Chapter 18
I know it’s common for people to say that when they first hold their newborn child, they feel overwhelmed with love.
I’ve heard a lot of people say they count the fingers and toes, though I’ve personally never met anyone born with fewer than the expected numbers.
In any case, I didn’t do that. I just cried.
Because even though she was wrapped in a pink blanket, with most of her tiny head covered in a white knit cap, I could see where the forceps had grabbed her—the curved, red line of the wound started just to the side of her right eye, arced by her little ear, and ended at one corner of her mouth.
I didn’t touch it for fear of hurting her, but I could see the interior of the curve was slightly lower than the rest of her head.
“That won’t even scar,” the nurse told me. This was an older nurse, gray haired. She put her hand on my back. “I know it looks bad, but trust me. That isn’t permanent damage. They mostly got hold of her cheek, not up above the ears. And it missed her eye completely.”
That only made me cry harder, to think she might have lost an eye just trying to take her first breath. She was so light in my arms.
“It really is common,” the nurse said. “If you’re under twilight, you can’t push.”
She meant well, but that made me feel worse, to think I’d let her down, this little baby. When she was the porcupine, I’d assured her that she would be fine, that everything would be okay. And when she needed me, the one time I had a job that only I could do, I wasn’t there. Asleep at the wheel.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’m so sorry. I understand now. I do.”
Both eyes popped open. Blue. It was as if she comprehended my words, and knew exactly what I meant: I now understood I was her mother. She was my responsibility. I couldn’t check out on her again.
“She knows your voice.” The nurse gently rubbed my back. “If she could talk, she’d tell you she’s glad to be here. She’d tell you there’s nothing for you to feel bad about at all. She’d tell you she’s going to be just fine. It’s okay, sweetie. Come on, now. You yourself have been through a lot.”
I wanted to believe it. The blue eyes were still open, searching.
I thought, wow, blue eyes or not, if Leonard’s parents saw this baby’s face even for a second, they’d know that I wasn’t lying.
She had the same eyebrows that he did, exactly.
I peeked under the white cap and saw a tuft of hair, dark as his.
Her hand emerged from the top of the blanket. I brushed the tip of my pinkie against her palm, and she grabbed hold of it. That was something, feeling that. She was here on this earth, her own person. And she knew I’d made her a promise, even just in my head.
“See? She’s shaking hands.” The nurse laughed. “She’s saying ‘Good job. You got me out!’ ”
After a while, the nurse pulled the chair over to the window and sat in it.
Maybe she wasn’t sure if she could leave me alone with the baby, or maybe there was a rule against it.
But she stayed quiet, watching the window, or just thinking.
I lowered my nose close to the baby’s mouth and breathed in her soft exhale.
She made a little sighing sound, and she shifted in her blanket, then started to bleat like a lamb.
“Due for a bottle,” the nurse said. She stood and moved to my side, arms outstretched.
“Can’t I feed her?”
“You’ll have a hard enough time when your milk comes in. Do your breasts hurt yet?”
I shook my head.
“Well. They will. And if you nurse her, even once, they’ll hurt more.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You say that now,” she said. “I’m telling you.”
“Can I just give her the bottle?”
She nodded, but she asked me if I was sure. I understood, as I understand now, that she was trying to protect me. She didn’t want me to get attached. But I didn’t care about my attachment, and I wouldn’t have described what I felt for the baby, my daughter, that way.
I kept her with me the rest of the day. I got to change her diaper and see her whole, squirming body, head to toe, and I got to cup my hands around her feet.
Even with that terrible mark on her cheek, I couldn’t stop staring at her, and I loved, just loved, the feeling of swaying her side to side in my arms. That older nurse—Anne was her name—kept coming down to check on us, and she’d hold her so I could use the bathroom.
I remember this nurse’s name because I asked her what it was, and because I am still so grateful for her kindness.
I think maybe she’d been a nurse so long that she wasn’t afraid of breaking rules, or she wasn’t afraid of Miss Berry.
Anne’s shift ended at six, and the nurse who came down after her said the baby would need to be back up in maternity for the night. I had to say good night, and kiss her little forehead, and let the nurse take her.
