Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) (31 page)

“Oh! I’m so clumsy!” I cried, inching my thighs apart to make sure the water soaked all the way through, breaking out in goose bumps as it passed between my legs.

Val shrieked in merriment, and everyone began grabbing napkins to soak up the water as a waiter hurried over with some extras.

“No problem,” he said.

Claire was on her cell phone taking pictures to send to Abby.

“At least you waited till the end of the meal, Alice,” Liz joked. “We’ll go to the restroom and get some paper towels for you to sit on in the car. It’s okay.”

“Happens all the time,” said the waiter reassuringly.

“That’s good to know,” I said. Yeah, right.

In her car Liz said, “Want to go to our place and watch a movie? You can use a hair dryer on your clothes. Luckily, it was only water.”

“Pee,” I said.

“What?”

“I peed all over myself, and the water was a cover-up.”

Liz burst into laughter. “Alice, do you realize that someone could do a comedy series on your life?
The Situation Room with Alice
or something.”

“How about
Saturday Night Schnook
?”

“Whatever. The ratings would be off the charts.”

“Great. But right now I’m getting rancid,” I told her. “Dry pants never sounded so good.”

*  *  *

I worked up until the ninth month, then took a four-month maternity leave, which would expire at the start of summer vacation. That meant seven months off at home with my baby. And the first day I spent at home, I got a call from Elizabeth.

“I’m pregnant!” she cried. “I’ve made the first trimester, and the doctor says I’m doing fine!”

“Oh, Liz! That’s
wonderful
!”

“They’ll grow up together!” she said. “They’ll only be five months apart. Maybe you’ll have a boy and I’ll have a girl, and they’ll marry and we’ll be parents-in-law!”

That’s Elizabeth! But I just let her burble on, basking in her happiness. Every woman is entitled to go a little crazy when she’s pregnant.

Patrick had asked his office that no trips be scheduled for him during the last month of my pregnancy, and everyone seemed in agreement with that. As it turned out, the baby came only a week and a half earlier than expected, but Patrick was
out of town anyway. He had been asked to fly to Chicago when another man couldn’t make it and was told he could fly out and back on the same day.

“Are you
sure
you’re all right with this?” Patrick had asked before he left.

“I feel exactly the same as I felt yesterday,” I told him, not wanting him to worry. “I’ll be fine, Patrick. Les and Stacy are in town, so I’ve got the whole family here if I need them.”

Lester and Stacy had driven in the day before to celebrate her mom’s birthday. Now they were spending their second day with Dad and Sylvia before they headed back to West Virginia. I’d be going over to Dad’s for dinner.

But only an hour after Patrick left, I had my first pain—like a menstrual cramp.
What’s a single cramp,
I thought,
and a mild one at that?
Even if I was in labor, first-time mothers sometimes take thirty-six hours to deliver. Besides, I had spent the previous day cleaning out the refrigerator and felt sure the cramps had something to do with all that exertion. About twenty minutes later I felt another one, even milder, so I lay down and took a nap.

I woke about one that afternoon feeling very different. This time there was no mistaking it. The pains were coming about twelve minutes apart, and my back ached. I phoned the doctor.

“Well, well,” he said. “Looks as though one of us miscalculated, doesn’t it? Or else that baby has a mind of its own. It’s your first child, Mrs. Long, and they usually take their own
sweet time, but when the contractions get to be about six minutes apart, I think you’d better get to the hospital. And please don’t eat or drink anything.”

Patrick’s plane was due in at seven, and I wanted to wait for him. If I called him, he’d still be in the meeting, and for a while it seemed the contractions had slowed. Another false alarm. But around five, when the pains were seven minutes apart, I called Dad’s number. Les answered.

“So how’s the mom-to-be?” he asked. He sounded a bit drowsy, and I imagined I’d interrupted a nap.

“About to become a mother sooner than I thought,” I told him. “Patrick’s flying back from Chicago, Les, and I’m in labor. The doctor thinks I’d better get to the hospital. Could someone drive me over?”

I heard him choke. I had purposely tried to stay calm, because I know how Lester reacts to anything remotely resembling childbirth.

“It’s okay, Lester. We’ve got a while,” I told him, then paused and held my breath because I had a really strong contraction. “Uuuaah,” I groaned.

