Say Never (41 page)

“Do you really want to know?” I have no idea why she’s grinning at me so I nod. “They shove it up your cooch and screw it into the baby’s head.”

Oh dear God.

“Too much information, Caroline, but thanks for that. I may never sleep again. So, wait, can we just go back for a minute? Did you say the baby’s name is Euthalia?”

“Don’t you just love that name? It’s Greek. It means
blooming
or
flourishing
. If it’s a boy, we’re naming him Zeus, but I know it’s a girl. I can feel it.
Euthalia.”

“Caroline, what are you trying to do to your daughter? It’s
ridiculous
. It sounds like Euthanasia.”

She frowns good-naturedly at me. “It does not. And anyway, we haven’t decided yet. I’m going back and forth between that and Aspasia, which means
welcome
.”

“And all the school kids will call her Spaz for short.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What’s wrong with Laura or Elizabeth or Janet?”

She fakes a yawn. “Boring. So, what’s in the bag?”

“Check it out,” I tell her.

She reaches in and pulls out the soft pink striped PJ Salvage pajamas I bought but didn’t wear. The price tag hangs from the cuff and I quickly tear it off before Caroline can see how much I spent.

“Oh, I love them! Thank you so much.” She lifts the pajama top to her cheek and nuzzles against it. “So cozy. But, they’re brand new. I won’t be able to wear them until I get this stupid cast off.”

“Just cut the leg, Caroline. I’ll get the nurse to do it. Seriously. If you’re stuck in this place, you deserve a nice pair pajamas.”

“That was really thoughtful of you, Meg.”

“Look, before you get all sappy, you should know that I bought them for myself.”

She looks puzzled. “Why aren’t you keeping them?”

“Because I don’t need them. I bought this pair as a backup, but I’m going home tomorrow and I have a whole drawer full of clean pajamas there. So I thought I’d give them to you.”

“Wait a minute, what? You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“I know, I know,” I say before she can get the words out. “I was staying until Wednesday, but some shit went down at work and I have to get back or I’m going to lose my show. And don’t worry, I’m hiring someone to take care of the kids until Thanksgiving. From an actual agency. With great reviews on Yelp.”

She considers this for a few moments, then shatters my expectations when she says, “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it? Just okay?”

“What do you want me to say, Meg? I mean, the kids’ll miss you. Danny, too. Even I’m going to miss you a little bit. You’re the closest thing I have to a sister, you know? And now that we’re getting along, it’s been kind of nice…Anyway, you have to do what you have to do.”

“I do.”

Ironically, Caroline’s easy acceptance makes me feel worse than my brother’s indignation and my father’s dejection.

“Maybe we can email each other occasionally. Like sisters do.”

“Yeah. We can.”

I say the words, but I know I’m lying. Once I’m back at work, all of this, this family business will get tucked away on a corner shelf of my closet where I won’t find it again until somebody graduates, gets married or dies. I recognize how much this sucks, but I’m just self-aware enough to own it.

Caroline folds the pajamas and tucks them back into the bag. As she reaches over to set the bag on the side table, an alarm sounds. Our heads simultaneously jerk toward the monitor. The baby’s blood pressure line has dipped below the median and the spikes on the screen are erratic. Caroline glances over at me, her eyes wide. In the next moment, a large Hispanic nurse charges into the room and descends upon Caroline, pushing me out of the way to get to her patient.

“Meg?” Caroline’s voice is high-pitched and panicked.

“I’m here.”

“What’s happening?” Caroline asks the nurse, but the woman doesn’t respond, just watches the monitor closely. Caroline repeats her question with the same result. I feel my own blood pressure soar.

“Yo, excuse me,” I say, practically sideswiping the nurse. “Tell my sister-in-law what the fuck’s going on before I lay you out!”

“She’s from New York,” Caroline comments, and I’m relieved to see that, despite her concern, she’s grinning.

“And I’m from El Salvador,
chica
. Good luck laying
me
out.”

Her nametag reads ‘Grace’ and I reflexively start to formulate a commentary on the discrepancy between her name and her manner. Before I can give voice to my scathing words, the door opens again and a tall African-American man dressed in slacks, tie and white doctor’s coat walks briskly into the room. His manner is calm and collected, but his eyes are sharp and alive. He squints at the monitor, then looks down at Caroline.

“Hi, Caroline. Remember me? I’m Dr. Laramy. Listen, your baby is in fetal distress. I’m not certain why it’s happening, you’re not in premature labor, but the bottom line is we have to get the baby out of there. Do you understand?”

Caroline nods rapidly, then reaches out to me. I clasp her hand and feel it shaking.

“It’s too soon,” she says, her voice barely a squeak.

“No, Caroline. You’re at thirty-six weeks. The baby’s going to be fine, no problems at all. If we get him or her out safely.”

“This isn’t a hospital.”

“We specialize in neonatal care, which is why you came to us in the first place. And we’ve delivered plenty of babies here. Your baby is not the first. And I’ve done several crash C-sections. I know I’m not your regular OB/GYN, but I’m not comfortable waiting for her to get here.”

“Oh, God.” She grips my hand so tightly I’m afraid she’s going to cut off my circulation. “So, we’re setting everything up now. The difficulty is that we need to give you a spinal block.” His voice remains even as he continues. “But that requires that we move you into a position where the anesthesiologist can get in to do what he needs to do. And with your injury, this might cause some discomfort.”

“How much discomfort?” I ask before I can stop myself. The doctor eyes me suspiciously, then glances at Caroline’s cast.

“Some,” he says. “But once the block takes effect, you won’t feel a thing. So, are you ready, Caroline?”

“My husband. Danny.”

