Illusions of Love (25 page)

“That sounds easy,” Sylvia said smiling.

“Now let’s go outside and tell your mother-in-law,” Dr. Friedman said.

“I know how excited she will be.” He put an arm around Sylvia’s shoulders and walked her back into the reception room.

“Well, my dear, it seems that you’re going to be blessed with a grandchild. My congratulations to you and Martin. I’m sure that Sylvia is going to come through this splendidly.”

Bess wanted to telephone Martin immediately but Sylvia insisted they wait until he came home from work. By six-thirty, though, when he still hadn’t returned, she was sorry she hadn’t called the office.

When she heard his car in the drive she went out through the French doors, ran down the path and threw herself into Martin’s arms.

“Darling, guess … ” Oh my God, it’s true! Are you sure? “

He held her as though she were extremely fragile.

“Sylvia, I didn’t know I could feel so happy. Having a child

means more to me than almost anything in the world. “

“Oh, Martin, I just want to make you happy.”

“You have already. You’ve made me happier than I have a right to be.”

That night he held her in his arms with a mixture of tenderness and desire that he had never felt for anyone before. She was going to be the mother of his child. She was going to fulfill his destiny and in doing so make him whole again.

Life over the next months settled into a quiet routine. Both Martin and Sylvia were early risers. Most mornings, she put on a casual dress and the two of them had breakfast alone, since it was Bess’s habit to sleep late and to have breakfast in bed.

Sylvia loved the morning room. It was filled with plants and ferns of all sizes. The little table was lacquered green and the chair backs painted with bright flowers so that even in winter it felt like spring.

When they finished breakfast, Martin would drive into the city, leaving Sylvia to a leisurely round of activities. She would call her parents, visit a while with Bess, and then often meet a friend for lunch. It was a lazy time, but she knew it was good for the baby and didn’t feel guilty even when a nap consumed most of the afternoon.

Martin watched happily as Sylvia moved from loose shifts to actual maternity clothes. Though both her mother and Bess encouraged her to indulge herself, Sylvia watched her weight carefully. She took her vitamins obediently and, in addition to her calcium tablets, drank three glasses of milk a day. She was nervous about gaining more pounds than she could easily lose after the baby was born.

Until her eighth month Sylvia was superstitious about letting Bess furnish the nursery. Dr. Friedman kept assuring her they were fine, and when Sylvia finally saw the oldfashioned bassinette Bess had chosen tufted in white satin and trimmed with tiny blue bows she became as excited as her mother-in-law.

When Martin saw the blue bows, he laughed, saying, “What if it’s a girl?”

“I don’t think it will be,” Sylvia said.

“I think you’re going to have a son, Martin. But if it isn’t we’ll change the bows to pink.”

Earlier Sylvia had been afraid something might happen to the baby. Now she relaxed. She even let her mother send over her old brass crib, still as bright as the day that Sylvia had first slept in it, and enthusiastically joined both the older women in shopping for a layette. Towards the end of her eighth month Sylvia began interviewing nurses. She finally hired a widow in her middle forties who came with excellent recommendations.

One morning, a couple of weeks later, going down to breakfast, Sylvia tripped on the last step. She managed to hold on to the banister as she fell, and seemed more frightened than hurt, but everyone was relieved when Dr. Friedman arrived and confirmed that she was fine. At one o’clock that night, however, her waters broke. Not having the slightest idea what to do, Martin called his mother, who came rushing into the room. In spite of her great anxiety, Bess managed to stay calm as she called Dr. Friedman and Sylvia’s mother, and then arranged to have the bedding changed.

Dr. Friedman arrived in less than half an hour. After a quick examination he said he didn’t think there was any need to rush to the hospital. Sylvia could rest a while until the contractions became more regular. He said he wasn’t tired and he’d wait for Bess for a while downstairs.

Martin pulled a chair over to the bed and took Sylvia’s hand.

“Are you in much pain, dearest?”

“No, at least not too much. The pains are still too far apart to be severe.”

But when Dr. Friedman came upstairs an hour later, she gripped his hand tightly, moaning as the contractions became sharper and more frequent.

