Scorn of Secrets

by B Truly

  She finishes up the scan, then tells me I should get the results soon. The contractions have subsided for the most part. An on-call doctor comes in to speak with me. The female doctor goes over the ultrasound, stating the baby is measuring on track and passed the Biophysical Profile with flying colors—meaning, she’s practicing her breathing and moving well. My fluid level is seven centimeters, which are foreign terms to me.

  “Your water has broken, but the good news is that you have some fluid left. Seven is low, but not at a level where we have to deliver yet,” the doctor informs us.

  “What about the contractions?” Gigi asks.

  “It looks like they have slowed down for now. My recommendation is for you to stay the weekend. We’ll continue to administer the medication to counteract the contractions. In twenty-four hours if they haven’t increased, we’ll take you off the medicine and see how you do on your own.”

  “What about my low fluid level? Will that affect the baby?” I wonder.

  “We’ll continue to administer IV fluids, which should help. As long as your fluid doesn’t drop lower and the baby doesn’t go into distress, we won’t have to deliver. You’ll get another ultrasound tomorrow to monitor it,” the doctor replies. “We’ll also be administering a shot of steroids for the baby’s lungs as a precaution.”

  “To help them develop?” I guess.

  “That’s correct. It’s a precautionary measure we take for the worst-case scenario.”

  “Meaning, you can’t stop the contractions and Madison delivers early,” Dari states point blank. Her candor knows no bounds.

  The doctor nods. “You’ll have to remain on bedrest either way, but we’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”

  It doesn’t sound like the end of the world. The precaution measures are reassuring and what the doctor’s saying is promising.

  Gigi stays with me that night and Dari promises to return early in the am. I manage to eat the mediocre hospital food and get some sleep despite the nurses coming in to check on me often.

  The contraction medicine continues to do its job the following day with only mild cramping. The ultrasound reveals the baby is doing well and my fluid level is holding. It’s the next day—Labor Day—that things go south.

  About an hour after they take me off the contraction medication, they start up again, creating a pattern of hitting every five minutes. They are mild, so I don’t panic at first. The nurse on duty comes into the room, observing the long white paper that’s recording the contractions.

  “It looks like you’ve been having contractions often. Let me check your cervix.”

  She lifts the sheet. I take deep breaths as she does. It’s strange and uncomfortable having someone probe you with their fingers.

  “You’re four centimeters dilated,” the nurse frowns.

  I’ve dilated another centimeter since yesterday, which can’t be good.

  “I’ll let your doctor know. We may have to start you back on the anti-contraction medication if they don’t stop soon.” The nurse leaves, and then returns shortly to administer the medicine. “We’ll see if this helps. I’ll be monitoring you. I’ve informed your doctor. She just went in to perform a C-section. She’ll be in as soon as she’s done.”

  My concern increases as the cramps intensify quickly, doubling me over. The medicine is not working this time. The contractions aren’t stopping, they’re getting worse and closer together. I squirm, groaning.

  “The contractions haven’t stopped?” Dari’s brow knits.

  “No and they’re stronger.” My face is scrunched up tightly. I don’t know how much time has passed since the nurse left—thirty minutes or another hour. Seems like it’s been an infinity. The pain is horrendous. I cry out every few minutes, unable to keep still.

  “I’m telling the nurse,” Gigi rushes out the room, not bothering to ring the button on the bed.

  A few minutes later, the nurse comes in with Gigi. Her mouth flips upside down after observing the paper on the machine that’s documenting my contractions.

  “Your contractions are two minutes apart,” the nurse tells me what I already know.

  I can feel each one of them, and they’re getting worse by the second. I moan loudly.

  “Let me check your cervix again.”

  Her eyes dilate after she’s checked. I immediately know something is wrong.

  “How far is she?” Gigi asks before I can.

  “She’s at a seven.”

  Creases line Gigi’s forehead. “How is that possible? She was only four centimeters an hour ago.”

  “Her labor is progressing rapidly, especially for her first birth.”

  “Can you give her something for the pain?” Gigi asks.

  “Unfortunately, you’re too far for an epidural. I’d hoped the medicine would stop the contractions, halting further dilation.”

  The next contraction makes me cry out. None of what she’s said sounds good. “What does this mean?”

  “We may have to deliver without Dr. Vu if you continue to dilate so fast.” My eyes grow wide. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I’ve delivered many babies all by my lonesome.”

  “What about the medication to stop the contractions?” asks Dari.

  “It’s too late. I’ll be back shortly,” the nurse says rushing out the room.

  I don’t have time worry further—the pain won’t let up.

  Dari comes over to try to comfort me. “You can squeeze my hand.”

