Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas (10 page)

Isn’t it lucky?

I’ll never forget this. It hit me like a wave of sea-sickness on February 7. Unfortunately, Matt had already gone to work
and I was alone in the house. I sat down on the edge of the tub, feeling as if my life were draining away.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and for the first time in over a year, I wanted to call a doctor. It seemed
odd to want a second opinion. I was always diagnosing myself.

But today I felt just bad enough to want to ask someone else, “Hey, what do you think?” Instead, I threw cold water on my
face and told myself it was probably a touch of the flu, which was making the rounds.

I took something to settle my stomach, dressed, and went to work. By noon I was feeling much better, and by dinner I had forgotten
about it.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I found myself sitting on the edge of the tub once more— spent, tired, and feeling nauseated.

That’s when I knew.

I called Matt on the cell phone, and he was surprised to hear from me so soon after he’d left the house.

“Are you okay? Is everything all right, Suzanne?”

“I think . . . that everything just got perfect,” I told him. “If you can, I’d like you to come home right now. On your way,
could you stop at the drugstore? Would you pick up an EPT kit? I want to be absolutely sure but, Matt, we’re pregnant.”

Nicholas,

You were growing inside me, a speck no larger than a grain of cereal.

What can I tell you, Nicky—happiness flooded our hearts and every room of the beach cottage. It came like high tide on a full
moon.

After the wedding, Matt had moved into my house. It was his idea. He said it was best to rent his place out since I was so
established with my patients, and my proximity to the hospital was ideal. It was considerate and sweet of him, which is his
way. For a big, tough guy, he’s awfully nice. Your daddy
is
the best.

I would have missed the ocean, our sweet and salty garden, and the summer shutters that clack all night against the house
when it’s windy. But now I don’t have to.

We decided to make the sunroom of the house yours. We thought you’d love the way the morning light comes pouring over the
sills to fill every nook and cranny. Daddy and I began converting it into a perfect nursery, gathering things that we thought
you might love.

We hung wallpaper that danced with Mother Goose stories. There were your bears, your first books, and colorful wall quilts
that hung over your crib, the same crib Daddy had when he was a baby. Grandma Jean had saved it all these years.
Just for you, pumpkin.

We jammed the shelves with far too many variously colored stuffed animals, and every variety of ball known to sportsmen.

Daddy made an oak rocking horse that boasted a beautiful one-of-a-kind crimson and gold mane. Daddy also made you delicately
balanced mobiles filled with moons and stars galaxy. And a music box to hang in your crib.

Every time you pull the cord, it plays “Whistle a Happy Tune.” Whenever I hear that song, I think of you.

We can’t wait to meet you.

Nick,

Matt is at it again. A present was on the kitchen table when I got home from work. Gold paper covered in hearts and tied blue
ribbon concealed the contents. I couldn’t possibly love him any more than I do.

I shook the small package, and a tiny note dropped out from under the bow.

It read, “Working late tonight, Suze, but thinking about you as always. Open this when you get in and get relaxed. I’ll be
back by ten. Matt.”

I wondered where Matt was working until ten, but I let it go. I unwrapped the box carefully and lifted the tiny lid.

Inside was the most beautiful antique necklace. A sapphire locket in the shape of a heart hung from a silver chain. It was
probably a hundred and fifty years old.

I pressed the clasp, and the heart opened to reveal a message that had been engraved inside.

Nicholas, Suzanne, and Matt—Forever One.

Nick —

A few years back there was a book called
The Bridges of Madison County.
Its huge success was partly due to the fact that so many people seem to be missing romance and emotion in their lives. But
an underlying premise of the novel was that romance can last for only a short time; in this particular book, only a couple
of days for the main characters, Robert and Francesca. Romeo and Juliet were also star-crossed lovers whose love for each
other ended tragically.

Nicky, please don’t believe it. Love between two people can last a long time if the people love themselves some and are ready
to give love to another person.

I was ready, and so was Matt.