“Oh, my God!” Lester yelped. “Dad’s at that new Wegmans store with Sylvia and Stacy, picking up dinner. Al, why do you
do
this to me?”

“Just call him on his cell phone,” I said.

“Our father doesn’t
have
a cell phone!” Lester said. “He is still in the Neanderthal Age. I’ll try Stacy, but they’re at least a half hour away.”

“Want me to call a cab?” I asked, trying not to laugh. I don’t know what was keeping
me
so calm. The fact, I guess, that none of the pains were new to me—just like really strong menstrual cramps.

“No, no, no, I’ll be right there. I’d better not take the beltway in case traffic gets tied up somehow. I’m coming by East-West Highway, Al,” he said. “Are you bringing the towels?”

“Towels?” I asked.

“In case it
comes,
Al! A sponge? A mop? What do
I
know?”

“Les, just relax and get over here, will you?” I said. I threw a few things in a bag and figured Patrick could bring the rest. I left a voice mail for him for when he landed and was waiting outside our building when Les pulled up. He squealed to a stop, jumped from the car, and helped me down the steps.

A neighboring couple saw us leave. “Good luck, Alice!” the woman called.

“Make it twins!” yelled her husband.

I started to get in the front seat, but Les said, “Not there, for Pete’s sake! Get in back so you can lie down.”

“Lester, I’m not planning to deliver in your car,” I said. “It’s going to be hours yet!”

That seemed to calm him down, and when he saw how easily I was breathing, he relaxed a little.

“Have you called Patrick?” he asked.

“I left a voice message. There’s really nothing he can do.”

Les practically braked right there. “He could come
home,
Al! He could catch the first plane home!”

“He’s
already
on a plane, Les. It gets in around seven.”

“Did you tell him to go directly to the hospital? To take my place in the delivery room?”

“I did, Lester. But I doubt very much I’ll be in—” I paused as another pain roiled my insides.

“So this is it, huh?” Les asked, looking over at me when we came to a stoplight. “My little sis is going to be a parent before I am. What’s it like, kiddo? Not that I could ever understand.”

“A cross between a menstrual cramp and a really bad bellyache.”

“I don’t think I could ever be a woman.”

“Well, that’s one thing you’ll never have to worry about,” I told him.

At Sibley Hospital, Les pulled up to the entrance. He went inside and returned pushing a wheelchair. An aide was holding the emergency room door open, smiling at me. She reminded me of Gwen.

“So today’s your lucky day,” she said cheerfully as Les helped me into the wheelchair. “And here’s the proud papa.”

Les opened his mouth to correct her, but I said quickly, “Yes, he’s just wonderful. He’s going to stay right by my side during the delivery, aren’t you, darling?”

Les looked at me in terror.

“You can bring your wife’s bag after you park,” the aide instructed. “We’ll meet you up in maternity.”

“Good-bye, sweetheart!” I called over my shoulder as I was wheeled away.

The truth is, I was more frightened than I looked. I’d always tried not to listen when I heard other women talk about their childbirth experiences, because they always managed to scare me. I remember Dad telling me that everything stretches down there, but what did
he
know? Not even Sylvia knew what it was like. If ever I needed my mother, it was now.

I glanced at my watch. Patrick’s plane was due in a half hour, if it was on time. It would be another hour before he got here.

After I registered, I was taken to a room and given a gown to put on, one of those white numbers with tiny blue squares on them. A nurse gave me a pelvic exam.

“Your cervix is dilated four centimeters,” she said. “That baby’s on its way, all right.”

I tried to remember all the things I’d learned in my childbirth class that Patrick and I had taken together. The relaxing, the breathing. It was easy to do between contractions, of course, but not so easy when a big one hit.

Lester came warily into the room with my bag, and his face was pale. “I checked with the airline—at least his plane took off on time,” he said.

I closed my eyes and gripped the bed as another contraction came. They were stronger now than any menstrual pain I’d ever had and were more typical of bellyaches.
Big
ones. My back ached and I felt I might throw up, but I didn’t.

When it was over, I said, “If you were a proper husband, you’d offer to rub my back.”

“Will you
stop
?” Les said, looking around. “I already set them straight about that.”

