Look at You Now (23 page)

Jill had a pad and pen and moved the Snoopy clock onto the floor where she was trying to get me to play Battleship. She tracked, timed, and documented the labor pains like a statistician.

“Liz . . . you're okay!” she said every time I shrieked from the pain.

“No, I'm not, it
fucking
hurts, Jill. I'm not kidding.”

“I fucking believe you, but it's supposed to hurt.”

I winced.

“Okay, you know what? You should pack your shit. Let's pack it up, you're almost outta here. You want outta here, remember that? It'll give us something to do.”

“Grab my suitcase,” I said. We began gathering my things. Jill was emptying the drawers until I said, “Wait . . . here. Just keep this stuff.” I handed her the maternity clothes, the towels, and the burner and pointed to the food.

She smiled big. “Shit, I hit the jackpot.”

“Yeah, people just
kill
for towels and maternity clothes, Jill.” She laughed. Then the pain got worse.

“Owww, owwww,” I said. She stroked my hair.

“You're okay. Hey, I might have so much stuff I'll have to get a new bag.”

“Really? You'd actually get a new bag? Please let me give you my bag, my suitcase?”

“No, you need it.”

“Owww. No, I don't. I can use the shopping bags from my dad. I'm gonna throw a fit right now if you don't say yes.”

“Okay, fine, fuck yes!” She put my suitcase down near her trash bag.

A big pain came and I screamed, “FUCK SHIT FUCKING MOTHERFUCKER.”

“Jesus, Liz. Try and breathe.” She sat me down on the bed. “You okay?”

“NO,
stop
asking me that.”

“
Mean
pregnant bitch.”

The pain waned. I relaxed for a second and managed a smile. “Sorry.”

“No problem. You're a good reminder to not have fucking sex.” She pushed her bangs out of her face and her little red heart tattoo caught my eye. It was between her pointer finger and her thumb.

“What's the deal with the tattoo, Jill?” I asked.

“Oh, it was just a stupid thing I did one night when I was kinda drunk. I'd just broken up with another asshole and got this idea to get a heart there to remind me that I don't need a fuckin' guy to love me. I don't need anyone to love me. I guess it's there to remind me just to like myself.”

“Geez, Jill, that's kinda deep.”

“Well, I'm a deep person, Liz P.” She calmly got up and checked the clock on the floor. “I can't believe you're going. You're gonna have this kid and leave here. I'm gonna miss the shit out of you.”

I leaned over again and tried breathing loudly, but just ended up full-on shrieking in pain.

“I'm getting Alice,” Jill said. “She has to call your mom. I'll be right back.” I looked at the bags and guitar case leaning against
the wall. The bed, where I'd cried myself to sleep so many nights. I scanned the room and took a photograph in my mind. It was a place, no matter what happened in my life, I knew I was never going to forget. I looked and saw my stuffed dog Henry's ear sticking out from underneath the pillow. I grabbed him and held on to his leg. Alice and Jill came through the door. Jill was holding on to her stomach laughing.

“Like her sleeping hat?” She pointed to Alice's purple-and-black plastic hat that looked like a shower cap. Her pink polka-dotted robe had a zipper all the way up the front. On her feet she had what looked like rubber rain boots that were covered in terry cloth. “She works at the circus at night, did you know that, Liz?”

Alice folded her arms. “Well, this is what I get for gettin' woken up at one in the morning. I already called your mom. She's on her way.”

“How long will it take her?”

“Don't you worry, she'll be here. Looks like you're ready to go.” Another pain hit hard. I squeezed the shit out of poor Henry. Alice and Jill came and helped me up off the bed. Alice stroked my hair and said, “Yeah, you're ready.”

When the two paramedic-looking nurse guys arrived with the wheelchair, I was suddenly overtaken with fear, to the point of wanting to throw up. Jill put her hands on my shoulders and said, “You can do this.” Then she grabbed a pen from the table and picked up my hand. She drew a little heart on it between my pointer finger and thumb and colored it in, so it looked just like hers. I looked down and smiled a little, and then hugged her hard. Just as I was about to leave, Wren came walking in in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

“You're going, aren't you?”

