Forever Changed

On the steering wheel, my husband’s knuckles shown white.  I leaned forward to watch the pink of dawn illuminate the Cincinnati skyline.

He glanced over at me.  “Can I speed?”

I winced and nodded.  “I reckon this is the only time you can.”

He snickered as he ran a red light.  I stared out the window and murmured.  He kept his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road, but leaned his body toward me.

“What’d you say?”

I spoke louder.  “Nothing’s ever gonna be the same, is it?”

My husband shook his head as he pulled up to the emergency room entrance of Christ Hospital.

“Nope,” he said.  “Today everything changes.”

The beautiful, willowy brunette nurse perched on the side of my hospital bed.  She picked up my hand and turned it over.  Traced the lines on my palm with a burgundy fingernail as she spoke.

“Did no one give you an enema?”

My eyes bugged out.  “No, ma’am,” I said.  Kinda glad about that.

She huffed.  “I swear.  So many nurses think it’s old-fashioned, but I don’t want my ladies pushing out poop with their babies.  It’s not sanitary.”

I heard a gagging noise.  I peeked in my husband’s direction.  He squinted at the ceiling and cleared his throat.

When Dr. Lum arrived, the first thing I noticed was the peace signs on his socks.  He'd rolled up his scrub pants so they'd show.  He patted my cheek before he sat down at the foot of the bed.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.  “Had to finish recording a Pink Floyd concert.”

He stood up suddenly and struck an air guitar pose.

“We don’t need no ed-u-ca-tion.”

He sat back down and smiled between my knees.

“You feeling okay, missy?

I felt fine.  I’d had my epidural.  Tall pretty nurse made sure of that as soon as I hit four centimeters dilated.  I didn’t look at the needle, but my husband did.  I gulped when I saw his eyes bulge.  I leaned over the bedside table and did snifftas like our Lamaze teacher had taught us.  Sniff in with the nose. Ta out through the mouth.

“Husbands,” she'd said.  “You can use this technique too.  Like, when you’re in line at the grocery store, and you have to go to the bathroom.  Number two.”

I liked my epidural.  A lot.  Too much really.  I never got the urge to push.

Dr. Lum held up stainless steel tongs.

“These are forceps,” he said.  “We can use these to get baby out.”

I squeaked.  “Fine!  I’ll push.”

I couldn’t feel pain, but I could feel pressure.  I was fully aware when the baby slicky slid out of me.

“It’s a . . . . girl!” Dr. Lum said.  “Nancy’ll take her over and clean her up.  Bring her back in a jiffy.”

I reached down to touch my belly—empty now—after almost a year.  I pressed my fingers in ‘til it felt like I hit the back of me.  My tummy seemed like a pouch of Cool-Whip, all wooshy and gooshy.

“I need you to push one more time,” Dr. Lum said.  “To deliver the placenta.”

I wrinkled my nose.  “Ew!”

I pushed half-heartedly. Surely an empty membrane sack didn’t require the effort a seven pound baby did.

Dr. Lum held up what looked like a large man ‘o war jellyfish. 

“What’s your baby’s name?”

“Josephine Joy,” my husband said.

Dr. Lum pounced the placenta from side to side.  First left, then right.

“This is the house that Josy built, Josy built, Josy built.  This is the house that Josy built—“

He paused to look at his watch, “On December 7, 1991 at 12:34 p.m. on a Saturday.”

I tilted my head and squinted.  Thought him a bit odd but didn’t say so out loud.

He peered at the giant Jell-O jiggler.  “If we were in—can’t remember which country—we’d cook this puppy and eat it for dinner.”

My stomach lurched, and I put my hand in front of my mouth, just in case. 

The lovely labor and delivery nurse finally brought us our baby girl.  Her face, the baby’s, was alarmingly scarlet.  Dark, silky hair wisped out from under her white-with-a-pink-pom-pom beanie cap.  The nurse cooed as she tucked the warm flannel package into my arms.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?”

I looked down at her.  How long had it been since I’d held a baby?  Was it my niece?  Six years ago?  I stroked my daughter’s velvety cheek with my pinky. 

“She kinda looks like a Conehead,” I said.  “You know.  Like on Saturday Night Live?”

Nancy the nurse snapped her fingers.  Pointed at the baby.  Her tiny, round face was turned to me.  She seemed even redder than before.  Her chin was like an ocean wave, coming at me, then retreating, over and over.

I looked up at Nancy.  “What do I do?  What’s she want?”

Nancy cocked her head.  “You really don’t know?  Did you never babysit?”

I shook my head.  “No,” I said.  “I had a paper route.”

She grimaced.  “Oh, my.”

She put one hand on my shoulder, the other under the baby bundle.

