Rain Dance (26 page)

Lord, help me to wait on You for everything and to recognize that You are always at work in my life—even
through
infertility. Thank You for the peace that is beyond all understanding. Thank you for salvation. Without You, I’d be hopeless.

Oh Jesus . . .
you are the Hero of my soul.

Stacie

“I don’t know what to wear,” I grumbled at Mike.

“Your dad said to dress for McDonald’s—how hard is that?”

Tugging on elastic-front jeans and a purple maternity T-shirt, I realized my body was starting to look very pregnant. The bulge resembled a basketball more every day. My once chiseled cheekbones were slightly rounded, and tying my shoes had become an uncomfortable task.

“I’m going to get some of those slip-on tennis shoes,” I muttered just as the doorbell rang.

I went to open the door for Dad. “You look beautiful!” he exclaimed.

“I look pregnant. I can barely tie my own shoes anymore.”

“I still think you’re beautiful.”

“Will Stevie understand I’m not just fat?”

“Yes.” Dad grinned. “I explained it to him. Want to impress your kid brother?”

“That obvious, huh?”

“He already loves you.”

“How can he?”

“It is just his way.”

“That’s what Jonica says about God.”

Peggy welcomed us. “He’s waiting for you in his room. He wants to meet you there so the other kids don’t interrupt.”

Dad reached for my cold, sweaty hand. “Relax. Stevie won’t notice details or make judgments. He’ll simply be glad to meet you and experience an answered prayer.”

“Do you sometimes believe in a God who answers prayer?” I asked.

“No. But your brother does.”

Upstairs Stevie sat on the edge of his bed with his head bowed, hands folded, and eyes closed. “Amen!” he said as we entered.

“Hi, Dad.” He stood up and opened his arms for a hug.

“Hello, Son.” After they embraced, Dad reached for my hand again. “This is Stacie.”

“Hi.” Blue eyes shone love at me, and he held out his right hand.

I wiped my hand on my jeans and shook his. “Hi, Stevie.”

He picked up a hand-drawn picture from his desk. “I drew this for you.”

On the thick ivory paper were four figures. “You’re the one in purple. Dad said it’s your favorite color. I hope you like it.”

We were in the same boat. Each of us wanted to be accepted by the other.

“Thank you. You did a nice job. I’ll frame it and put it in my office.”

“Okay!”

While he and Dad caught up on his school work, athletics, and friendships, I looked around his room. Framed photos of Stevie and Dad covered one wall. Other photos displayed Eve and me through the years. Two empty frames hung among them.

Stevie came over to me. “I always knew you. Now you know me too.”

His words salted my wounded heart. From the tears in Dad’s eyes, I knew he was feeling the same pain.

“What are the empty frames for?”

“For our pictures when we’re all a family again.”

My mouth opened, but I had no words.

He looked at my tummy and asked, “When will it come out?”

“Soon. And when he does, you will be an uncle.” The truth hit me as I said the words.

He smiled and said, “Yep. I want to give him a red ball. We can play catch when he gets bigger like me.”

“I think he’ll like that a lot.”

“Are you two ready for lunch?” Dad asked.

“I am. Let’s go,” Stevie answered.

We ate cheeseburgers and fries. My brother and I discovered we both liked root beer, fries drenched in catsup, and twist cones for dessert. Later, we had a blast feeding the geese at the lake and telling silly knock-knock jokes. We laughed a lot.

I cried all the way home. I was so glad to meet Stevie, but grieving I’d missed so much of his life. I’d never held him, hugged him, or argued with him. We’d never shared birthdays and holidays. I didn’t know his favorite color, food, song, or TV show.

Neither did Eve.

“How are you, honey?” Dad asked, handing me his handkerchief.

“I’m so happy for me and sad for Eve. She is missing so much by not knowing him.

“I wish I could take back the years I stole from you and Stevie. I’d do almost anything to see you growing up together. Can you forgive me?”

Unexpected forgiveness softened my stony heart. “I’m still a little ticked and have some things to work through. I don’t understand all that drove you and Eve to make this deal, but I know it was somehow motivated by love. I will always think it was misguided, but I can choose to forgive you.”

