The Surrogate, page 10
When I did go into labor, I knew it was happening.
That morning, I’d gone to the community college to pick up registration forms and check the class schedules for after the baby was born. I was standing outside the registrar’s office, looking at the bulletin board, when I felt a pop inside. I stepped back and saw a puddle of water on the floor. Immediately, I called Ruth, and she wanted to come get me.
“But first I need to get my stuff from home,” I said.
“Okay, if you think you can, I mean, can you drive yourself to your apartment? I’ll meet you there and take you to the hospital, if you’re sure,” said Ruth, breathless.
“Yes, I can do that,” I said, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t really know what I was capable of.
“Okay, I’ll see you there. Thirty minutes.” Ruth’s voice had an intensity that made me nervous, less sure. But what choice did I have?
Half an hour later, Ruth rang my buzzer, and I let her up. I’d been waiting at the kitchen table, my coat on, my bag by the door. When I opened it, she had the biggest grin on her face. I just wanted to get going. “How far apart are the contractions?” she asked, picking up my duffel bag.
“Like ten minutes, maybe less.”
“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,” said Ruth, jumping in place, jumping without leaving the ground.
We went down the stairs together, side by side and almost too wide for the space. Ruth held out her arm for me to hang on to, dragging the duffel behind us, and we waddled down, two feet on each step.
Outside, the sidewalk was still snowy. My landlord hadn’t shoveled after the last storm, so we slowed down over the slippery spots. Ruth helped me into her car, and she drove more carefully than anyone I’d ever been with. Digger always drove so fast, I hadn’t thought I’d hate going slow even worse.
“Can you go faster?” I said. “It hurts.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, leaning toward the windshield, as if that would get us there sooner.
I thought about my mom in the Pacer and clenched my groin area, holding the baby in. I didn’t want to give birth in a car, but I had no idea how long my labor would take. When we got to the hospital, I realized I had nothing to worry about. I changed into a gown and the nurses hooked me up to monitors, and after checking my cervix, they said it would be a while before I was ready to deliver.
I wondered why my mother didn’t have so much time. Why had I come so quickly? The nurse gave me something for the pain, and I dropped in and out of awareness. At some point Hal must have shown up. He and Ruth were bustling in and out of my room, and I decided I would ask the nurse my questions when Hal and Ruth weren’t there. If I could find a moment alone with the nurse or the doctor, I’d tell them the story about my mother in the Pacer. Maybe they’d want to know about her labor. Maybe I’d inherited something important.
Twenty
Ruth
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2002
Morning
Traditional Surrogacy Agreement, Sect. 9(b)(ii)
After delivery, the birth mother shall be allowed a Transition Day with the newborn child prior to the Transfer Ceremony. This twenty-four-hour period with the birth mother is intended for the well-being of the child. Prior to the Transfer Ceremony (or concurrent with it), the birth mother shall execute the affidavit relinquishing her parental rights, and the intended parents shall thereafter promptly execute the adoption and parental rights declarations attached hereto. None of these documents may be signed prior to the birth or they shall be deemed null and void.
Since the birth was on a Thursday, we designated that entire Friday as “transition day” with Cally. Even so, I was under the impression that Hal and I would have access to our daughter that day. After the baby was born, I called Kristin and my editor, Jerry, from the hospital to let them know. He agreed to start my six weeks of maternity leave on Friday, the transition day. Hal planned to take a full week off starting on Monday. He still had some things to finish up at work on Friday, so that made sense.
Friday morning was cold and snowy. The world was white outside my car window, weighing down trees and blowing across streets, then veiling in silver all the buildings I passed on the way to the hospital. I stopped at Caribou to pick up a couple of slices of coffee cake and two decafs, to share with Cally. I brought my journal, as well as copies of the New York Times and the Pioneer Press, so we’d have something to read. And I brought the pink-and-white-striped newborn jammies I’d picked out at Baby Gap. I couldn’t wait to see how they fit.
