My story with Faith had started with amnesia. Apparently, it was destined to end with it, too. Only this time, I had no alcohol to blame. Only myself.
I found myself in a church the next morning. It had been a long time since I’d been in one. I’d never been in this particular one. But it looked the same as any other Catholic Church, only slightly more solemn since it was Lent. It was all pretty, and grand, and unfamiliar to me.
I hadn’t been inside a church since high school, unless I counted the bar mitzvah I went to for a colleagues’ kid. I supposed that was technically a synagogue anyway.
I was never a particularly good Catholic. Like many Catholics, our family practiced a sort of diet soda version of the religion. I went to Sunday school as a small child, and Rosa and my mom brought my sisters and I to church (definitely not every Sunday though). Overall, I’d never much listened to or cared about religion. I never felt the inclination or the obligation. I knew right from wrong. I figured that was really all I needed when it came down to it.
But there I was, sitting on the hard, wooden pew and staring up at the crucifix like it might have answers for me. I told myself that I wasn’t really looking for divine inspiration. I was just looking for a quiet place to sit and reflect. I was looking for a place where I could work through the incredible revelations that were taking place within my brain.
I was going to be a father.
The fact was still difficult for me to digest, but I couldn’t deny it. Faith was pregnant—she literally had all of the symptoms. I should have seen it before. Some doctor I was.
Considering what I thought I knew about myself and what I wanted out of my life, I should have been horrified. And I should have been shaking in my boots. This was exactly what I had been trying to structure my life around never happening.
Maybe I should have gotten a vasectomy. They’re pretty cheap. But despite my medical training, the thought of having any sharp objects near my dick was just about the last thing I wanted.
Maybe I should have been more careful with the condoms. I thought I was doing it right. I mean, I should know better than most men, right? Apparently, the failure rate didn’t discriminate on the basis of profession.
Maybe, I should have just kept it in my pants when it came to Faith. She was not on the pill. Why would she be? Until I got my hand up her skirt, she’d had no need.
So, given all that, I ought to have been terrified. So why wasn’t I?
“Do you need anything?” Someone asked me. It might have been a priest or maybe a deacon, but I didn’t actually turn to look. I just shook my head and whoever it was that spoke moved on and left me alone.
I didn’t need a priest. I needed a plan. And I needed to see Faith.
If I didn’t act, I knew that Faith was going to leave me. She’d served me with the annulment paperwork already. It was sitting on my kitchen counter with her signature already on it.
She was giving me what she thought I wanted: freedom. Faith was giving me the opportunity to walk away from her, and from the baby, forever. Just the fact that she would keep the pregnancy from me told me that she was afraid of my reaction. She probably thought I would hate her and reject her if I knew.
I took a deep breath that did very little to clear my head. I weighed my feelings against the life I thought I wanted for myself and it came up lacking. I didn’t want to lose Faith. The thought was terrifying, and unthinkable. I found myself thinking back to my grandmother again, the woman who’d given me the emerald ring in her will. The ring I was still carrying around, every day, in my pocket. I pulled it out and stared at it.
I was looking at the ring, but in my memories I could still see the corners of my grandma’s eyes wrinkle up when she smiled. Her expression had been knowing.
“One day you’ll find a girl that deserves a ring like this,” she’d told me. “If I’m dead by then, you can give it to her. If I’m still alive, she’ll just have to wait!”
“Grandma,” I replied. “I don’t want to get married.” I’d been fifteen at the time, and certain that I was making the right choice for myself. I’d been an entitled little shit, unfortunately. But my grandma loved me anyway. She was great like that.
“You say that now, Eric, but when you meet the right woman, you’re going to change your mind.” She’d shook her head at me, sending her gray-blue curls dancing around her face.
“I really don’t think I will.” My tone had been totally dismissive. I’d been such a little know-it-all. Even the memory of my attitude made me cringe.
But I hadn’t been entirely without reasons for thinking like I did. I’d been thinking of my parents at the time. I’d been thinking how incredibly stupid the entire concept of marriage was if it would rip apart families like my family had been ripped apart. I’d seen the pain that my parents’ marriage had wrought on them and on us kids. I’d been sure that I would never intentionally tether myself to someone in that way. I didn’t want to be trapped. I didn’t want to trap anyone, either. I wanted freedom. I didn’t see why love had to come at the expense of freedom.
My grandmother had just pursed her lips and me and shook her head. “Maybe you’re right,” she said to me. “But someday I hope you meet someone that you can’t imagine living without. Someone you really, truly love. This is the ring that you’ll give to her, because even if you don’t want to be married, maybe she might. That’s what marriage is really about, if you’re doing it right. It isn’t about you. It’s about the two of you. It’s about putting what the person you love wants above what you want. It’s about compromise and love.”
I’d rolled my eyes at her with all the teenage snark I could muster. “Ok grandma,” I’d said. “Sure, I will.” I’d been thinking I could sell the ring one day and buy a sports car.
At fifteen, I’d been a smart kid. I’d been relatively mature for my age. But mature for fifteen is still only about sixteen and a half. Now that I was staring down the barrel at thirty, things were different. I’d learned that there was more nuance to the world than I’d believed at fifteen. I’d learned that not everything could be solved with sweeping declarations and stubborn ultimatums.