“I’m very grateful. Take your time. I just need to know it’s possible for us to regain some lost ground.”

“Dad, there is one thing I have to say . . . you’re my hero more than ever!”

“Because I love my son?”

“Yes!”

Chapter
23

Jonica

Stacie’s delivery date approached, and we repeatedly reviewed “the plan.”

“Mike will call you.”

“I’ll get dressed and meet you at the curb.”

“Your house is on the way. Don’t worry. There will be plenty of time,” Stacie assured me when she noticed the uncertainty in my eyes.

I had no idea how these things went and could only hope she was right.

One morning a delivery man rang our doorbell. He handed me a bouquet of wildflowers and a package. Inside the box was a white T-shirt with ASST. COACH printed in black letters.

                                        Then the doorbell rang again. This time Stacie stood there with a silly smirk on her face, holding her new nightshirt. It read, MOM.

“Mike did these for us. His shirt says COACH.”

We drank ice water with lemon and laughed out loud as we remembered the breathing lessons Mike had given me over the phone.

“As assistant coach, you will need to know this breathing stuff too. Ready?”

Without further warning, he started our practice session. I barely held back the chuckles I knew would immediately be out-of-control whoops if I so much as let out a whimper.

“I’m serious, Jonica. Stacie is going to need our help.”

“I agree.” I swallowed a giggle that nearly escaped.

He began to tell me how many long and short breaths Stacie would need as the contractions increased in frequency and intensity. “You only need to be able to count to ten. She won’t push until the doctor gives her the go-ahead.”

He demonstrated the breathing technique. I did fine until I heard Stacie on the other end of the line, laughing out of control.

“If you don’t quit it, I’m going to push this baby out right now!” she had threatened.

He gave her the phone. We couldn’t stop giggling about having our very own heavy breather.

Stacie took her glass to the kitchen for a refill, rubbing her back. I followed her and heard a small gasp.

“Uh-oh. I’d better go to the bathroom.”

As she headed down the hall, I heard her groan, then say, “I think something’s going on.”

“Stacie?”

“This might be it. My back hurts, I’m dripping water, and I just had a giant cramp. Maybe you’d better put that T-shirt on now.”

“Did you look at your watch in case we need to start monitoring contractions?”

“I did. Even if this is a false alarm, we’d better call Mike. He can pick us both up.”

I made the call. Stacie came out of the bathroom. Her eyes looked like dark emeralds set into fine ivory porcelain.

“Mike’s on his way.”

“I’ll call my doctor. This may be nothing, but I need to be sure.”

I grabbed a couple of towels and put them on a chair. “I think you’d better sit down.”

Obeying, she dialed her phone. After a moment I heard her say, “My back hurt all night and I couldn’t rest. I had some tightening and what might have been spasms too.” After a pause she continued. “The cramps were about twenty minutes apart and didn’t get worse or closer together. I haven’t had any pain since about three o’clock this morning. Now they’re back along with this fluid.”

She listened for a moment, then said, “When Mike gets here, we’ll come. We’re bringing our assistant coach. I’m with her now. No, she’s never been through this either.”

I changed into my new shirt.

Mike’s car screeched up to the curb, and I helped Stacie get in. “Dr. Steele will have someone waiting for us in the emergency room,” Stacie chattered as the car picked up speed. “Remember, there’s special parking for maternity patients. Shoot! This really hurts. Whose idea was this again?”

“It was mutual,” Mike answered.

“So you say,” she bantered back, smiling when the contraction eased.

On the way, I called Ben to let him know we were putting the plan into action.

The nurse told us the doctor was waiting for us upstairs and reminded Stacie that she would go through labor, delivery, and recovery in the same room.

In the birthing room, Dr. Steele examined her, and said, “I think you’re going to be staying for a while. I don’t expect this baby for several hours yet.”

“This is it?” Mike asked in a soft voice.

“Looks like it. But like I said, it’s going to be a while. Try to relax. By the way, it’s good to see you again, Jonica,” Dr. Steele added.

“You two know each other?” Stacie asked.

