Judy Baer - Oh, Baby!

Tony’s eyelids drooped seductively, and he put his hand over mine as it lay on the table. “How about me? I’ve been told I’m entertaining.”

“You certainly are, but I don’t have enough time for a high-maintenance hobby like you.”

“You need romance in your life, Molly. I could provide it.”

He looked so hopeful that I had to let him down easy—again. I disengaged my hand, put it on his cheek and stared into his eyes. “Listen to me, Tony. I refuse to ruin a good friendship by dating you. Sooner or later you’ll have to quit asking me.”

He cradled my hand in both of his. “I choose later. I’m not a quitter and I’m not ready to give up yet.”

“I’ll go out with you as a friend anytime, you know that.”

“Small comfort,” he retorted cheerfully. “Do you want a bite of my pie?”

Dates with Tony, I’ll refuse. Pie? No way. I opened my mouth and he popped a bite of the French silk, the prime piece—the little tip at the end—into my mouth.

Just then a tray clattered onto the table next to us with more force than usual. I looked over to see Dr. Clay Reynolds throw himself onto a chair and scowl at the food before him. What was the chip on this man’s shoulder?

He bent forward, hovering over his tray and yet not seeming to see it. His gaze was fixed inwardly, seeing something invisible to the rest of us. What was he seeing? Who or what was he remembering?

We finished up quickly and, with a nod to Dr. Reynolds, scurried out of the cafeteria.

“I’ve seen grizzly bears protecting their cubs that look more cheerful than Dr. Reynolds did just now,” Lissy commented.

We both looked to Tony, who, because of his many connections, always knew all the hospital gossip.

“He blew up during a delivery today. Apparently a nurse hadn’t called him until the baby was almost here. He was furious. He’s the only doctor I know who prefers to be called off a golf course early to be with a woman in labor.”

“Is she in big trouble? He’s got a lot of influence around here,” I whispered, acrobats in my stomach doing handstands and flip-flops.

“Who knows? He kept it together until the baby was born, but several people heard him chastising her later. He’s got a lot of influence around here. She’s a good nurse. Too bad she crossed him.”

That dream about having a doula program at Bradshaw? Like a helium balloon released into the atmosphere, it drifted higher and farther away with each passing moment.

“Come on, Hildy, time to go!”

Hildegard opened her eyes but didn’t lift her head from her paws. She gave me a cold, disinterested glare from her new doggie bed. Ever since I’d brought it home, the cedar chips still fresh and fragrant inside, Hildy had refused to budge. Even Geranium rooting in her dog dish had not prompted her to rise. That usually started a pig-dog skirmish worthy of the evening news.

I went for the big guns. I reached into the closet and pulled out a scrap of red fabric with writing on it and dangled Hildy’s therapy-dog identification cape in front of her nose. She sighed, one of those deep, heartfelt, comes-from-the-gut sighs, that told me this was the most difficult decision of her life.

Bed or nursing home? Bed or nursing home? Which will it be? I could practically hear the struggle in her thoughts. Still, all the creature comforts in the world couldn’t keep her from the job she loves. Finally she rose and trotted to me to put on the uniform that displayed her official designation as a therapy dog.

“Come on, sweetheart, we don’t want to be late. Mrs. Olson will be waiting for you with doggie treats burning a hole in her pocket.”

River’s View Estates is only minutes away from Bradshaw Medical Center and overlooks the Minnesota River. Mrs. Mattie B. Olson had been new to River’s View when Hildy and I first came to visit the residents three years ago. They’d forged a bond that had helped the elderly woman “over the hump,” as it were, of loneliness and homesickness, while she adjusted to her new place. They’ve been friends ever since. When Hildy sees Mrs. Olson, she trots to her and lays her furry head in the old woman’s lap. She will stay that way indefinitely as Mrs. Olson strokes the soft silky top of Hildy’s head.

Some of the people at River’s View do not have family nearby so affectionate hugging or touching of another living being rarely occurs. The tactile experience of petting a dog provides immeasurable pleasure and connection. I should know. Hildy comforted me many times after I broke up with Hank. Frankly, as time passes and my vision clears, I see how mismatched Hank and I were. It’s apparent to me now that whoever I marry will have to share all my passions—including my life as a doula. If I can’t find that, other than for an occasional whiff of sour doggie breath, Hildy is a mighty fine companion.

“Hello, darling,” Mrs. Olson said. Only then did she look up at me. “And hello to you, too, Molly.”

“How’s your cold?”

“Much better, thank you.” She peered at me, a pretty lady, even at this age. She must have been stunning as a young woman. Her intelligent deep blue eyes were sharp and clear. “You look tired. Have you been up all night delivering babies?”

“I don’t deliver them,” I reminded her. “I just cheer them on as they come into the world.”

“When I had my children, I was alone except for the doctor. My husband, poor soul, didn’t have much of a stomach for medical things. He passed out on the floor on the other side of the door every time I gave birth. Once he hit his head on the corner of a table and got a concussion. We always joked that that was the most difficult birth I ever had—I ended up caring for both him and an infant. I could have used you back then.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Four. All doctors, if you can believe it. There are several generations of them. We tease each other about being related to Luke of the gospel. He was a physician, too, you know. A family tradition, I guess, including several pediatricians. The men in my family are all good with children. Most of my family is in the medical profession. My husband was an accountant, however, and the closest he came to the medical field was doing my siblings’ taxes.”

She patted Hildy on the head. “As much as I love talking with the two of you, I think you should visit room 209 today. There’s a gentlemen who recently moved in, and I think he’s feeling rather blue.”

I bent down to give Mattie a hug. “You’re always taking care of someone, aren’t you?”

“Like I said, I’m from a family of healers and nurturers.” She held tightly to my hand. Even in her late eighties, she was still strong. “Besides, you nurture me. You have no idea how much I enjoy your visits.”

“We’ll be back.” Of all the people we visit at River’s View, Mattie is my favorite. If we’d been contemporaries, I believe we would have been best friends.

“We’ll stop to see you again before we leave,” I assured her.

As we walked away, Hildy looked back longingly at her friend.

The gentleman in 209 was, indeed, lonesome, but after a long chat about dogs from his past, he was considerably cheered. It didn’t hurt that Hildy gently licked his hand as we were about to leave.

It was nearly six o’clock by the time we’d made our rounds, visited again with Mrs. Olson and found our way back to the nurses’ station near the front door. I was surprised to see a familiar masculine figure bending over the desk, reading a chart. What was Dr. Reynolds doing here, the place that represented the other end of life’s spectrum from the delivery room?

He glanced up, saw me and did a double take. He must have thought the same thing about me.