We’d have to decide on her name soon. I thought I wanted Elizabeth, my mother’s middle name. And it was a classic, after all. I’d imagined calling our baby Libby, Liza, or Tess. But now that she was here, I wasn’t sure the name suited her. I studied her tiny, creased face, but I couldn’t quite recognize her.
The baby lay in the plexiglass bassinet, swaddled in elephant-patterned flannel blankets and a pink hat. Cally was asleep with her back to me. When the nurse came in and saw my “spread,” she told me Cally shouldn’t have coffee, even decaf, so I drank both cups. I saved a piece of coffee cake for Cally, though. Pretty sure she could eat that. I pulled out my journal and wrote:
“Baby Girl Olson” was born on Thursday, December 5, 2002, at approximately 4:51 p.m. She weighed in at 8.2 pounds and measured 20 inches.
Cally didn’t have an epidural. She requested pain relievers, which were administered (although they did not appear to make any difference). Flowers and balloons were not allowed in the recovery room. Room H-258, extra-large en suite, big window overlooking the back parking lot and a snowy marsh. Weather is hideous but—Minnesota. It’s quiet here. I keep my eye on the nurses’ stations, where they sit, heads down, busy on computers, or stand huddled together, chatting in low voices. Wish I knew what they were saying.
There are three family lounge areas, carpeted, comfy sofas, plus kiddie tables with books and puzzles, and a television tuned to the Golf Channel. I asked the staff to switch the channel to the news. United Airlines might go bankrupt, so how would that affect our local Northwest Airlines? Minnesota was considering a concealed carry law, and Governor Ventura was expected to comment. Not much else going on. I left to use the restroom, and when I came back, someone had switched the channel back to golf. Ugh!
I don’t think the staff took our birth plan seriously. Not sure if there is a bias against surrogacy or if they just hate all birth plans. I may interview some other new mothers to get a sense of whether there’s a story here. I may want to follow up on the usefulness of birth plans being followed in general, and possibly do a hospital-to-hospital comparison.
Today (Friday) is the transition day, but we are allowed to visit. Tomorrow Cally will sign the papers and we’ll have our pastor here for a ceremony. Then we’ll bring home baby girl. It’s been stressful. Hal and I have been having sex three or four times a week for the last couple of months, because, I’m sure, we both need to release all this tension. Early this morning, I had this dream:
Someone told me to climb stairs. They’re sparkling white and clean. They go up steeply and I can’t see the top. Someone says there will be a reward beyond description. I climb the stairs into the sky, but it’s dark and there are no handrails. I want to turn back, but there’s no exit.
When I get to the top, there’s a ledge with a long slide. I realize I must take it, but I’m afraid I’ll move too fast. At the bottom, I see children in a playground. If I slide down, I might hurt them. Then I look again, and some of the children are dead.
When I woke up, I looked around the dark bedroom, half expecting to see dead children on the floor. God, I wondered what it meant. Where am I headed? The only sound in the condo was the ticking of Hal’s clock, each tick reminding me that I was home, and I was safe. I hadn’t crushed anyone. But I was antsy to get to the hospital. And here I am.
10:47 a.m. Cally is still asleep. I just ate both the coffee cakes I was saving for her. In addition to sex, I’m using food for stress relief. Been eating a lot. Better watch that. Oh! Baby is waking. So precious!
I closed my journal and reached into the bassinet. I had just picked up the baby when I noticed Cally starting to stir, opening her eyes.
“Good morning, momma,” I said sweetly.
Twenty-One
Digger
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2002
Afternoon
Like a psycho, Cally watched me light my cigarette, so I turned my back to the window. My truck was about fifteen feet away. Everything was white and cold. I was wearing my work boots. They were lined with flannel but still not great for this depth of snow. I shifted back and forth to keep warm while I finished my smoke, then dropped the butt in the snow and headed for the door.
When I got inside and stomped off the snow, Cally was standing in the kitchen with the baby on her shoulder. She patted the baby, still looking at me.
