Delicate Condition, page 14
Even after the blizzard passed, Dex and I found we had little desire to leave the house. It was the coldest, darkest part of the winter, barely eight hours of sun a day, and it was dim, watery light, filtered through low-hanging clouds. We got our groceries delivered and loafed around in pajamas, brewing pot after pot of coffee and eating more of Talia’s cookies for dinner because neither of us cared enough to make real food. Even Talia’s massive house began to feel claustrophobic with snow piled up outside the windows and nowhere to go, the air inside cold and stale.
I could tell I was getting on Dex’s nerves. He kept closing himself off in other parts of the house. He claimed he had to work, but I walked in on him once and he didn’t even have his computer open; he was just screwing around on his phone, either playing some dumb game or texting, I couldn’t tell. When he saw me, he set the phone down, fast, guilt on his face: a little boy caught messing around when he was supposed to be doing his homework.
I couldn’t blame him. Dex and I loved each other, but neither of us were used to spending this much time together. Back in the city we had work and friends and business trips. It was strange for us to go even a full week without a night or two apart. But now we were just here. All the time.
Early one morning, Dex leaned into our bedroom while I was on the phone with my dad. “We’re completely out of food,” he said. “Are you going to be okay if I run to the grocery store to pick some stuff up?”
I told my dad to hold on a second and glanced at the window. “Are the roads okay?”
“There’s no snow for the next few hours. I think it’ll be fine.”
It hit me that he might be looking for an excuse to spend some time alone. “Of course,” I told him. “Have fun.”
“Say hi to your dad for me,” Dex said, and ducked out of the room.
After I got off the phone, I decided I would take a shower. Anything to keep from obsessing about my baby, my body, my friend.
A mirror took up one entire wall of my bathroom, making it impossible to miss the reflection staring back at me: greasy hair already falling out of its topknot, blotchy, discolored skin, wrinkles crawling across my forehead and bunching at the corners of my eyes. I was the very picture of an over-the-hill actor. A woman past her prime. Staring at myself, I wished I could wind the clock back and back and back. Be twenty-six again. Do it all over.
My bottle of prenatal vitamins was still sitting on the counter next to my toothbrush. I used to take them at the same time every morning, right after brushing my teeth. Seeing them now made me want to break things. I opened the bottom drawer of the vanity and went to throw the pills inside, where I wouldn’t have to look at them anymore—then paused.
Talia had stuck a framed photograph down here. It was of her and Dex and Dex’s ex-wife, Adeline. They must’ve been out to dinner somewhere, because they were sitting at a candlelit table, the room behind them dark and unfocused. Talia was turning in her seat, waving at someone outside of the photograph, but Adeline and Dex were facing each other, laughing, and Dex had his arm casually strewn over Adeline’s shoulders. Possessive, happy. He was staring at Adeline with a look of utter adoration on his face. Like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.
I felt a sharp pain in my chest, right between my breasts. No wonder Talia had hidden this photograph. Dex and Adeline looked so beautiful here. I thought of what Dex had told me, Addy made it clear that she wasn’t interested in being pregnant. Would that really have been enough to get him to leave her? They looked so in love.
I stared at the photograph, a lump forming in my throat. What would that mean for us if I couldn’t get pregnant either? The thought caused an unexpected flare of anger. Adeline deserved more than that. So did I.
I shoved the photograph back into the bottom drawer and slammed it shut, so I wouldn’t have to look at it anymore. Then I stood and splashed water onto my face, trying to get myself to calm down. Steam billowed around me, filling the small room, clouding the mirror. I forced myself to breathe deep. All I had to do was breathe.
A moment passed, and I started to relax. I was inventing this drama in my head after all. Dex had never indicated that he might leave me if I couldn’t give him children. Never. And I didn’t know for sure that the pregnancy thing was what broke him and Adeline up. It could’ve been just part of a much bigger problem that he didn’t want to talk about with me. I was just obsessing because of what had happened.
I shook my head and stepped into the shower, gasping as the hot water scalded my body. I waited a moment for my skin to adjust, and then I lifted my face to the spray, letting it roll over my cheeks and shoulders and chest.
I ran my hands down my water-slick body, hesitating when my fingers found the soft mound of my belly. It seemed unfair that it was still there, this pouch, that it hadn’t disappeared the moment I’d miscarried. I thought about what Dr. Crawford said, about there still being fetal tissue inside of me, about how I’d have to wait to see if I passed it naturally, or else have an operation to remove it. The thought filled me with dread.
Water beaded along the curves of my skin. I moved my fingers lower, to the space just below my belly button. There was a tightness there, a pressure that was almost like a muscle contracting. It felt strange when I pressed down on it. Not painful, but sort of tender, almost like—
A tremor moved through my belly, causing my hand to shift.
I swore out loud and yanked my hand away, nerves pricking up the back of my neck.
What the…?
Something had moved. Inside of me. It wasn’t like what happened in the basement, that twitch. I wasn’t drunk. My belly had moved, all on its own, like something alive. I felt it. I saw it.