Maybe, what my grandma had been trying to tell me was that when I met the right woman, her needs would become my needs. I wouldn’t see them as separate anymore. Because I didn’t see those distinctions anymore. It wasn’t what Faith needed, or what I needed. It was what we needed. And what the baby needed, too.
There was a lot that I didn’t know that morning, sitting in a church pew clutching a ring the woman I loved wouldn’t wear. There was a lot I wasn’t sure of. One thing I was sure of, however, was that Faith was pregnant with my baby. I was sure that she was scared, too. She probably thought I wanted nothing to do with the baby. I’d given her no evidence to suggest that I’d be anything but hostile to the news. I could only imagine that she was feeling very scared, trapped, and alone.
There might be a lot that I didn’t know, but I knew that I wanted to be the man that Faith wanted me to be. I wasn’t sure if I knew how, or if I would be successful, but I was going to try anyway. I wouldn’t let another generation of my family be born into a dysfunctional situation because the men in my family couldn’t figure their shit out. I wouldn’t let Faith struggle to provide for my baby because I didn’t know how to fight for what I wanted. And I wouldn’t let Faith slip through my grasp because I was too stubborn or scared to admit that I was hopelessly, desperately in love with her.
I knew that my life was about to change, and I was weirdly ok with it. I didn’t feel trapped by any of it. Maybe it was just the shock of it all, but I actually thought a change might do me good.
46
Eric
Having finally dispensed with the unhelpfulness of the Church, I set about finding myself some real peace of mind and reflection at the bottom of a glass. I ended up at the Lone Star Lounge around five p.m. The rain was pouring down outside, the sort of violent, early spring storm that central Texas got plenty
of. The tumultuous weather and dive bar felt much more my style.
Alcohol was what got me into this mess, I reminded myself, watching the other day drinkers and knowing I shouldn’t make a habit of this. It won’t get you back out of it.
I took another sip of my beer anyway. I was beginning to get an idea of what I needed to do. The plan was still fuzzy in my brain (or maybe that was due to the beer), but I no longer wanted to go hide under a rock and cry. So that was progress.
My phone beeped, and I looked at it excitedly. It was just a tornado warning. Maybe I should have been concerned about that, but at the moment, I didn’t really care if I got blown away. I didn’t have the brain cells for another crisis.
Faith still was not responding to my calls or texts. I was going to need to confront her in person and convince her I was trustworthy. At the very worst, I reasoned to myself, I could catch her at the hospital eventually. I’d finally figured out what she’d been doing with the duty rosters, changing them the night before they went into effect, so I was always one step behind. Now that I knew what she was doing, finding her shouldn’t be so difficult.
I was plotting my conversation with Faith when I noticed the bartender behaving oddly out of the corner of my eye. He kept walking back and forth between the bar and the little hallway that led to the bathrooms. I was the only person sitting at the bar, so he was going right past me. Pacing.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have noticed it, but the guy was huge. Not fat or anything, just… built on a nearly superhuman scale. At least four or five inches taller than my six-one and built like he could run through a brick wall; the floor shook when he walked. When someone that size nervously paces, you can’t really miss it.
Finally, after ten or fifteen minutes of pacing, I figured out what the source of his distress must be. A teeny tiny blonde woman who looked even tinier in comparison to the bartender emerged from the little hallway. She was also pregnant, clearly almost to term. She was to the point where all her walking was more like penguin waddle. I would bet that it’d been several months since she’d seen her feet.
Faith is going to look just like that.
The thought came from nowhere, but I found it brought a smile to my face. Faith would be an adorable pregnant woman and a wonderful mother, too. I had no doubt whatsoever about those two things. Maybe she’d be better off without me screwing everything up…
The present spectacle didn’t allow me much time to think about it.
“Ward,” the blonde warbled at the bartender, coming over behind the bar and tugging on his shirtsleeve, “I don’t think it’s a false alarm this time.”
He looked down at her. “Are you sure?” His expression was bemused. “That’s what you said last time.”
“No, but it hurts this time.”
He arched an eyebrow at him, but his tone was gentle. “You’ve said that, too, baby.”
“I still think we should go.”
“We’ve been there five times in the past five weeks. I think they’re getting tired of us. But if you want to go, we’ll go.”
“I think I want to go,” she replied. Her green eyes were full of confusion. “I mean, how am I supposed to know? I don’t exactly do this every day…”
I could have done nothing, but they both looked terrified. I just didn’t have the strength to ignore their suffering. Reluctantly, I cleared my throat. “I’m a doctor,” I said, “um, do you want some assistance?”
They both looked over at me in surprise.
After a slow blink, the man, Ward, frowned. “Doctors don’t day drink,” he replied. His voice, and expression were disbelieving. He was clearly the father of the baby by the way he was hovering protectively over the woman. They both had on wedding bands. How those two managed to have sex was a mystery I didn’t need to answer. I imagined it was something like a great dane and chihuahua doin’ it... I banished the thought and answered the question.
“Sure, we do.” I sighed. “Even doctors have bad days now and then.”