“Just relax, Sylvia,” he said.

“And try to breathe naturally. You’re too tense … Now that’s a good girl.

think for your comfort I’m going to take you to the hospital by ambulance. That way you won’t have to get up. “

Sylvia tried to follow the doctor’s instructions, but the next pain was so sharp that she screamed and clutched Martin’s hand so tightly her nails broke the skin. She was desperately trying not to scream again when two medics entered the room with a stretcher.

Sylvia felt herself being lifted, transferred to the stretcher, then carried down the stairs, where the attendants slid her into the ambulance. Martin climbed in after her and they took off with sirens wailing. She was aware of Martin crouched over her in the ambulance.

The next thing she knew she was being shifted from the stretcher to a narrow white bed, able to think only of the next shaft of pain awaiting her. This one was so sharp that she bit her lip until it bled.

“I’m here, darling,” Martin said.

Then Sylvia heard the doctor suggest, “If you’d just wait outside, Martin, until I’ve examined Sylvia.”

As Martin bent down to kiss her, Sylvia whispered, “You will come back, won’t you?”

“Yes, as soon as the doctor allows it. I’ll be right outside your door, darling.”

Throughout the night her labour continued, and as the pain wore down her resolve, she found herself screaming more and more often. Now it hurt not just during the contractions but consistently and without relief. Martin stayed with her in the labour room except for the brief moments when she was being examined.

By two o’clock that afternoon, Martin was beside him self.

“You can’t let her go on suffering like this,” he said.

“I know you believe in natural childbirth, but nothing seems to be happening. I don’t know how much longer she can stand the pain.”

Dr. Friedman said he would make one more examination. When he came out he asked Martin to come back into the room with him to speak to Sylvia.

“I’m going to arrange for a caesarean,” he said.

In spite of her pain, Sylvia cried out, “No, I can wait. I can stand it.”

“Sylvia, you’re in no condition to make that decision.”

Grabbing his hand weakly, she whispered, “Please, please, doctor. I’ll die if anything happens to this child.”

“Nothing will happen. Please believe me.”

“I won’t go,” she gasped, perspiration running down her face.

“No one can make me go … When he saw the look of determination in her eyes, he agreed to wait just a little longer. He was now sorry that he had encouraged her so strongly to consider only natural childbirth.

Another hour passed and she became almost too tired to cry out.

Martin, frantic, sat with his head in his hands. The few times he went out to the waiting room his mother and Sylvia’s parents tried to reassure him, but it did little good. He had stopped worrying about the baby and just prayed that Sylvia would be all right. At that point she was his only concern.

By seven o’clock the baby’s head was ready to emerge, but Sylvia was so weak that Dr. Friedman regretted having let her talk him out of the caesarean. Keeping his fears to himself, he arranged to have her taken to the delivery room. Martin went out to wait with the parents.

It was a breech birth and even the delivery itself took longer than usual. Finally, twenty hours after Sylvia’s waters broke, the baby was born. At first the cessation of pain was all she cared about. Then she heard a small cry and a wave of pure joy washed over her.

“It’s a boy, Sylvia,” said Dr. Friedman, placing the baby on her stomach while he delivered the placenta.

Sylvia looked down at the tiny form. Except for Martin she was never to know a greater love. This was truly the culmination of her marriage: the flesh of their flesh.

They took the baby away to be weighed and washed. Sylvia was moved to a stretcher to be wheeled to her room while Dr. Friedman went out to tell Martin the good news.

Still in his surgical garb, he walked into the hall, took off

his glasses, and said, “Martin, you have a son.”

Martin was transfixed. Bess gripped his shoulders, saying “Oh, dear God, Martin, I remember the day you were born. And now you. have a son!” Tears ran down her face.

“How is Sylvia?” Martin asked.

“Fine. The labour was too damn hard. How she came through it, I really don’t know. I’ll tell you now, it was touch and go for a while. But she’ll be good as new in a few days. Right now she’s more tired than anything else.”

“Thank God! When can I see her?”

“They’re taking her to her room now. Just give her a few minutes to tidy up and you can go up. But don’t stay long. She’s exhausted.” He turned to Bess and the Lowenthals.