No, not it. My baby. There was still tissue inside of me. That must’ve been what I’d felt, that tissue. I must’ve imagined that I saw it move, just like in the basement. God, what was wrong with me?
For a moment, all I was aware of was the roar of water in my ears, the pressure pounding into my back. It felt like the water had gone cold, and I realized, dimly, that it wasn’t the water—it was me. I was practically shivering. I swallowed, unable to pull my eyes away from my belly.
I watched it expand as I breathed in, collapse as I breathed out. Water trailed down my skin. I let my hands travel over the underside of my belly again, searching for that ball of pressure. When I didn’t find it, I pressed my fingers into my belly, gently at first, and then harder, deeper, ignoring the dull pain that spread through my stomach. Nothing happened.
And then—
My body moved all on its own. It was surreal, like watching an animal swim underwater, the ripples it left across the surface of my skin the only sign that anything had been there at all. The flesh on my belly rose and fell without asking my permission as that knot of pressure crossed to the other side of my body. I felt something like motion sickness, a sudden wave of nausea sweeping through me, following the movement. It took my breath away. I had to lean against the cold, wet tile, shivering.
I was too stunned to breathe. And then, I laughed. The sound shocked me so much that I pressed both hands to my mouth. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, carving warm lines down my already wet skin.
Something was happening. Something had moved. I’d watched it move. That wasn’t my imagination, and it wasn’t hormones. It was something inside of me. In the space of a single second, I thought of night feedings and diaper changes and bedtime stories and trips to the zoo. I laughed again, louder this time.
She was still in there. It was the only explanation that made sense, the only thing that explained the movement in my belly, not just now but that night in the basement too. Whatever that woman had tried to do to me hadn’t worked.
My baby was still alive.
JUDY MARSHALL, 1957
Judy was holding her cup much too tightly. Her hands trembled, causing a bit of hot tea to slosh over the rim, scalding her hand. It burned like the dickens, but she couldn’t figure out how to relax her grip. Her whole body felt tense. She felt like one big spring that someone had stretched far too tightly.
“You’re…pregnant?” Her neighbor Maude repeated, shocked. And why shouldn’t she be shocked? Judy was forty-two. Far too old to have a baby. It was indecent.
She hushed her and quickly glanced around. It was the first warm day of spring and Maude had wanted to sit outside at the little table and chairs she’d just bought for her front porch. It was the wrong place for this conversation, much too public. Anyone could wander by and hear what they were talking about, and then where would Judy be?
“Six weeks along, I think,” Judy said, lowering her voice and hoping Maude would take the hint. “I haven’t been to see the doctor,yet.”
“Have you told Brian?”
Had she told Brian? It wasn’t a funny question, and yet Judy found herself wanting to laugh. How could she have possibly told her husband? She’d hardly ever saw Brian.
Brian was a police officer with Cleveland’s fifth precinct. His unit had been working the night rotation for the past few weeks, which meant he had to report to the station by 7 p.m. each night and didn’t return home until after seven the next morning, at which point he went directly to bed and slept for nine hours. The only time the two of them were both awake and home at the same time was between four and six thirty, which happened to be when their four children were home from school. Between science projects and book reports, driving to soccer and cheerleading practice, and making sure the casserole was in the oven and four sets of teeth had been adequately brushed, Judy and Brian rarely had the time to say two words to each other. And it took a lot more than two words to say, “Honey, I’m pregnant again and I don’t know what we’re going do.” Honestly, it was a miracle the two of them had found the time to make the baby in the first place.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Maude said, sipping her tea.
“Are they?” Judith asked woodenly. She didn’t feel much like celebrating. It was difficult enough providing for four children with Brian’s schedule and a police officer’s paycheck. Most days she felt like there wasn’t enough of anything—time, money, space, her—to go around.
And now they were going to have another. Another mouth to feed, another body to dress. Another whole person who would need to be held and loved and provided for. It was too much.
“I don’t know how I’m going to do it,” Judith said, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know what to do. God, Maude, I’m desperate—”
“Hush,” Maude cut her off harshly. She glanced at the sidewalk. “Don’t talk like that. Someone might hear you.”
Judith swallowed, chastened. She swiped a hand over her face to dry the few tears that had spilled onto her cheeks. “You’re right. I know.”
“No, you don’t know.” Now Maude was looking at Judith with a peculiar intensity. “There are people who will take that baby away from you if you aren’t careful what you say, Judith.”
Judith didn’t know what Maude could’ve meant by that. People who might take her baby away from her? She’d never heard of such a thing. It sounded like superstition. Like the boogeyman.
But that very night, while Brian was at work and after she’d put the kids to bed, she could swear she heard something in the attic. Something moving. Pacing even. She told herself an animal had gotten in, a squirrel maybe or a raccoon. But the noises she heard were much too loud to be a squirrel or a raccoon. They’d sounded more like footsteps. Like a man walking across the floor directly above her head.
The next morning, Judith met Brian at the door the moment he got home from his shift, and she marched him right up to the attic. She waited at the bottom of the stairs while he searched every inch of that dusty space.
But he didn’t see anyone up there. He told her it was probably just the house settling.