“Yes, she is, Wren, it's time,” Alice said.

“I'll never see you again, I know it. So bye,” Wren said.

I smiled. “Bye, Wren, good luck with everything.”

“Gonna suck without you, Liz,” Wren mumbled.

Jill looked over at her. “Thanks a lot, Wren.”

“See you, Jill . . .” I said.

“Later, bitch,” she said, smiling.

The nurse men wheeled me out of the lounge and headed through the dark tunnel toward the hospital. It felt like I was heading to the burning fires of hell. I was brought to a small room with no windows and told to change into a gown. My nausea took over and I threw up on the floor. A small, curt nurse with short blond hair handed me a barf pan and said, “Next time hit that.” She told me the doctor would be in to check me in a while. I sat on the plastic sheet covering the hospital bed with the gown on backward, so I could cover myself up. There was nothing I could do but scream when the pains came. I'd brace myself and try to breathe, and the breath would lead to a grunting, guttural shouting. I didn't recognize what the hell was going on inside me. It felt like I'd hit a panic button I didn't even know existed, and there was no shutting it off. My whole body was involved. The nurse came in and nearly yelled at me to be quiet. She turned the lights down, checked the barf bin, and said that I should try to sleep. I asked her for some water, and a while later she came in with ice chips in a plastic cup. She said if I drank water I might throw up again. I sucked on some ice chips and dozed in and out of my screams, convinced I might actually pass out from the pain. Pass out or possibly
die
. I prayed to God like I was on my deathbed, prayed to God to let me and the baby live. The clock on the wall read two-thirty; I was sure I would die by three
A
.
M
. At three-fifteen someone came in the door. I turned and saw Dorothy. She was wearing her blue peacoat with a red scarf. Her hair was messy, and she looked tired. I burst into tears.

“I can't do this, Mom, and I mean it, I can't,” I said. And then a pain came. She threw her stuff on the chair and held my hand as I screamed through it. She rubbed my forehead, left the room, and came back with the nurse, who took my hand and tried to shove a thick needle into a vein on the top. She finally got it in, and I shrieked.

“You need to calm yourself, young lady,” said the nurse. “That kind of shouting gets all the other women on the wing agitated.” I hated her, I hated me, I hated everything, and I didn't care. The needle was to hook up an IV so I wouldn't dehydrate. Dorothy sat in a chair next to the bed and held my hand, her other hand holding her forehead, staring down at the floor. Dr. Dick finally wandered in after a few more pains.

“How far apart are they?” he asked. Dorothy attempted to introduce herself, but he ignored her. He sat down and put his gloves on. Dorothy answered for me. “About six minutes.” His hands went up me while I was having a contraction; I screamed and squeezed the shit out of Dorothy's hand. “You could wait until the contraction is finished, Doctor,” Dorothy said. The doctor continued to try to kill me.

“She's at about four centimeters,” he said. “She's got several more hours to go until this baby is ready, maybe six or even ten. Get her to quiet down, put a muzzle on her if you have to.” He turned toward me, “You need to get ahold of yourself.”

Several more
hours
? Dorothy stepped in front of the door blocking him from being able to leave. He stood right in front of her, but she held her five-foot-two ground like a lion.

“She is a young, frightened
girl
in
enormous
pain. Your behavior is
inexcusable
. Whhhhhhere were
you
when they taught
bedside manner
in medical school?” I winced and tried to stay quiet. “I hhhhhighly suggest you figure out a way to relieve her pain, so the screaming can cease, or she will have not only this floor but your
entire
hospital wondering which doctor is caring for the pregnant teenager who has been given nothing to help manage the
pain
.”

Dr. Dick smiled arrogantly and left. When the next pain came, Dorothy stood up and said, “
Scream, scream all
you need, sweetheart. Do it, scream
bloody murder
if it makes it feel better.” The pain came on and I screamed bloody murder a few times. Dorothy covered her ears, and the nurse came running back in.

“I suggest you
get the doctor
and give my daughter some drugs,”
Dorothy said. Finally Dr. Dick came back in, several minutes later. He looked at my mom with surrender.