Your father is starting to embarrass me. He is
too
good to me and makes me so happy. Like today. He did it to me again.

The house was filled with friends and family when I came downstairs this morning, in floppy pink pajamas no less, with a sleepy
expression on my face.

I had almost forgotten that today was my birthday. My thirty-sixth.

Matt hadn’t. He had made a surprise breakfast . . . and I was surprised, all right. Unbelievably surprised.

“Matt?” I said, laughing, embarrassed, wrapping my arms around my wrinkled pajamas. “I’m going to murder you.”

He weaved through the people crowded into the kitchen. He was holding a glass of orange juice for me and wearing a silly grin.
“You’re all witnesses. You heard my wife. She looks kind of harmless and sweet, but she’s a killer. Happy birthday, Suzanne.”

Grandma Jean handed me her present, and she insisted I open it then and there. Inside was a beautiful blue silk robe, which
I put on to hide my flannels. I gave Jean a big hug for bringing the perfect gift.

“The grub is hot, pretty good, and it’s
ready!
” Matt yelled, and everyone moved toward the groaning table, which was filled with eggs, several varieties of breakfast meats,
sweet rolls, Jean’s homemade babka, plenty of hot coffee.

After everyone had their fill of the sumptuous breakfast—and, yes,
birthday cake
—they filed from the house and left us alone. Matt and I collapsed onto the big, comfy couch in the living room.

“So, how does it feel, Suzie? Another birthday?” I couldn’t help smiling. “You know how most people dread a birthday. They
think,
Oh God, people will start looking at me like I’m old.
Well, I feel the exact opposite. I feel that every day is an extraordinary gift. Just to be here, and especially to be with
you. Thanks for the birthday party. I love you.”

Then Matt knew just the right thing to do. First, he leaned in and gave me the sweetest kiss on the lips. Then he carried
me upstairs to our room, where we spent the rest of my birthday morning and, I must admit, most of my birthday afternoon.

Dear Nicky,

I am still a little shaky as I write about what happened a few weeks ago.

A local construction worker was rushed into the ER about eleven in the morning. Matt knew him and his family. The worker had
fallen eighteen feet from a ladder and had suffered trauma to his head. Since I had previously been the attending physician
on out-of-control nights at Mass. General, I had seen my share of trauma. I had the emergency room functioning on all cylinders,
full tilt, snapping orders and directives.

The man’s name was John Macdowell, thirty years old, married, with four kids. The MRI showed an epidermal hematoma. The pressure
on his brain had to be alleviated immediately. Here was a young man, so close to dying, I thought. I didn’t want to lose this
young father.

I worked as hard as I have since I was in Boston.

It took nearly three hours to stabilize his condition. We almost lost him. He went into cardiac arrest. Finally, I knew we
had him back. I wanted to kiss John Macdowell, just for being alive.

His wife came in with their children. She was weak with fear and couldn’t stop tearing up every time she tried to speak. Her
name was Meg, and she was carrying an infant boy. The poor young woman looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world
on her shoulders. She probably felt that she
was
on this particular day.

I ordered a mild sedative for Mrs. Macdowell and sat with her until she could gather herself. The kids were obviously scared,
too.

I took the second smallest, two years old, into my lap and gently stroked her hair. “Daddy is going to be okay,” I said to
the little girl.

The mother looked on, letting my words seep in. This was meant for her even more than for the children.

“He just fell down. Like you do sometimes. So we gave him medicine and a big bandage. He’s going to be fine now. I’m his doctor,
and I promise.”

The little girl—all of the Macdowell kids—fastened on to every word I had to say. So did their mother.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she finally whispered. “We love John so much. He’s one of the good guys.”

“I know he is. I could tell by the concern everybody showed. His entire crew came to the ER. We’re going to keep John here
for a few days. When it’s time for him to leave, I’ll tell you exactly what you’ll need to do at home. He’s stable now.

Why don’t I watch the kids. You can go in and see him.”