“I think the rest of you should wait until tomorrow. Sylvia really needs to rest.”

The Lowenthals nodded and began to gather their things in preparation to going home.

“I’ll wait here,” Bess said to Martin.

“Then we can drive home together.”

Martin went up to Sylvia’s room and sat by the edge of her bed. She looked up at him, blinking away happy tears. She felt that their son was her final triumph over the phantom Jenny.

Martin too was overcome with emotion. If he and Jenny had had a baby his joy could never have been so complete. Jenny’s child would have belonged to the Church. This tiny boy was a true Roth and could carry on his father’s heritage. Gently he leaned over and kissed Sylvia on the lips.

As he straightened up, Dr. Friedman came into the room, his coat over his arm.

“I think you should leave now. Sylvia is very tired. And you, young lady I’ll see you and your son in the morning.”

Although Sylvia was exhausted from her long ordeal, after Martin had left, she asked if they would bring her baby from the nursery. She could not get over the miracle of him.

The nurse reassured Sylvia that the baby would be returned to her at

seven o’clock. Reluctantly, Sylvia resigned herself to the long wait, but before she knew it, it was morning and the whimpering child was laid at her breast. He sucked for a few minutes, but Sylvia knew that he was just getting colostrum. Her actual milk would not come in for another day.

At twelve Bess arrived, followed soon after by Sylvia’s parents, who had brought with them flowers for their daughter and a silver rattle, a Teddy bear and a football ‘for when he’s older’ for their grandson.

After leaving the presents, Bess and the Lowenthals went down to the nursery, where they were instantly convinced that their grandchild was brighter, better looking, and more perfect than any of the other babies.

“No doubt about it,” Mr. Lowenthal said, beaming.

When Martin arrived they were back in Sylvia’s room discussing names.

“I really thought we’d call him Julian, after my father,” Martin said.

Bess’s face lit up.

“Oh, I’d love that. But would you mind?” she said, turning to the Lowenthals.

“Of course not, dear,” Sylvia’s mother said.

“It’s what we expected if Sylvia had a boy.”

Martin smiled again, happy that there was no conflict, that the families were of one mind. Sylvia leaned back on her pillows, almost overcome with happiness.

It was not until some days later that she discovered a small cloud on the horizon. Although baby Julian had been nursing every four hours, the fluid in Sylvia’s breasts was steadily decreasing. The nurse attached a small breast pump, trying to start the flow, but little came. When she saw the baby was getting no milk, she left the room and returned with a bottle. Realizing that she would not be able to breast feed, Sylvia burst into tears. She was certain the problem resulted from her strenuous dieting. She continued to weep even when the nurse settled the baby in her arms and showed Sylvia how to hold the bottle so he didn’t get any air. Almost at once, the baby stopped fussing and sucked contentedly.

When he had had his fill, the nurse took him in her arms

to return him to the nursery and said gently, “I think he’ll have to be bottle fed from now on.”

Sylvia bit her lip.

“Maybe if I take a lot of nourishment I can do it . ” Dr. Friedman will know what to do. ” The nurse went out, leaving Sylvia regretting every calorie she had denied her self during her pregnancy.

A baby should lie at his mother’s breast, she thought, instead of sucking on a rubber nipple. Damn. Damn that diet. Damn my thirty years. I should have had my first baby at twenty. She worked herself up into a real stew by the time Dr. Friedman arrived.

Concerned at her emotional state, he did his best to calm her down.

“Children do as well, and sometimes even better, on the bottle,” he said, but he only upset Sylvia more by confirming the nurse’s prognosis.

“I don’t believe that,” she sobbed.

“But it’s true. And besides, we really don’t have any other choice.”

“What would happen if I took more nourishment? Isn’t there anything I could take to help me produce enough milk?”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t make any difference at this point.”

Sylvia realized that Dr. Friedman was unaware that, in a sense, he had created her problem by recommending the diet. But remembering his kindness over the last eight months, she decided not to pursue the matter.

“Well, she said, drying her eyes, ‘if that’s the case, at least I want to give him his bottles.”

“Only during the day. The nurses will handle the night feedings.”