“How do I say this, honey?  Nothing’s ever going to be the same for you.  Ever again.”

           

And Then There Were Five--Part II

"I can make a boychild," I told my husband.  "Really, I can."

He smiled, a sure-you-can-(not) smile.  "I don't care what we get.  Another baby would be wonderful."

I went to the library and checked out books on the subject.  Then I got to work.  No kidding.  It was like having another job.  Wake up.  Don't move.  Take your temperature.  Record it.  Check this (You want me to check what?).  Do that.  Touch such and such (You're kidding, right?).

A month passed.  No baby.  Another thirty days came and went.  Miss dot-at-the-end-of-a-sentence came to visit.   Again.

I sniffed in my hairstylist's chair.  "It's never gonna happen," I said.  "I bet I have secondary infertility."

Becky smiled at me in the mirror.  "Hush, now," she said.  "Go buy an ovulation kit.  You're probably just off by a day or two."

Becky was right.  Month three?  Bingo!


"What do you see?" I asked the radiologist.  "Is it still there?  Is it?"

His face was an inch from the screen.  "Honestly, I don't see a thing.  I think we're out of the woods.  I'll doublecheck the films and call you to confirm."

My breath came out in a whoosh.  I grabbed my husband's hand and squeezed.  He pressed back.

"So," the radiologist said.  "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?"

My mouth fell open.  "Really?"

My husband's eyebrows went up.  "Right now?"

The doctor scooted his rolley stool around to face us.  He rubbed his thighs briskly.

"This is West Virginia," he said.  "I don't want to start a family feud.  So do you, or don't you?  Want to know."

I nodded. 

My husband shook his head. 

I huffed.

My husband shrugged.  "I like surprises.  So does my family."

I clasped my hands in front of my face and opened my eyes super wide.  "Pretty please?  I won't tell anyone inside the state."

My husband sighed.  "Oh, all right."

The doctor wheeled the stool back to face the screen.  He tapped it with his pen. 

"See that right there?" he said.  "That's what makes your little guy, a guy."

I grinned and clapped.  "I did it!  I made a boy!"

The doctor gave my husband a little shove.  "You okay, Dad?"

My husband leaned closer to the ultrasound screen.  His breath fogged it. 

"It's a boy?  Really?"

The doctor smiled and clapped him on the back.  "It's a boy.  A healthy son.   Congratulations."


Fluid, surprisingly warm, gushed from inside me.  I looked down.  The legs of my blue maternity shorts darkened.  The water continued on its way.  A puddle formed on the back porch, between my flip flops.  I shut my eyes and groaned.

The girls were swinging.  "Watch how high we can go," the older one said.

The younger one looked at me and put her feet down to stop.  "What, Mommy?" she said.  "Why's your face all funny?"

I glanced down.  "Someone bring me the phone."

"Mommy, you wet  yourself."

I shook my head and spoke louder.  "Just get me a phone."

"Right now?" my husband said.  "It's coming right now?"

My answer was a whisper.  "Yes."

"Dad's in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer, and I have someone in the office with me."

I nibbled my lip.  "Last baby was born 20 minutes after my water broke."

"I'll be right there."


"You could stimulate your nipples," the nurse said, as she glanced at her watch.  "Since your labor doesn't seem to be progressing."

My eyes bulged. I touched my cheeks.  Hot.  I crooked my finger to bring her closer.  So the whole world wouldn't hear.

"Excuse me?"

"Stimulate your nipples," she said.  "It makes the body release oxytocin which can move the process along.  Just slide your arms inside your gown."

She busied herself tucking the sheets around me, adusting the monitor beside my bed.  I tapped her shoulder.

"Can you close the door, please?"

"Sure thing, honey.  Your doctor's been paged.  He'll be here any minute." 

She pointed at the control panel near the bedrail.  "That's the nurse call button if you need me.  Don't forget.  Stimulate--"

I put my finger to my mouth.  She laughed as she left.


I had my birth plan all figured out.  I'd had an epidural with child one.  That was very nice.  I'd gone natural with baby number two.  Did the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar thing.  Not so nice, but certainly doable.  Given a choice, I wanted drugs on my third and final (Lord willing) labor and delivery.

"Can you write it in my chart now?" I said to my doctor.  "Put it in all caps.  PATIENT WANTS EPIDURAL AS SOON AS SHE ENTERS HOSPITAL." 

My doctor had laughed.  "We'll see."


"What do you mean I can't have an epidural?" I said.  "It's written in my chart.  In all caps.  Look it up!"

The nurse fussed with my sheets.  Patted my hands. Wouldn't look me in the eye.

"They said something like the anesthesiologist had a more emergent situation," she said.

My fingernails bit into my palms.  I gnashed my teeth.

"What is more emergent than a baby emerging from my body?"