“I’ll call him,” I tell her, trying to pull my hand out of her grasp.

“You’d better do it quickly,” Dr. Laramy says, “if you’re going to be in the room with her.”

“No!” I blurt. “No, no, no. No way. I’m not going to be in the room with her, not while you slice open her abdomen and uterus and—”

“Meg!” I look down at Caroline. My sister-in-law, who always seems so unflappable, looks like a frightened rabbit. “You have to come in with me. Please.”

“No fucking way!” I yank my hand away from her and stumble backward, almost falling on my ass. Grace makes no move to assist me. If I weren’t so desperate to get the hell out of this room, I’d slap that nurse silly.

* * *

“Danny!” I yell into the phone. The hallway is bustling with activity, a bevy of pregnant women wandering the halls, some in wheelchairs, some with crutches. A couple of orderlies hurry to Caroline’s room.

“What is it, Meg? I can’t hear you very well.”

“Danny, the baby. You have to come back. To the rehab. You have to come to the rehab.”

“What? What the hell—heck are you talking about?”

I take a deep breath. “The baby is in distress and they have to do a crash C-section.”

“What the fuck?”

I hear the screech of tires and possibly a couple of children shrieking in the background.

“Do not crash the car, Danny. Do you hear me?” I’m using my big sister voice, the one I called up whenever I thought my brother was acting like a weenie or doing something stupid. “Listen to me, Danny. Do not speed. Do not run any red lights. What’s going down is going down whether you’re here or not. But it would be better for everyone, including your new baby, if you remained alive.”

“Holy shit, holy shit. Where is she? Where’s Caroline? Why is this happening? Is the baby going to be all right?”

The orderlies emerge from the room, wheeling the gurney carrying my sister-in-law. I can hear her calling my name.

“They’re just taking her into the OR, or whatever they call it.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this. Can I talk to her?”

“No, Danny. They have to give her a spinal block, and time is of the essence. Just take a deep breath and calm down. And get here as soon as you can. Okay?”

“I’m so glad you’re there, Meg. I’m so glad. Tell her I love her, okay? Please. Tell her I love her more than anything and she is the brightest star in my heavens and the frosting on my cake and the pearl in my oyster and I can’t live without her. Tell her that.”

Is he kidding me?

“I’ll tell her, Danny. Just get off the phone and drive safe.”

“Hey, sis,” he says before I can hang up.

“What?”

“I love you.”

I roll my eyes, but then I answer him. “I love you too, bro.”

Twenty-three

Caller:
Planned C-sections have become an epidemic! Women are cheating themselves out of the miracle of childbirth just to keep their husbands sexually satisfied.

Meg:
Look, caller, no matter how they come out, the result is the same. A lifetime commitment to someone who’ll drain your bank account, drive you crazy, and make you prematurely grey. Does that sound like a miracle to you?

* * *

As I move toward the double doors marked EMERGENCY, I have a strong sense of déjà vu from yesterday with McKenna. How could this be happening to me again? I swear, six days in Southern California, and I feel like I’m in fucking ‘Nam.

Nurse Grace steps into my path, barring my entrance from the ER.

“Scrubs,” she growls, pressing a set of green hospital scrubs in my hands.

“No, I’m only going in there to deliver a message,” I explain.
Then I’m getting the hell out.

“Rules are rules,” she says. “You wanna go in, you gotta wear the scrubs.”

“I don’t
want
to go in.” I grab the lime green scrubs from her. “Please tell me these are from Anne Klein’s summer collection.”

The nurse gives me a sardonic grin.

From within the operating room, I hear Caroline’s moans. I peer through the glass pane and see her lying on her side, a couple of nurses gingerly holding her cast while the anesthesiologist stands at the ready behind her.

Oh. My. God. I’d give anything for a cigarette right now.

If the poopy diapers and the projectile vomit and the tantrums weren’t enough to put me off childbearing, the sight of the anesthesiologist piercing Caroline’s back with a six inch needle aimed at her spinal cord makes me grateful for my impending menopause. And Caroline’s not even in labor. I bet labor is a million times worse.

By the time I pull the scrubs over my clothes and push through the double doors, Caroline is flat on her back, her arms stretched out at her sides and strapped to the table as though she’s Jesus on a horizontal cross. A curtain has been erected at her neck, blocking the view of everything south of her shoulders.

Grace appears beside me and ushers me over to Caroline, then procures a chair and sets it next to my sister-in-law’s head. I sit down and cover her hand with mine. She turns and gazes at me, then smiles wearily.

“Hi, Meg.”

“Hi, Caroline. How do you feel?” Dumb question, I know.

“I love spinal blocks,” she says. “It’s too bad they’re not available over the counter.”

“I talked to Danny. He told me to tell you that he loves you. He said a bunch of other things but they’re too cheesy for me to repeat out loud.”

She smiles, then closes her eyes. On the other side of the curtain, Dr. Laramy talks to his staff in low tones. I can’t make out what he’s saying, nor can I decipher the nurse’s murmured response.

“Caroline,” he calls. “Can you feel this? Or this?”

Caroline shakes her head.

“No,” I report.

“Excellent. We’re good to go.”

“Fetal heart rate’s at 100 and dropping,” the nurse reports in a monotone.

“Let’s get this done,” Dr. Laramy replies.

“I was in labor for twenty-six hours with Cera,” Caroline tells me. I nod and she continues. “McKenna was sixteen. Tebow was only eight.”

“Wow.”

“I won’t be in labor at all with Delphinia.”

“Delphinia?” I say, horrified.

“Kidding,” she says. “It’s okay, you know? Not being in labor this time. Labor sucks.”

“So I’ve heard.”