Because she was no longer pregnant, she could have a room on a regular floor rather than the maternity floor, in case it would be too difficult for her to be around babies. Even through her newborn grief, she knew enough to sense that they wanted to get rid of her, to remove the pain and stigma of a pregnancy gone wrong.
“I’d like to be where people know how to take care of me,” she told Dr. Hayes. “This is my first baby…”
“Then that is what you will have,” he declared. “And you’ll have a private room. That’s the least we can do.”
This followed the discussion about how long she should stay home from work. The doctor was definitely her advocate. Eric suggested that since she didn’t have a newborn to care for, perhaps she’d need less time to recuperate. Dr. Hayes dismissed his comment without missing a beat.
“Annie had a baby - she needs the customary six week maternity leave.” He wrote his orders: a minimum of six weeks.
It was a relief to know that the time she’d need was validated, but she knew she’d go back to work sooner than that because they needed the money. While she was pregnant, she brought up the possibility of her working part-time after the baby came.
“There’s no way we can afford that,” Eric stated firmly. She took him at his word and didn’t argue because she knew he was right. Now, even though there was no baby, she regretted her decision not to fight for time with him. Having just held him and smelled his tiny newborn head made her realize how precious that time would have been, and she felt awful for having been so willing to give it away.
Her arms literally ached for wanting to hold him, not only for a moment but for the rest of her life. She was shocked at the intensity of her feelings. Not only did her arms ache, but her heart hurt as well. It was unlike any pain she’d ever felt before, either physical or emotional. It was exquisitely perfect, a vast collection of contradictions. The baby that had brought her so much joy was now the cause of unimaginable pain. The emptiness inside of her where he had just spent his entire little life was such a vast chasm of grief and loss, she could not begin to comprehend it. Her wounds were fresh and raw and she had no idea how she was going to live until tomorrow or the next five minutes without him.
According to her wishes, she was moved to a room – private – on the maternity floor. Eric was given a cot to sleep on next to her bed, and there they spent the rest of the night. They didn’t speak or touch. Each of them lay in their cocoons, alone and apart from each other.
Annie could never remember when she’d felt more alone. She gazed out the window at the now predawn sky. A chill ran from her forehead to her little toe, and she pulled the thin hospital blanket up under her chin to keep warm, to protect herself. The memory of Dillon’s birth was still strong in her mind, and she closed her eyes and did her best to relive it. As painful as it was, she never wanted to forget a moment of it. She had to remember it. That was all she’d ever have of him.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a nurse and a hand on her shoulder.
“Annie. Hi. How are you doing?” She had a kind, soothing voice.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Are you having much pain?” The question was perfectly normal and valid, but Annie wanted to scream, ‘YES. You have no idea!’ But, of course, she didn’t. She simply said, “Not too much.”
“Well, that’s good,” the nurse replied, “but I’m afraid I’ll be causing you some - I have to knead your tummy.”
Annie looked at her, perplexed. “You have to what?”
“I have to knead your uterus. It makes it shrink.” She set to work, massaging and pushing on Annie’s abdomen as if it were a blob of bread dough instead of the sacred vessel that had just held her baby. As the nurse pushed and prodded, she closed her eyes and tried to transport herself to another place, to another place in time. She wanted to be taken care of properly, but this was too invasive. Her first instinct was to clutch her belly, to protect the place that had been Dillon’s home for the past thirty-four weeks. As the nurse did her job, she felt that her very soul was being touched. She felt pain on so many levels, it was difficult to tell where it started. There was supposed to be a squalling baby latching onto her breast to make this happen, not a nurse simulating the event. It broke her heart yet again.
“Normally nursing your baby takes care of this because it releases hormones that do the trick, but…” Suddenly she realized what she was saying and to whom she was saying it. Her demeanor changed abruptly. “So, that should be good for now. Be sure to press the call button if you need anything.” With that, she turned on her heel and hurried from the room, her head down, going about one hundred miles an hour.
Annie winced at the cramps the nurse’s massaging caused, as well as the knowledge that she had become a pariah through no fault of her own. While they meant well, none of the staff seemed to know what to do with her. They chose to work on the maternity floor because they loved the joy that every day brought with new moms and new life. She was the anvil on their stethoscopes that brought them back to earth, back to the reality that things didn’t always go the way they were supposed to; there wasn’t always a happy ending. It hurt to be the source of such abhorrence. Instinctively, she knew she better get used to it.
She breathed her way through the discomfort, using the technique the labor nurse had shown her. Dillon came before they had finished the childbirth classes, so she had no idea what to do. They had procrastinated about practicing all of those “dumb breathing exercises” as Eric had dubbed them. They seemed dumb to her too, until she was in the throes of labor and then she more than understood their value. The thought of all the other couples in their class having healthy babies was a slap in the face she hadn’t expected, and she winced. The tears started again.
Eric stirred restlessly. He rolled over and squinted at the light sneaking in from around the edge of the door. The nurse had left it open a crack in her haste to leave.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a half whisper. He put his forearm over his eyes to block out the light as well as the reality that came flooding back.
“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “The nurse just came in for a minute.” She decided to spare him the details. She wanted him to rest. “Go back to sleep, okay?”
“I don’t think I can,” he said, sitting up and stretching tiredly. Standing up, he came over to the bed. “How did you sleep?”
He leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek and tasted the tear that was making its way to her chin. He put his arms around her and held her close. “Aw, Annie.” It was all he said. It was all he had to say. The tears came more freely now, for both of them. They sat there for a few minutes, just holding each other. It was the closest they’d been in days and she needed the comfort. This was new terrain, a new journey for which she wasn’t prepared.
Out in the hall were the sounds of the hospital waking up for the day. Tall metal carts with stacks of breakfast trays were rolled down the hall by food service workers. Plastic bassinets with newborn babies followed them, pushed by busy nurses. After all, the babies needed their breakfasts too and each room held a mom or two waiting to feed their new little bundles of hungry joy. Except Annie’s room, of course. Her room was quiet and still. The days of eating for two were over.
“Knock, knock,” a friendly voice said. It belonged to a young woman they’d never seen before. She had light brown hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing black pants and a white blouse. Around her neck was a thin gold chain with a small gold cross dangling from it. “Hi, Annie, Eric, I’m Susan Phelps, one of the hospital chaplains. Dr. Hayes told me about your son. I’m so sorry.” She stood near the end of the bed, not too close, but not too far away, either. “Can I get you two some breakfast?”
Annie shook her head. “None for me, but Eric would probably like some.”
“You have to eat too,” he chimed in. “You have to keep up your strength.”
“I’m not very hungry, but you