The little girl climbed down from my lap. Mrs. Macdowell unraveled the baby from her arms and lowered him into mine. He was
so tiny, probably only two or three months old. I doubted that his mother was more than twenty-five.

“Are you sure, Dr. Bedford? You can spare the time?” she asked me.

“I have all the time in the world for you, John, and the kids.”

I sat there, holding the baby boy, and I couldn’t help thinking about the little boy growing inside me. And also about mortality,
and how we face it every day of our lives.

I already knew I was a pretty good doctor. But it was only at that moment, when I held the little Macdowell baby, that I knew
I was going to be a good mother.

No, Nick, I knew I was going to be a
great
mom.

“What was
that?
” I said. “Matt? Honey?”

I spoke with difficulty. “Matt . . . something’s going on. I’m in . . . some pain.
Whew.
There’s more than a little pain, actually.

I dropped my fork on the floor of the Black Dog Tavern, where we were having dinner.
This couldn’t be happening. Not yet.
I was still a good month away from my delivery date. There was no way I could be having a contraction.

Matt jumped into action. He was more prepared for the moment than I was. He tossed cash onto the table and escorted me out
of the Black Dog.

Part of me knew what was happening. Or so I believed.
Braxton Hicks.
Contractions that don’t represent true labor. Women sometimes have these pains, occasionally even in their first trimester,
but when they come in the third, they can be mistaken for actual labor.

However, my pain seemed to be
above
my uterus, spreading up and under my left lung. It came like a sharp knife. Literally took my breath away.

We got into the Jeep and headed directly to the hospital.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. “Nicky’s just giving a heads-up, letting us know he’s physically fit.”

“Good,” Matt said, but he kept driving.

I had been getting weekly monitoring because this was considered a high-risk pregnancy. But everything had been fine, even
a joy up until now. If I were in trouble, I would have known it. Wouldn’t I? I was always on the lookout for the least little
problem. The fact that I’m a doctor made me even more prepared.

I was wrong. I was in trouble. The kind of trouble you’re not quite sure you want to know about before it happens.

This is the story of how we both almost died.

Nicholas,

We had the best doctor on Martha’s Vineyard, and one of the best in all of New England. Dr. Constance Cotter arrived at the
hospital about ten minutes after I got there with Matt.

I felt fine by then, but Connie monitored me herself for the next two hours. I could see her urgency; I could read it in the
tightness of her jaw. She was worrying about my heart. Was it strong enough? She was worrying about you, Nicky.

“This is potentially dangerous,” Connie said, sparing me no illusions. “Suzanne, your pressure is so high that part of me
wants to start labor right now. I know it’s not time, but you’ve got me worried. What I
am
going to do is keep you here tonight. And as many nights as I feel are warranted. No, you have no say in this.”

I looked at Connie like, You must be kidding. I was a doctor. I lived right down the road from the hospital. I would come
in immediately if necessary.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re staying. Check in, and I’ll be up to see you before I go. This isn’t negotiable, Suzanne.”

It was strange to be checking in to the hospital where I worked. An hour or so later, Matt and I sat in my room waiting for
Connie to return. I was telling him what I knew so far, in particular about a condition called preeclampsia.

“What exactly is preeclampsia, Suzanne?” he asked. He wanted every detail explained in clear layman’s terms. He was asking
all the right questions. So I told him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You wanted to know,” I said.

Connie finally came in. She took my blood pressure again. “Suzanne,” she said, “it’s higher than it was. If it doesn’t go
down in the next few hours, I’m inducing labor.”

I had never seen Matt look, or act, so nervous. “I’m going to stay here with you tonight, Suzanne,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” I told him. “Sit in an uncomfortable chair and watch me sleep? That’s crazy.”

But Connie looked at me and, in the clinical tone that she uses only for patients, said, “I think that’s a very good idea.
Matt should stay with you, Suzanne.”

Then Connie checked my pressure once more before leaving for the night.