

Emotional stability
. One word. Meltdown.

Sensitivity to Child’s Needs
. One word. Empathy. My most serious weakness as a human being.

Sensitivity to Partner’s Emotional Needs.
See previous.

Reflective Functioning
. As a scientist probably good, but the fact that I had been unable to find a solution to my relationship problem suggested I could not apply it to the domestic environment.

Social Supports.
This was the only redeeming item in an otherwise disastrous list of shortcomings. My family was in Australia, but I was fortunate to have incredible support from Gene, Dave, George, Sonia, Claudia and the Dean. And, of course, I had professional help from Lydia.

Honesty
was not included in the list, but was obviously a desirable attribute. I had hoped that when the Playground Incident was resolved, I could share it with Rosie. But it was an instance of weird behaviour, and weird behaviour was no longer acceptable.

I created a spreadsheet and it rapidly became obvious that the negatives outweighed the positives. As a potential father, I was manifestly unsuitable, and it was increasingly clear that I was no longer required in my role as a partner.

Further research confirmed that it was not unusual for relationships to fail during pregnancy or shortly after the birth. The woman’s attention naturally shifted to the baby, at the expense of the partner. Alternatively, the male partner wanted to avoid the responsibility of fatherhood. The first had definitely occurred in our case. And while I was willing to take on the responsibilities of fatherhood, I had been rated
as incapable by both a professional therapist and my wife. And now by my own self-assessment.

My research provided some guidance on separation: better results were achieved by swift and definite action rather than prolonged discussion. This was consistent with the portrayal of relationship termination in two films I had watched during the Rosie Project:
Casablanca
and
The Bridges of Madison County
. In keeping with these films, I prepared a short speech of nine pages outlining the situation and the inevitability of my conclusion. It was emotionally painful work, but the process of articulating the argument helped to clarify it in my mind.

Jogging home, with the speech prepared, I allowed my thoughts to wander. I had spent sixteen months and three days married to Rosie. Falling in love with Rosie had been the single best event of my life. I had worked as hard as I could to maintain the situation, but—like Dave with Sonia—I had always suspected that there had been some sort of cosmic mistake that would be discovered and that I would be alone again. Now it had happened.

It was, of course, not the fault of the cosmos but of my own limitations. I had simply got too many things wrong, and the damage had accumulated.

I left work early to arrive home before Gene. Once again, Rosie was on the mattress. This time she was reading, but it was a formulaic romance novel of the kind my aunt read. I had made Rosie so unhappy that she was seeking relief in fantasy.

I began my speech. ‘Rosie, it seems obvious that things are not going well with us. There is some fault—’

She interrupted. ‘Don’t say any more. Don’t talk about
faults. I was the one who got pregnant without talking to you. I think I know what you’re going to say. I’ve been thinking the same thing. I know how hard you’ve tried, but this relationship has always been about two independent people who had fun together, not about a conventional family.’

‘Why did you get pregnant then?’

‘I guess because having a baby is so important to me, and I had a fantasy that we could be parents together. I didn’t think it through.’

Rosie said more, but my ability to process speech, especially speech about emotions, had been impaired by my own emotions. I realised I had hoped that Rosie would disagree with me—possibly even laugh at some error in my thinking—and things would return to normal.

Finally she said, ‘What are we going to do?’

‘You indicated you would return to Australia,’ I said. ‘Obviously I will provide financial support for Bud as per convention.’

‘I mean, now. Can I stay here?’

‘Of course.’ I was not going to make Rosie homeless. She had no close friends in New York besides Judy Esler. And I did not want the Eslers to know about the separation yet. I still had an irrational hope that the problem would be resolved. ‘I’ll stay with Dave and Sonia. Temporarily.’

‘It won’t need to be long. I’ll book a flight home. Before they won’t let me fly.’

Rosie insisted it was too late to go to Dave’s that evening, so I slept at the apartment. In the middle of the night, I woke to
hear her performing her hot-chocolate and bathroom ritual, then the door opened. In the light from the living room, which was never completely dark, she looked interesting, in an extremely positive way. Her shape had changed even further and I was disappointed not to have been able to monitor it through closer contact.

She was going to fly home. I would stay for a few days with Dave and Sonia and move back into the apartment alone. Perhaps I would also fly back to Australia at some stage. It made little difference. I am not particularly interested in my physical surroundings. I liked the job at Columbia, with David Borenstein, Inge, the B Team and, at least currently, Gene.

Somewhere in the world I would have a child, but my role would be little different from that of a sperm donor. I would send money to assist Rosie with the costs, and perhaps resume my cocktail-making job to supplement my income and social contact. Even in New York, I lived efficiently. My life would revert to the way it was prior to Rosie. It would be better for the changes Rosie had stimulated me to make and for the new ways I had of perceiving reality. It would be worse for knowing that it had once been even better.

Without speaking, Rosie climbed into bed with me. She was moving differently with the additional weight of Bud and his or her support system, leaning back to take advantage of the third wedge-shaped vertebra that human females have for that purpose. It seemed that she should ask permission, as it had never occurred to me to join her after she had relocated to her study. But I was not going to object.