“Dr. Steele was our infertility specialist.” I grinned at the doctor. “Read any good books lately?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m reading one loaned to me by a patient.” He turned back to Stacie. “I’ll be back later to check on your progress.”

As he exited, gladness washed over my heart. Then I heard my friend exhale.

“It’s building again.”

A nurse hooked Stacie up to a monitor, and we heard two hearts beating. Stacie muttered, “Here it comes.” The monitor needle recorded the intensity and length of the contraction.

“Are they getting worse?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Lots worse than I expected.”

“Honey, you’re just getting started,” the nurse warned. “You’re going to do a lot more work, and that needle will go off the graph before we’re through.”

I swallowed hard. “Off the graph?”

She nodded. “When we get close to delivery. Stacie, let me know if you change your mind and want something for the pain.”

The door closed behind her. Three first-timers looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

Mike turned on the TV, and we watched an old John Wayne movie. We laughed and breathed our way through McClintock. The nurse came back and asked if we needed anything.

“I’m thirsty,” Stacie said.

“You can have some ice chips.”

I jumped up. “I can be in charge of ice chips.”

The nurse took me down the hall showed me where to get them. She handed me a plastic cup and spoon. I filled the cup and went back to the room.

Stacie savored ice chips, and we started watching game shows. I kept a close eye on her little finger. Her hand rested on the sheet next to her, and when a contraction hit, Stacie’s pinky raised a bit. As the contractions got worse the finger went a little higher. So did the needle on the graph.

Mike breathed and puffed through each pain with her, while keeping an eye on the monitor. Her hair clung to her face as the pain worsened. The nurse checked in again.

“I’m really working up a sweat here.”

“That’s normal as things progress,” the nurse assured her. “You’re doing great. You can have a cool cloth on your forehead. Keep breathing. You can holler if you want to—the walls are soundproofed.”

Another sweeping pain hit. Staci and Mike breathed, and I got a cool cloth.

As I wiped her forehead after the pain passed, she smiled and said, “Breathe, Jonica.”

I did feel a bit light headed. I realized I’d been holding my breath through each contraction.

A few minutes later, she whimpered, “Mike, something feels like it’s happening. Oh boy—I want to push.” This time, her pinky stood straight up.

He pressed the call button and asked the nurse to come in. I wondered why my friend didn’t cry out. My menstrual cramps usually made me whine. Although her pain was heading off the chart, she seemed to hold back and retreat into herself.

As she entered, the nurse said, “We still have a long wait ahead of us. First babies take their time.”

“This is different than before.”

“How many minutes apart are your contractions?”

“Two,” Mike said.

“Since when?” The nurse did a quick check under the sheet.

“The last three or four. You didn’t say we needed to tell you,” Mike answered.

“I want to push!” Stacie ground out through clenched teeth.

“Don’t push. Breathe. I’ll get the doctor. Swallow a few more ice chips. You’re going to be doing some hard work very soon.”

Dr. Steele strode in, not unlike John Wayne in the movie, pulling on surgical gloves. “So you think this baby is ready to come, huh?”

Mike joined the doctor behind the sheet. He instructed the nurse to get ready.

“The baby’s head is crowning, Stacie. When I tell you to, push.”

Sweat rolled off my friend’s brow as she breathed with me and held back the desire to bear down.

Finally, the doctor said, “Push now.”

She pushed and I prayed.

“Good work! The head is out. Get ready to push harder than before. We need to get these shoulders out.”

The needle left the graph, Stacie gripped the sheets, strained forward, and groaned. At least I thought it was her and not me.

Dr. Steele urged, “Now, Stacie. Bear down harder—harder. Jonica, if you want to see this child born, you can step down here.”

As I watched the baby’s shoulders release from his mother’s body, it sounded like a big suction cup coming off glass. In the same instant, Stacie stopped pushing, the needle on the monitor dropped back, and the doctor held the baby for Mike to cut the cord.

“Congratulations, Stacie and Mike, you have a son!” the doctor declared over the cries of the newborn.

The nurse measured, weighed, and cleaned up the infant, and handed him, wrapped in a soft blanket, to his mother.”