Sheleft me alone then, keeping the door to my room open, and I laid a hand over myempty womb as I listened to a newborn baby cry. The wave of jealousy and ragecame in slow but completely swept me away before I could realize what washappening, and a sob bubbled up and pushed past my lips. I squeezed my eyesshut and rolled my head toward the window, praying for sleep or death to take meaway, when I heard someone enter my room.
“Hey,Mama!” a cheerful voice said, and I could only cry a little harder into theuncomfortable, crinkly pillow beneath my head. “Hey, what’s wrong? Oh, honey,don’t cry.”
“Closethe door,” I cried to the stranger. “Please, just close the damn door.”
“Okay,Mama. Okay, I’m closing it now.”
Hervoice was friendly, one I immediately could imagine myself growing attachedto, ifI wasn’t so focused on the unrelenting pain in myheart. I heard the door click shut, and then, moments later, the bed wasweighed down and a hand laid gently against my upper arm.
“Okay,look at me.” I shook my head, and she pushed me a little further. “Come on, I’mnotgonnabite you. Just look at me.”
So,I did. I rolled over and took in the blonde sitting at the edge of my bed. Herhair was pulled back, her makeup was done well, and she was dressed nicely in ablazer and a pair of black pants. She didn’t look much like the rest of thehospital staff, in their scrubs and lab coats, and I narrowed my teary eyes ather with skepticism.
“Talkto me. What’s going on?”
“Um…” I was struck with an embarrassing amount of stranger danger that nothirty-five-year-old woman should feel in a hospital after just giving birth. Imean, for crying out loud, these people wereregularlychangingmy bloody maxi pads and emptying my bag of urine, while Icouldn’t remember most of their names.
Thiswoman could clearly sense myhesitation, andsmiledkindly. “I’m Elle. We met last night. I’m your son’s nurse in the NICU.”
“Oh,”I replied, nodding. “Well, you might have met me, but I definitely don’tremember meeting you.”
Shelaughed easily, nodding her head as her ponytail bobbed. “Yeah, you were prettyout of it. Those drugs arepretty good, huh?” I shrugged,not in the mood to joke around, and she continued, “Well, like I said, I’mElle. I was there last night, to take your baby boy to the neonatal intensivecare unit, right down the hall, and admitted him. He’s been mine these lastcouple of nights, but I haven’t seen you in there.”
Shameheated my cheeks as I shrugged. “I haven’t really wanted to get up and movearound.”
“Oh,believe me, I get it. My last pregnancy ended with an emergency C-section, too.You don’t want to do anything at first. But let me tell you, it’ll help youfeel a lot better if you just try.”
“Ihighly doubt that.”
“Well,I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s no walk in the park at first. But you won’tstart to heal until you make up your mind that you’re going to.”
Iallowed her words to settle for a moment. There was truth in them, and I knewit, as I remembered my last surgery. Just a year ago, my gallbladder had beenremoved, and while that wasn’t the most serious surgery to have done, it wasstill surgery and it had taken a bit of time to feel better again. But Iremembered pushing myself to move as much as I could before needing to rest,and I knew that was a reason for my quick recovery—along with the help of somegreat painkillers.
Iknew having a C-section was much more serious than a laparoscopic gallbladderremoval. But I also knew that allowing myself to do nothing but lay in bedwasn’t going to help at all. Even if that was all I really wanted to do.
Ellesmiled and I think she knew she had gotten through to me. “Iwannasee you down there in a little while,” she said. “Youand your baby have a long road ahead of you, and neither one of you can do italone.”
***
Anhour later, my mom pushed me in a wheelchair down the long hallway of theMother and Baby ward, to the hospital’s neonatal intensive care unit. I wasterrified, as I waited for the large automatic doors to open, not knowing whatto expect. I didn’t know what I would see once I was in there. But, as shepushed me to the NICU’s door and rang the bell to be let in, I resigned myselfto not backing down.
Mybaby was in there, and I didn’t want him to be alone.
Therecame a click as the door was unlocked from the inside and my mother pushed itopen. We entered a small room, with computer monitors, a sink, a desk, and onenurse. She smiled and pointed at the sink.
“Mama,I just need for you to wash your hands and then we’ll get you checked in,okay?”
Mama.Idon’t think I’ll ever get used to that, I thought, as Mom wheeled me overto the sink and I scrubbed my shaking hands with such a sickening, nervousexcitement rushing through my veins.
Thenurse at the desk then led me through another door to a larger room full ofincubators and their tiny inhabitants. Nurses hurried around, tending to theirpatientsand chatting with one another like they werehanging out with friends. Elle spotted me from where she stood at one of theincubators and smiled kindly, as she made her way over to me.
“Igot this, Liz,” she said to the other nurse, and then, she directed herattention to my mother and me. “You guys made it!”
Inodded, unable to look at her as I stared at the tiny babies with red-coloredskin. “Yeah, I tried to walk, but I was still too dizzy.”
“Oh,that’s okay,” she assured me, taking the wheelchair from mymomand steering me toward the back of the room. “You got down here and that’s whatmatters. I’m proud of you.”
Then,after turning a corner, she parked me at one of the incubators and said, “Mama,I’d like to introduce you to your little boy.”