The nurse cringed.  Her hands were like nervous butterflies in the air between us.

She moved towards the door.  "Let me see what your doctor says."


Within five minutes I was speaking in tongues.  So my husband says.  I was watching a documentary on television, about Mardi Gras.  I heard drums--a primal beat--and my head turned side to side, matching their rhythm.

I started to chant under my breath.  "I want drugs.  I want them now."

Another contraction started.  My stomach churned, and my eyes wouldn't focus.  I heard the nurse come back in the room, but she looked like she was walking toward me through a cloud.  She held something.  I squinted at it, wary.

"How about some Nubane, honey?"

I snarled my nose.  "What's that?"

She brushed a stray hair off my face.  "I think you'll like it," she said.  "It'll take the edge off. Help you relax."

I shrugged.  "Okay."

Prick.  Ow!  Warmth.  Oooh!

I collapsed against my pillows.  Let out a noisy breath.

"That's nice," I told her.

I grinned at my husband.  "I'm the queen of Mardi Gras.  And I'm floating.  See?  I'm on a parade float.  On Bourbon Street. That's in New Orleans, right?  Want some beads?"

I felt sultry.  I tried to purr.  The nurse grinned as she swabbed my arm.  She walked over and deposited the needle in the red box on the wall.

"Hey!" I said.  She glanced over.  I smiled coyly.  Blinked a couple times.

"More, please?"

She chuckled.  "Uh, no."  She sat in a chair at the end of the bed and nudged my knees apart.

I stuck my tongue out at her.  

"You're almost ready now," she said.  "I'll get the doctor."


I scooted myself up on my elbows.  "I want more Nubane, and I want it now!"

I glared at the med student behind my doctor.  "And I want Doogie Howser to go away."

"Be nice," my doctor said.  "He's just observing.  I won't let him touch you."

I blew air out my wrinkled nose.  "Is he old enough to hear me cuss?"

The med student cowered.

My doctor sat in the chair at the bottom of the bed.  He put his hands on my ankles.

"You ready to do this?" he said, looking between my knees.

I winced as another wave of pressure and pain radiated through me.

"Can't you just grab its head and pull it out?"

"Easy," my doctor said.  "Don't hold your breath.  That's it.  Breathe."

I tried to sit up when the fire started.  In my girl parts.

"Will whoever has their hand on my--  Dang it!  I can't even say the word 'cause Doogie--"

My doctor stood.  "Keep pushing!  You're so close!"

The med student got in my face.  "Do you want me to pull the mirror down, ma'am?" he said.  "So you can watch?"

I clenched my teeth and took a swing at him.  "No, I do not--"

Pain stole my words.  I fell back on the pillow stack.  Doogie slunk back to his corner.

I wanted it over.  Now.  I pushed hard.  Forced everything in me down between my legs.  My head felt like it was going to explode.  And I was so hot.

I panted.  "Someone fan me!  Fan my face!  Ahhh!"

And then the pressure in my groin dropped.

"We have a head!" the doctor said.

I felt my nose drain.  Then my eyes.  More flesh of my flesh slid out of me. 

"And we have a baby.  A perfect baby boy."

Everything in me softened.  Went limp.  Like I had no bones.  I whimpered.  Heard the pounding in my ears slow.

The doctor brought the boy child to me, still slick with his white icing of vernix. 

"Tell him, 'Hello,' Mom. He's a little blue.  He needs oxygen."

I stroked my son's face with my pointer finger.  Tears spilled onto my cheeks.  "Hi, little guy."

"Gosh, he looks like his dad," my doctor said before he took him over to get oxygen and a belly button.

"I made a boy," I said to the ceiling. 

My doctor laughed from across the room.  "You get what you get, you know."

I shook my head.  "Nope," I said.  "I made a boy.  With a little help.  Just a little."

A Star Is Born

Did I pull you away from a hot date?  That's what I wanted to ask the nurse midwife.  This wasn't what I expected at all.  She was supposed to be rubbing my back.  Spooning ice chips into my mouth.  Instead, she leaned against the wall in her periwinkle scrubs.  Kept snapping her gum.

"Can you break my water, or something?" I said.  "So we can get this party started?"

'Cause I'm not smiling anymore.  Not like I was when I walked into the hospital two hours ago.  Back then the nurses had talked me into going natural.

"You can do it, honey," they said.  "If  you're smiling and cracking jokes when you're seven centimeters dilated,  you'll be fine."

Found out later, they needed natural births to even out the statistics of all the epidural labors.

The midwife uncrossed her arms, checked out her manicure.  "Sure," she said.

The long crochet hook-looking instrument felt cold against my thigh. The gush of fluids was warm.

Almost instantly, hard labor ensued, and I wished I hadn't been so eager for the party.