The feeling I had, once she was gone—that’s when I knew for certain that I didn’t want to sign the papers. I had no trust fund, no money to come into. But I got ready for bed, thinking, thinking. I was sure I could figure out a way.
—
It was on this evening that my breasts turned tender and hot, just as Anne said they would.
I wouldn’t have called the pain agonizing, not compared to contractions.
But I couldn’t get comfortable, no matter what position I tried to lie in.
A nurse said that after a couple of weeks, my body would figure out that the milk wasn’t needed, and so the pressure would go away.
In the meantime, there was aspirin. She gave me two, and ice packs to put in my bra. For most of that night, I was awake.
At the first light of dawn, I got up and opened the suitcase.
The two blouses I’d brought from Florida still didn’t fit.
But the skirt I’d worn on the train did, as did my old friend the purple cardigan, which I put on and buttoned high.
While I was tying my shoes, a woman in a smock brought in my breakfast tray and told me I looked nice.
I understood she didn’t mean pretty. The little bathroom mirror showed me my face looked as doughy and pale as it had looked all winter, and the ice packs in my bra made it look like I was trying to smuggle something.
I didn’t care about any of that. What I wanted was to look competent. Mature.
But when the morning nurse came in, she said I’d have to change back into my gown. “No street clothes until the day you’re discharged. Sorry. That’s the rule.”
I didn’t argue. This wasn’t Anne, but a young, round-faced nurse I hadn’t met yet. She gave me more aspirin and new ice packs. She said because I was up anyway, she’d have someone come in and change my bedding.
“Thank you,” I said. “Would you also please bring me my baby?” I’d thought about saying it just this way, planned it out in my head.
The nurse said, “I’ll check and see if she’s awake.”
I knew what that meant. She was already headed for the door.
“I saw her yesterday,” I called out. “Miss Berry had Anne bring her to me. She was with me all afternoon.”
But the nurse kept walking. “Miss Berry’s coming to see you soon, isn’t she? You can take it up with her then.”
I suppose I could have hit the call button, and made her, or someone, hear me out.
Theoretically, I could’ve stayed dressed, figured out what floor maternity was on, and tried to get there myself.
But I never really considered doing that.
The only person who seemed to think I had any claim on my baby, aside from me, was Anne, and she’d gone home.
I was scared that if I tried to leave my room on my own, someone would call security.
It seemed wiser to stay polite and patient. I was good at being agreeable. I saw this agreeableness not as a trait, but as a skill—one that had served me my entire life.
—
Miss Berry arrived at eight o’clock sharp, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
She wore a mustard-colored dress with buttons that sparkled and a clip-on hat with a little feather on it.
The hat looked dry, but the ends of her hair hung damp and flat at her shoulders.
I could smell the wet wool of her coat as she hung it on the hook.
“Oh my goodness!” She made big eyes at me. “It’s positively cats and dogs out there! The rain is blowing sideways. I’m afraid my umbrella didn’t do much good.”
She got a washcloth from the bathroom and sat down to dry her briefcase. She told me it was important not to rub leather when it was wet, but to pat gently, slowly working the moisture inward. She was still patting the briefcase when she looked up at me.
“Lucky you. Snug as a bug up here. So nice that the clerk comes to us and not the other way around. I’d hate for you to have to go out.”
I’d gotten back in bed because my breasts hurt more when I was upright.
The younger nurse had helped me wash my hair and change into a fresh hospital gown, and she told me she thought I was ready to matriculate from cotton diapers to regular underwear and a pad.
But I wouldn’t have said I felt snug as a bug, or even comfortable.
I sensed a small but sharp pain behind my eyes, like a tiny, embedded razor.
Still, I’d combed my hair, and I felt clean.
“Ugh. These gray days. I can’t stand them.
” Miss Berry walked around my bed to the window, her heeled shoes clicking on the floor.
The blinds were already up, but she raised them a few inches more.
“I was thinking, Nora, you must be getting tired of hospital food. There’s a bakery down the street that has eclairs to die for.
I could run out after your appointment and get us some.
” She clicked back past my bed and retrieved a shopping bag from behind the briefcase.
“I got you a little present.” She came close and held out the bag.
I knew I shouldn’t open it.
“Miss Berry…”