Jennifer Greene: Lucky

“But I can’t be only three centimeters dilated! You have to be kidding! I thought I was in transition because of the amount of pain.”

“I’m going to give you something to help you relax, Kasey.”

“I don’t want to relax! I want to get to ten centimeters and get this over with! And I want to be able to see the fetal monitor! Is our baby okay?”

“Your baby’s just fine,” Dr. Armstrong said reassuringly, but he hadn’t even looked. What was the point of being all trussed up with the fetal monitor if no one was even going to look at it? “You can have ice chips. And your husband can rub your back. And you can watch TV or listen to music….”

She just wanted it over with. But at least, once they all left her alone with Graham, she thought she could get a better hold on her fears and emotions. Later—an hour, or two, who knew?—she remembered the man outside, and thought to ask Graham who he was.

“Name is Jake McGraw. Used to be from the neighborhood.”

“I thought you called him by name, so I was pretty sure you knew him.”

“Yeah, I knew him. He’s Joe’s son. You’ve heard of Joe, used to be one of GM’s high-step attorneys. Money from generations back. Joe had a heart attack a while ago, put Jake back in the neighborhood now and then to help his father.”

“So that’s why he was at the hospital?” God. Another pain was coming on. How many did you get before you’d paid your dues? And now she knew you didn’t die from the little ones, because there were lots, lots, lots bigger ones after that.

“I don’t know why he was at the hospital. Forget him, Kasey. He’s a loser. An alcoholic.”

“Really?” For an instant she pictured those old, beautiful eyes again.

“Was part of a big fancy law firm, wife from the Pointe, fast lane all the way. Had a wild marriage, and I mean capital W wild. Gave one party that started out in GP and ended up in Palm Springs. They both played around, until some point when Jake went off the deep end. Or so they say. He’s got a teenage son, Danny, lives with his ex-wife. Doesn’t practice law anymore. You hearing me? He’s bad news all the way. Lost everything. And deserved to.”

“You never mentioned him before—”

“Why would I? And it beats me why we’re talking about him now.”

And then they weren’t. She’d only asked the question in passing. The man wasn’t on her mind. Nothing was, as the minutes wore on and the night deepened and darkened. Somewhere in the wing, a woman screamed. A door was immediately closed, sealing out the sound. The nurse came and went. Graham survived for a while—at least the first couple hours—but then he started pacing.

“Do you want some more ice chips, Kase? Are you cold? Warm? Want to watch any specific show on the tube?”

His solicitousness was endearing—except that every time a pain ripped through her, he paced again, like a panther who wanted to throw himself against the bars. Anything—but be trapped in here. “Graham, go out,” she said finally.

“No way. I’m not leaving you.”

“I know you’re willing to stay. But this is hard…harder than I thought. And to be honest, I believe I’ll handle the pain better if I’m alone. I’ve always been that way. Go on, you. Go get some coffee, or something to eat. Don’t feel guilty, just go.”

He kissed her, hard, on the forehead, squeezed her hand. But eventually she talked him into leaving.

She’d lied about wanting to be alone. The truth was, she desperately wanted Graham to be with her, yet he was obviously miserable, seeing her in pain. And for a while, for a long time, the fear completely left. Medical help was just a call away, and so was her husband, so it seemed easier to relax. She inhaled the silence. The peace. The feeling as if there was no one in the universe but her and the baby.

She cut all the lights but one, shut off the television. In between contractions, she rubbed her tummy, talking softly to her baby. This was about the two of them. No one else. “You’re going to love your room. I bought you a teddy bear the size of a Santa, and the toy box is already filled. The wallpaper is balloons in jewel colors, and over your crib, I set up real jewels dangling from a mobile—amethyst, citrine, jade, pink quartz. When the sun comes, you won’t believe what brilliant crystal patterns it makes on the wall. And there’s a wonderful, big old rocker. You and I are going to rock and sing songs, and I’m never going to let you cry, never….”

An hour passed, then another. Suddenly a pain seared through her that was different from all the others.

Finally, she thought, the transition stage. All the books claimed this stage was the hardest—but it also meant that they were nearing the end. Soon enough she’d hold the real baby in her arms after all these months.

Another pain. Just like that one, only worse. More of the fire, more of the scalding feeling of being ripped apart. She hit the button for the nurse, then hit it again.

No one came.

Now she realized what a sissy she’d been before, because these contractions were completely different. And possibly that’s why no one was coming now, because they thought she’d been crying wolf? Only Graham…where was he? Surely they wouldn’t leave her much longer without someone checking on her?

This wasn’t pain where she could scream or yell like before. This was pain so intense that it took all her concentration to just endure. This wasn’t about whining how she could die; this was about believing for real that she may not survive this. Agony lanced through her, again and again, not ceasing, not letting up, not giving her a chance to catch her breath. Her body washed in sweat. Fear filled her mind like clouds in a stormy sky, pushing together, growling and thundering. She wanted her mom. She wanted Graham. She wanted someone, anyone. She pushed and pushed and pushed the call button, but she had no possible way to get up out of bed and seek help on her own, not by then.

Finally the door opened a crack. Then a nurse’s voice. “Good God.” Then…lights and bodies and motion and more pain. “There, Kasey, you’re doing good—it’s going to be all over very soon.” By then she didn’t care anymore—or, if she cared, she couldn’t find the energy to respond.

They wheeled her into an unfamiliar room. Stuck her with needles. “Where’s Graham?” she asked, but no one answered. Everyone was running, running. The baby seemed to be rushing, rushing. And the pain was there, but with that last hypodermic, the knife edges of pain blunted, and her mind started blurring.

Somewhere, though, she heard a woman’s voice. One of the nurses’. Low, urgent. “Doctor, there’s something—”

She tried to stir through the thick mental fuzz, recognizing that something was happening. Something alarming. She heard the doctor’s sharp, “Be quiet.” And then, “Get out of the way. Let me see.”

“Is something wrong?” she whispered.

No one answered.

“Doctor, is something wrong with my baby?”

Still no one answered. But she felt another needle jab in her arm. And immediately came darkness.

Her dreams were all sweet, dark, peaceful. She remembered nothing until she heard the sound of a nurse’s cheerful voice, and opened her eyes to a room full of sunshine. “Are we awake, Mrs. Crandall? I’m bringing your beautiful daughter. There you go, honey… I have on your chart that you want to nurse, so I’m going to help you get set up. Can we sit up?”

She pushed herself to a sitting position, listening to the nurse, taking in the pale-blue walls of the private room, the fresh sun pouring in the window, the washed-clean sky of a new day. All those sensory perceptions, though, came from a distance.