The tears came.  Then the cussing.  "It feels like I'm pooping out a globe."

"That's bowel pressure," Miss Personality Plus said.  No duh.

My fingernails bit into my husband's arm. 

He petted my hair.  "Won't be long now."

I squinted and hissed at him.  "Get your face out of mine.  You're stealing my breath."

And then 20 minutes after Mother's Day was over, you slipped into the world.  Looked like a golden buddah baby.  'Cept you weren't bald.  You had loads of black hair.  It stood on end, once they wiped you dry.

I marveled how your head was round, unlike our firstborn's.  She'd looked like a conehead from Saturday Night Live when she came out.  Way back when.

"That's one of the benefits of a quick, natural delivery," the midwife said.

That and being able to get up and walk to the bathroom five minutes after the baby squirts out of your body.  I thought that was pretty cool too.


I craved sour stuff when I was pregnant with you.  Pickles, mustard, Subway veggie sandwiches with Italian dressing.  I paid the price for that.  You turned out feisty.  We called you Sour Flower and Sass and Vinegar.

But when you were sweet?  Oh my!  You'd hold the sides of my face and say, "I love  you, Mommy.  With all my heart."  You stole my breath, but I didn't mind at all.


When you hit six months you stopped growing.  Everything but your head circumference. 

"Is there a history of growth disorders in your family?"  The young doctor asked me that.  Didn't put her hand on my shoulder, or pat my knee, or anything.

I looked at my feet.  "I'll ask and get back to you."

Thing was, you were such a mellow baby.  Never yelled for nothing.  Not for a diaper change.  Not 'cause you were hungry.  I just fed you whenever I remembered.

After that, I did everything everybody told me.  Fed you every three hours.  Drank fennugreek tea.  Had a shot of Guinness Stout every day.  Bit by bit, you grew.  Not a lot, but enough to smooth out the ditches in the young pediatrician's forehead.


When you were two, that whole year?  You wore a dress every single day.  And a high ponytail too.  That's the way it had to be.  And those red glitter Mary Jane shoes from WalMart?  You wore them out 'cause you loved Dorothy, and her little dog too. 

You'd clutch a throw pillow to your chest and stick the middle and ring finger of your left hand in your mouth.  You'd suck 'til your knuckles had little teeth impressions.  The sucking always started when the flying monkeys appeared.  And when you laid down at nap and night, you were fine as long as you had those two fingers in your mouth, and a cloth diaper to rub against your peach skin-feeling cheek.


You didn't talk much 'til you hit three, and then it was like your mouth was a river and someone opened the locks and dam.  We couldn't stop the words from coming out.  Sometimes we had to put you in the dining room while we ate.  To give our ears a rest.


Right before you started kindergarten, I cut your hair.  I couldn't get the brush to the end of it without you pitching a fit, so I took my big, blue sewing scissors and cut off six inches of brunette shine.  I still have it.  In a jar, on the shelves, in the tv room.

One day you told me where babies come from.  You were in the first grade, and some little boy had told you on the schoolbus.  Right after he kissed you on the mouth.  I remember thinking, "Oh, so that's why some people homeschool."

One time you slept over at my friend, Barbie's house.  She had a daughter about your age.  Barbie called me the next day, full of giggles.

"She's so funny.  Me and Jeff videotaped her.  In case cable ever goes out."

You told Barbie you were gonna adopt a Chinese baby girl someday.  "'Cause I know where babies come from, and that's not happening to me!"


For five years, you wanted to be a marine biologist.  "I'm gonna have a pet rat, and it's going to ride on my shoulder whenever I go down in my sumbarine."

"Sub-marine."

"Right.  Sumbarine," you said.  "And I'm never gonna move away from you and Daddy."

"But there's no ocean in West Virginia."

"I don't care."

And then one day you didn't want to be a marine biologist anymore. 

"Drama's my thing," you said.

Your dad and I looked at each other.  "We know, honey," we said.  "We've always known."

We knew it from the first time you sang, 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow,' with Judy Garland.  We saw it when you twirled around in the size 2, yellow Belle dress, when you were six.  You had skills.

You still do.  When you walk onto a stage, all eyes are on you.  How can they not be?  You have it all.  Beauty. Presence.  Voice.

And you're still wee.  For the longest time, I thought it was all my fault.  That I wasn't a good mommy.  That I didn't feed you enough.  Then, when you were 11, we went to that family reunion on Daddy's side, and your daddy and me?  We were about the tallest people there. 

I looked at him, and he looked at me, and we lifted our chins.  "Oh.  So this is why she's so--"


This week marks 15 years since you arrived.  Since the party started.  And well, since a star was born.  Happy Birthday, Plum Ball.  Cookie.  Sandwich Child.