“Well, I told them that you’re my
first
husband masquerading as my brother and that my second is due any minute,” I said.

“Stifle it,” said Les, but he was instantly sorry when I clenched my teeth against another contraction. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll rub your back.” I’m not so sure it did anything for me. There’s a lot of difference, I decided, between a brother awkwardly rubbing your back and a husband doing it just the way you like it.

“Well, Al,” he said, “I thought I’d be going through this with Stacy one of these days, but so far it hasn’t worked out.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Really, Les?”

“We haven’t given up—there are a few more procedures to try—but we’re just not having any luck so far.”

“Oh, Les, I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yeah. Figured a big beautiful stud like me would be procreating all over the place. Maybe you’ll have to have all the grandkids for both of us.”

I wished I could think of the right thing to say, but just then another contraction came, and I didn’t want to talk at all.

Between contractions I tried to think how I could describe them to Elizabeth and Pamela if they asked. Like a rolling gut ache, I guess—the kind you get just before you’re going to be sick. I found myself counting by fives each time a contraction came, timing it. Five . . . ten . . . fifteen . . . twenty. . . . The pain grew stronger, swelling and reaching its peak about the time I
got to eighty-five, and then it tapered off. By a hundred ten, it was gone and I could rest a little. Lester looked relieved.

“Well, Mrs. Long, how are you feeling?” came the doctor’s voice as she appeared beside me, and from then on, it seemed I was concentrating mostly on my pains. I wasn’t conscious anymore of time—whether it was minutes or hours.

At some point I heard Les say, “Hey, Al, Patrick’s here. I’m going to go home and let Dad and the others know how you’re doing, okay?” I just opened and closed my eyes, and he added, “Hang in there.”

And then Patrick was bending over me, kissing my forehead, and for a while I wasn’t sure who was in the room and who wasn’t. The doctor examined my cervix, and then I was back to the contractions again. I knew that once I counted to eighty-five by fives, they would start to go away, and knowing that helped me deal with them.

I felt Patrick rubbing my back, wiping my forehead with a cold cloth. I squeezed his fingers when the contractions came and heard myself grunt. I closed my eyes when the pain was the worst, but there wasn’t any feeling of ripping or tearing. It was more like everything in my abdomen was playing musical chairs, changing places. If I could just have a five-minute break between pains, I thought, I could handle this pretty well, but that didn’t happen.

The anesthesiologist arrived and asked if I wanted an epidural—an injection in my back.

“Yes!” I said, wanting to rise up and kiss the man. After that, the contractions were a breeze. I felt no pain.

Patrick stayed with me the whole time. I could see it was dark outside the window and I was hungry, but they wouldn’t let me eat anything. Patrick slipped little slivers of cracked ice in my mouth when I was thirsty.

“Okay, Mrs. Long,” came the doctor’s voice finally. “Let’s go have that baby.”

They arranged a mirror so that I could watch my baby being born, and I suddenly began to laugh. All I could think about was that summer Elizabeth, Pamela, and I had taken a class called “For Girls Only” at the Y, and a nurse suggested we go home and look at our genital area with a mirror so we could see how we were made. And here I was again with a mirror, and this time there was a live audience.

“Well,
she’s
in a good mood,” said the anesthesiologist.

“It’ll be one cheerful baby, I’ll bet,” said the nurse.

They put my legs in stirrups, the doctor down at the end of the table, and I heard her say to Patrick, “Now would you like to help that baby along? Press your hands gently on your wife’s abdomen, just about here, and let’s push that little monkey out.”

I never knew if what Patrick did actually helped or not. I was busy with my own pushing. But now and then I raised my head a little, and I do remember seeing a pinkish-orange ball emerging between my legs.

“Push now,” said the doctor. “Big push,” and I strained. I took a breath and pushed again.

And a few minutes later I heard a faint cry, then a louder
one—a tremulous
“Waaaah,”
like a doll makes—and Patrick said, “Honey, we have a little girl!”

Then Patrick was kissing me, tears in his eyes, and the doctor laid this small, warm, moving bundle on my abdomen. The baby was coated with some sort of white stuff, but I could feel her little chest heave as she squalled again. She had bright orange hair like her daddy. Her head looked like a wet fuzzy peach.