Judith knew it wasn’t the house settling. This was different. It was a person. Someone had snuck into her attic. She couldn’t help thinking of what Maude had said to her.
There are people who will take that baby away from you.
She heard the footsteps in the attic again that night, and the night after. It sounded like a person walking in slow circles, over and over.
Finally, Judith couldn’t take it anymore. She dug one of Brian’s golf clubs out of the back of their closet and stood at the foot of the stairs in her nightgown. Trembling.
“I know you’re up there!” she called. Her voice was small and quivering and not remotely intimidating. And why should it be? Who would be intimidated by a forty-year-old mother? She gripped the golf club tighter, holding it like a weapon. “Now tell me what you want!”
She didn’t expect that to work. But a shadow appeared at the door to the attic.
Judith jerked backward so quickly she collided with the wall behind her, knocking one of her and Brian’s wedding pictures to the ground. She heard breaking glass and knew the frame had shattered.
Oh God, she thought, not even daring to breathe. Oh God what have I done?
The stairs creaked as the figure walked toward her.
Judith tightened her grip on the golf club. She couldn’t waste time being afraid. She had her children to think about. Her four perfect children, sleeping just feet away, not to mention the baby growing inside of her. She had to protect them from whoever this was. Whatever this was.
“What are you doing here?” she said. Her voice was low and shaking, betraying her. “What do you want?”
“Don’t be afraid,” the figure said. It was a woman, Judith realized, a very tall woman with broad shoulders and dark hair. Her voice was deep and gravelly.
“I’m here to help,” the woman told her. “I heard that you were desperate.”
WEEK 16
Is “pregnancy brain” real? Many moms experience moments of forgetfulness starting in the second trimester.
15
I jerked the faucet off and stood under the dripping showerhead, trying to catch my breath. For a long moment, I didn’t move, not even to grab a towel. I just stared at my belly, desperate to feel that movement again.
Water dripped lazily down the inside of the shower door. The ancient plumbing creaked and groaned behind the walls.
Finally, when nothing happened, I stepped onto the icy bathroom tile, fingers trembling as I knotted a towel around my chest. My phone sat on the counter, where I’d left it. I grabbed it and called Dex. No answer.
“Come on, Dex, answer your phone for once in your life,” I murmured. I didn’t know how to process this without talking to Dex. He was always the person I turned to when something bizarre happened. And this definitely fell into the “something bizarre” category. A doctor told me my baby was gone. I’d had an ultrasound and everything. But what I’d felt just now—that was real.
And it’d happened twice. Three times, really. It couldn’t just be my imagination. Could it mean…? Was it possible that there’d been a mistake? That I hadn’t miscarried after all? I wished there was some way to know for sure now. I wanted to peel back the skin on my stomach and see what was going on inside of me.
I didn’t want to let myself hope—at least not any more than I was already—until I had more information. But I couldn’t think of another explanation. Something inside of me was moving. That meant something was alive.
I called Dex again. He still didn’t answer, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to talk to someone now.
I looked up the number to Southampton Hospital on my phone and dialed with trembling fingers. It seemed to take forever to get through the automated system, and another eternity for the receptionist to transfer me to the right department and page Dr. Crawford.
“Hello, Mrs. Harding,” Dr. Crawford said when he finally came onto the phone. “How are you feeling?”
“It’s Ms. Alcott, actually,” I corrected him. I swallowed, suddenly nervous. It was one thing to hope privately for a miracle, and another to say the words out loud to a doctor. “I…I was actually calling because I had a question about the other night. My…miscarriage.”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?”
“I was wondering, uh, whether it’s possible for something like that to be…to be misdiagnosed? Like, could there have been a mistake?” When Dr. Crawford didn’t answer right away, I rushed on before I could lose my nerve, “Because I felt something just now, in the shower. It was like a little kick, and I thought… Well, that’s weird, isn’t it?”
There was a pause, and then Dr. Crawford said, “It’s not that weird, no. Pregnancy hormones often remain in the blood for a few months and many women claim to experience nausea or breast tenderness—”
“This wasn’t nausea.”
Another pause. “Right. You said you felt physical symptoms, yes? Fetal movement?”
“Yes. Fetal movement—that’s exactly what I felt.”
“And this just started?”
“No, I actually first felt something a few nights ago.” The hope inside me flared brighter. I could feel my heart beating steadily in my throat, making it impossible to breathe. “Is there any chance at all that I could still be pregnant?”
A gaping silence opened up on the other end of the line. I crushed the phone to my ear, waiting for the words that could change everything.
Please. Please let there have been some mistake.
Finally, Dr. Crawford cleared his throat. “Ms. Alcott…” he said in a somber tone of voice. That was all I needed to hear. I knew what he was going to say before he could utter another word. Disappointment cracked me open. No, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut. No, he’s not listening; he doesn’t believe me.
“I felt movement,” I said, more urgently this time. “Just now. I know I did. You have to believe me.”
“It’s okay; of course I believe you.” Dr. Crawford sighed and there was a brief pause, a sound like maybe he was writing something down. After a long moment, he said, “Have you ever heard the term pseudocyesis?”