“I am reluctant to give your daughter drugs. There is a chance they will slow down or even
stop
the labor. She doesn't want to be here for three days, does she?”

Dorothy suddenly resembled a wild dog. “
YES
. . .
YES, she does
if it will
lessen
the pain. SHE DOES! LOOK AT HER!” The doctor pointed to the IV and told the nurse to begin a flow of some drug and left the room. I started to feel woozy, and five minutes later I was convulsively throwing up. The nurse and Dorothy couldn't get the barf pans in front of me fast enough. After an hour or so the vomiting stopped, and the pains felt slightly more manageable. I tried to breathe through them. Dorothy fed me ice chips and blotted my sweaty forehead. She dozed off a few times but was awoken every time the doctor checked me and I wailed in pain.

By four
P
.
M
. the next day, almost twenty hours after the labor started, I had finally dilated to nine. The nurse and doctor stood at the end of the bed. The nurse was opening bags, readying the baby scale, and shaking bottles on a tray she'd wheeled in. They both had cloth masks over their faces. The doctor sat on the stool, pushed my legs apart, and said, “It's time to push.” The nurse pulled a lever that made the bed fold up. My mom stood next to me and gritted her teeth. I couldn't believe that I hadn't passed out from the pain yet. The pressure down below was so intense it felt as though it was going to blow the insides out of my body. I pushed as hard as I possibly could, again and again and again. And then I hit a point where my choice became to either push harder into what felt like a burning rage of fire, the kind of pain that is impossible to choose, or to ease up on pushing and return to the contractions that assured me I was going to die anyway. I chose to push one last time toward the fire. My eyes and face filled with blood and pressure.

My mother kept her eyes on me and screamed, “Push, Liz, PUSH FOR GOD SAKES. Get it ouuuuuuttttt!”

I heard the doctor say, “There it is, keep pushing.”

I shrieked in pain as I felt the raging burn of fire, and then the baby's body as it thrust out of me.

“Okay, that's it. It's out, healthy . . . little small, but good,” Dr. Dick said. I looked down and saw something small and gooey-looking. I whispered with the greatest relief I'd ever felt, “It's over, Doctor.” The doctor turned, handed the baby to the nurse, took the rubber gloves and mask off, and headed toward the door. The nurse walked over to the little table with the light. I could hear the baby crying. I lay back down, looked up at the ceiling, and smiled. My mother grabbed my hand.

“Well done, Liz. Thank God, it's over. Now, don't look over there.”

All I could think is: I didn't die. Dorothy looked over at the nurse and in a slight Kate Hepburn voice asked, “Could you
please
go out of the room with the child now?”

“I'm getting the vitals, ma'am. We'll be out in a minute.” The baby was still crying. I looked over at the small steel table with the light and saw two little feet sticking up in the air. I smiled and knew I'd never see more than that, but it was enough. And then I burned the image in my mind, to stay with me forever.

The nurse rolled the steel table toward the door. She turned toward me and said, “This one's a real cutie.” And she left. I placed my hand over my stomach and stayed quiet on the bed for a long time. When I opened my eyes again, Dorothy was standing over me in her coat and scarf, with a tired smile.

“You've been asleep awhile, honey.”

“Mom, are you leaving? Why do you have your coat on?”

“I wish I didn't have to,” she said, “but I have to get back to the twins, and while you rest here I'll rest at home. I'll come right back first thing in the morning. There is a nurse who works upstairs on the third floor. Her name is Annie. She's going to take you to a private room with a lot of space and big windows, where you can eat and rest and sleep tonight. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned over and kissed my hair. “Goodbye, sweetheart, I'll see you very soon.” She walked away and then closed the door behind her.

• • • •

The room was completely quiet. The tears slipped out the sides of my eyes, down my cheeks, as I lay perfectly still. And felt the inside of me begin to lighten. I did it. The baby
lived
and I
lived
. It was over. I lay alone for a long time in the dark quiet.

• • • •

“Liz?” A youngish-looking nurse peeked her head in the door. “How you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“I'm Annie. I'm going to roll you out of here and take you upstairs, if you're up for it? We can get you settled in a nice room, get some food in you.”