“What the hell are you staring at?” I said.
“I dunno . . . you.”
“You like playing house like this, don’t you?” I shook my head.
She flipped me off, just like she did in high school.
“Don’t get any ideas,” I said.
“I won’t,” she said but in a teasing way. Cally knew how I felt about having kids and settling down. I wasn’t interested in any of that until I was set. Probably not till I turned thirty. My mother had drilled it into me: kids take money. Kids can drown you. And I was just getting my head above water. That was one of the things Cally and I agreed on: we both wanted to wait, whether we were together or not.
“You ready to go yet?” I said.
“Yeah.” She was wrapping another layer around Nell. I waited for her to walk outside.
“Holding the door for me?” she said in that voice I hated. A flirty-ass, know-it-all voice. And I hated when Cally tried to make me into something I wasn’t. Romantic. Smart. Polite. She saw things no one else saw. Because they weren’t there.
“Stop it,” I said, getting pissed. I locked the cabin, and we got in the truck, still messy from us sleeping in it. When I turned the ignition, the clock lit up: 2:41 p.m.
“So late already,” said Cally.
“That’s another reason I don’t want kids,” I said. “Everything takes longer.”
“Did your mother tell you that?” Cally balanced the baby as she fastened her seat belt.
I ignored that question. Cally and my mom didn’t get along, but I never liked Cally criticizing her. “So where am I going?”
“We just need a Target or a Sam’s Club or something like that.”
“So, Duluth,” I said. Duluth was about twenty minutes away.
“Sure,” she said.
Cally held the baby in her lap as the truck bumped over the snowy roads; the trees were covered in white, the gas station, pie shop, all covered in white. I took the same route from last night, but this time we could see where we were. The main street, center of Superior, the farms, then the landmarks of Duluth: the harbor, the container ships, and the High Bridge.
We crossed into Minnesota, and Cally smiled at me. I knew what she was thinking. We’d been to Duluth a few times before, on a field trip from school, a skiing weekend with a bunch of my friends, once for Thanksgiving at my cousin’s, and once just the two of us for a New Year’s Eve at the Radisson.
The night we spent at the Radisson was a lot of fun. All we did was fuck and order takeout. We’d turned on the TV only to watch the ball drop in Times Square. We slept in late, and when we woke up, we got busy again. We were in the middle of fucking when a cleaning lady walked in on us. We laughed after she left, but it was a turn-on, to be honest.
Now we were surprised—and not surprised—to see people on the streets. It had to be about eight degrees outside. People were bundled up and waiting at the corner for the stoplight to turn. Where was everyone going on a frigid Saturday? “I think the mall’s up this hill,” I said.
“I can ask this guy,” said Cally, rolling down her window.
“No,” I said, speeding ahead as soon as the light turned. “I know where I’m going.” The truck handled the snowy hill easily, and sure enough, there was the mall. The parking lot was a fucking mess. Giant mounds of snow and crooked rows of cars. I found a spot and shut off the engine.
“This is pretty far away,” said Cally. “You could have dropped us off.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said, turning the engine back on. Cally grabbed the safety strap and braced. I yanked into reverse, drove up close to the mall doors, and pulled over to let her out.
“Meet me inside, right there,” she said, pointing.
I peeled off and found a place to park. Got out of the truck and slammed the door. I just wanted to get this over with. And I didn’t want to stay mad. As I stomped through the snow and around the parked cars, I thought about my dad. When he lost his temper, he couldn’t get it under control. I didn’t want to be like him.
Once he threw me down the basement stairs. He found out I’d skipped school that day. They were making the whole seventh grade take a career interest survey. I didn’t want to take the stupid test. I didn’t know what it would ask. Or how to answer. But I’d already skipped so many times, I was on the truancy list. The school called home, and my dad, who’d been drinking because that’s what he did during factory layoffs, answered the phone. He didn’t say anything. He hung up, walked over to me, picked me up, and threw me down the steps like I was a pile of dirty clothes. I shouted at him. Called him a drunk. And he locked the goddamn door at the top of the steps. Just left me down there. Until my sister, Deena, came home and unlocked me. No one said anything about it. Not my dad. Not my mother, because she always acted like she didn’t have a clue. My older brothers had moved out. It was just me and Deena. And Deena never said a word.