Ward’s expression looked skeptical, but the woman looked interested. “Can you tell me if I should go to the hospi—” she froze, holding a hand against her back, “Ow!” she exclaimed, breathing heavily, “I think, no, I know I need to go to the hospital.”
I shrugged, thinking that would be the end of it. They would go to the hospital, have their baby and live happily ever after.
All the blood drained out of Ward’s face. “Ok Emma, I’ll bring the car around,” he said, suddenly looking like he was in more pain than his wife. “Right in the middle of a tornado warning, too” he grumbled. “Typical.”
The woman—Emma—squealed again in pain and nodded. She doubled over (or at least tried, her belly was in the way). If that was another contraction, it was only moments from the last one. That was too quick. I stood up.
“How far apart are your contractions?” I asked her, turning off my ‘bar voice’ and turning on my ‘doctor voice’. Ward, who had just picked up the phone—presumably to call someone to watch his bar—paused.
“They were three to five minutes apart, but now it’s faster,” she answered, panting. “Much faster.”
I looked over at Ward, who was now staring at me like I might actually be a doctor. He was beginning to look increasingly scared. A slim ring of white was visible all the way around the blue of his eyes.
“When did your water break?” I asked Emma.
She shook her head. “It didn’t.”
I frowned. “You could have missed it if it happened when you went to the bathroom, or sometimes it doesn’t break until the very end.” I rounded the bar and looked down at her. “Can I take your pulse?”
Emma extended a delicate wrist and I counted almost one hundred and twenty beats per minute. She also felt hot to the touch, almost feverish. Her legs were shaking.
“Is everything ok?” Ward asked, eyes widening when I pulled a stethoscope out of my pocket. I listened to his wife’s breathing, and then to her belly.
“She’s in active labor,” I told him. “Farther along than I thought.”
Emma made another pained noise. She wasn’t going to make it to the hospital. “I thought it was supposed to take longer than this,” she warbled. She knew, although Ward was still catching up. The baby was coming now. As in, right now.
I shook my head at her. “Where can you lie down?”
“She has to go to the hospital,” Ward insisted. He looked out the window at the pouring rain and lightning. He winced. It didn’t really look safe to drive out there.
“The office,” Emma answered despite Ward’s interruption. She looked down the hall like it was a thousand miles away.
“Emma,” Ward repeated, “you have to go to the hospital…”
For such a huge guy, he was just as panicked and emotional as any other new father I’d ever seen.
“Ward, it is Ward, right?” I asked. He nodded at me. “Your wife is in labor. She’s going to have this baby right here, right now.”
A guy who had been sitting at a table a few feet away and watching the skeptical unfold with interest, came up to Ward’s side. “Hey man, I can watch the bar if you want. It seems like you need to… do this right now.”
Ward nodded. “Thanks Lucas. You’re probably right.” He looked at me in horror. “Right now, huh?”
I nodded. “Right now.”
Ward scooped Emma up and the three of us beat a hasty path to a tiny, not-very-hygienic looking office. Even with the slight limp he had, the gigantic man was still much faster than me. Ward cleared the desk with one sweep of his huge arm and laid his wife on top of the battered wooden surface. I tried not to let the lack of hospital accouterment bother me, but I couldn’t even give the poor woman fluids. She’d be going into this au natural. No epidural. Not even an aspirin.
“Call 911,” I told Ward, “this is faster than normal, but it doesn’t mean it will definitely be easy. We might need help and she’ll need to go to the hospital with the baby afterwards.
”
In reality, I was shaking in my boots. I’d never delivered a baby alone before. Delivering a baby in a bar, during the middle of a tornado, was not how I thought my day would go. A thousand things could go wrong for this woman and her child right now, though. It was time to focus on them and project as much competency and comfort as I could.
He nodded and grabbed his phone, “what’s your name anyway?” he replied, still looking somewhat suspicious of me.
“Dr. Eric Carter,” I told him, using my most doctor-y voice. “The paramedics probably know me. I work at St. Vincent’s just down the street. I’m gonna’ go wash my hands before we get started.”
I pulled out my hospital ID to prove it, and that seemed to mollify him by the change in his expression. While Ward obeyed my directions, I ran across the hall to wash up in the men’s room and returned to find Emma and Ward holding hands and looking terrified. The power went out a second later.
“The nine-one-one operator said they can’t go anywhere during the tornado warning,” Ward said to me. “It might be an hour.” He looked at me with wide eyes.
“I don’t think we have that long,” Emma moaned. I definitely agreed with her. She maybe had twenty minutes. Tops.
“Is it ok if I check to see how far you’ve dilated?” I asked her. “I know you probably had a very different birth plan in mind, and I’m a total stranger, but this is where we are and I want to help.”
Emma nodded. “I’m scared,” she said as I examined her and saw that she was at least eleven centimeters. She wasn’t crowning yet, but I could see a shape coming up. The woman was going to give birth on this desk in about five minutes.
“Don’t be scared,” I told her, “your body knows what it needs to do.”
She looked like she wanted to answer, but she was only able to howl when her next contraction shook her. This baby was waiting for nobody.
A Bad Case of You Page 21