It was a good ways across the parking lot. By the time I got to the mall entrance, my head was clear and I was sweating under my coat. Cally was standing inside the doors, waiting. She led me through the maze, past Victoria’s Secret, the crappy Gap, idiotic American Eagle. The place was covered in red banners and silver glitter. Christmas trees everywhere. Christmas songs blasting. Lights. Wreaths and shit. And an old guy dressed as Santa so kids could sit on his lap and say what they wanted. Not that I ever did. Creepy as hell.
I stopped in front of Penney’s. “How about this?” This was where my sister shopped. She lived in northern Wisconsin, not far away.
“I’d rather find the Target,” said Cally, and we kept going. Strangers pointed at us. Said things to Cally about the baby. How small, how cute. Cally nodded at them. I tried to ignore them. “There.” Cally pointed and we sped up, like Target would protect us from the mall people.
“Let’s get the shit and get outta here,” I said, pulling out a red cart and pushing it into the aisles.
“First the car seat,” she said, searching.
I heaved the giant-ass box into our cart. She cruised through the aisles and picked up diapers, formula, bottles, anything that looked important. Burp rags, washcloths, and clothes. Everything was expensive.
My brothers and sister and I had gotten most of our clothes secondhand. Garage sales, thrift stores. And as the youngest, I got the hand-me-downs from my older siblings, so my clothes were third-, fourth-, and fifth-hand rags.
“Oh, and a winter coat,” said Cally, pulling a miniature sleeping-bag thing into the cart.
Finally, we got in line for checkout, and Cally gave me a look as if she liked having me there. I frowned and looked away. I didn’t want to encourage her. She was playing house again. I didn’t want to be a part of that. I hoped she wasn’t thinking she could keep this kid. She’d be on her own.
I unloaded the shit onto the conveyer belt, and the cashier started scanning. “Looks like baby came early?” said the nosy-ass cashier as she bagged our items.
I gave her a smirk to let her know I wasn’t into this. Cally took out the special Visa card her sperm lawyer guy had set up. For Cally to use for personal expenses and medical visits and whatever miscellaneous crap she needed. This was the card we’d used for everything so far on this trip. Except for the thirty bucks of gas I bought before I knew.
And this was the card Cally had said she would use to get a cash advance and pay me five grand.
Twenty-Two
Ruth
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2002
Morning
“How long have you been here?” Cally rubbed her face and tried to sit up.
“Not long,” I said, still in my quiet baby-talk voice. Whenever I held the baby, I automatically bounced, and my voice changed involuntarily to baby talk, which I objectively despised in others. Maybe it was maternal instinct? My words were meant for Cally, but I said them in that voice, as if talking to the baby. I nestled the baby on my lap and tickled her cheek, saying, “I brought you a cup of decaf, but they wouldn’t let you have it, would they? No! And I brought you some coffee cake, but I ate it, that’s right, I sure did.”
“She can’t understand you,” said Cally.
“I know,” I said, “and I’m sorry about the coffee cake.”
“That’s okay,” said Cally. “They bring me three meals a day plus snacks. I’m fine.”
“Look, I got her this Baby Gap sleeper. She’ll look so good in pink, with her dark hair and her . . . What color are her eyes?”
“I don’t think we know yet.”
Cally watched me rocking the baby. We sat for ten or fifteen minutes, the only sounds being the squeak of the rocker and the beeps of the monitor. The curtain opened, and a nurse came in. “How’s it going in here?” she asked, and her voice sounded extra loud because the room had been so peaceful.
“Good,” we said in unison. I wasn’t sure who the nurse had been asking.