  I grab her hand, taking her up on her offer. Dari whimpers. She’s bound to bruise with as hard as I’m gripping it. Gigi is on my other side, offering encouraging words. At this point, there doesn’t seem to be a break between the contractions. One flows into the next—starting in my stomach, then wrapping around to my back. I thought I could handle the pain. I can’t. It’s pure agony. It went from a bearable five to shooting past ten within a nanosecond. In the last couple of minutes, the contractions have skyrocketed to a hundred.

  There’s a weird sensation in my canal—similar to a turd that’s too big attempting to push its way out. The next contraction is my undoing. Past groaning, I scream bloody murder. I swear my insides are breaking in half. How the hell do women do this? The epidural must be the crutch to enduring labor.

  Dari jumps. “What is it?”

  “I think the baby’s coming—” My words are cut off by another scream. Before Gigi can retrieve the nurse again, she hurries in with another nurse. Dari and Gigi are both flanked on my sides.

  “You’re crowning,” my assigned nurse tells me.

  “So, the baby’s coming?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you when to push. Your doctor is finishing up with surgery, but she’s not going to make it.”

  The nurses each grab one of my legs, giving me instructions. Things happen quickly afterward, and I think I may have passed out from the pain a time or two. Crying in the background focuses me. A nurse takes my daughter over to a table with an overhead light where more people wait.

  When did they come in?

  “Is she okay?” I manage to ask.

  “Your daughter is strong,” the nurse assigned to me replies.

  “Oh, she’s beautiful, Madison,” Gigi coos, rubbing my shoulder.

  “As gorgeous as a porcelain doll,” Dari clasps her hands.

  Another woman brings her over wrapped in a blanket, handing her to me. “You can hold her for a moment.”

  My baby isn’t crying anymore. Her eyes are wide open, exploring her surroundings. Glancing upon the little one, who’s been kicking me like crazy, I fall in love. She has a head full of black spirals. I handed her down my curly hair, but not the two-toned brown color. As she stares up at me, I notice she also has my cinnamon-brown eyes. A warm glow radiates inside me that she inherited my dad’s eyes. Her ear lobes and cuticles are darker than her honey-brown complexion is now. They are caramel brown—what her natural complexion will be.

  “She needs to go to the NICU,” a nurse says.
>
  My nose wrinkles. “I thought she was doing well.”

  “She’s a preemie—born almost a month early. She’ll need to be evaluated before she can go to the regular nursery.”

  “It’s protocol, honey,” my assigned nurse tells me. “You can visit her soon.”

  The following day, I’m strong enough and allowed to visit my daughter in the NICU. My doctor came to visit me shortly after I’d given birth. She apologized for not making it on time but congratulated me on a job well done.

  I just happen to be in the minority of women who deliver their first born within a couple of hours. The norm is closer to eight hours or much longer. I don’t care to go through labor again fully natural with no drugs. If the devil had offered me a deal to stop the pain during the climax, I would’ve accepted.

  Gigi accompanies me to the NICU. The nurse on duty gives me her status.

  “Your daughter is doing great. She shouldn’t have to stay in the here long. “She’s strong-willed—a fighter.” The kind NIC-nurse’s lips curl up warmly. “I’ll be at my station if you need me.”

  My chest expands, hearing that she’s thriving. Gigi and I watch her as she sleeps peacefully.

  “That’s good news,” Gigi says.

  “It’s a relief.”

  “It has been an exciting Labor Day weekend. Have you thought of a name for this precious little girl?”

  I have a couple of running contenders. Raven has been the first winner up. The NIC-nurses words come back to me, making me think about being a survivor. I remember what Gigi and Ms. Driver told me about what’s righteous and just. Things I want for my daughter—to protect her from the cruelty of the evil world. For her to not be afraid to stand up for what she believes in.

  As I stare at my bundle of joy, a name springs to mind. “We both like Raven, but what do you think about the name Justice? The nurse said she’s a fighter and I’ve taken to heart what you and Ms. Driver have said. I want her to have a strong, meaningful name. Justice means moral rightness. It’s stands for equality and striving for what is right in all the wrong.”

  Tears form in Gigi’s eyes. “After what you’ve been through, I couldn’t think of a better name. I love what the name represents. It’s perfect for her.” Gigi wipes away her tears. “What about giving her your middle name?”

  My chest tingles. It’s exhilarating when you decide on the name for your child, especially when you realize it had been her chosen name all along and you just didn’t know it yet.

  “It’s official, then. Her name is, Justice Grace Guillory.”

  42

  Pushing Forward

  Giving birth a month early, I hadn’t gotten a chance to finish the baby room. I’d been able to bring Justice home after only one week in the hospital—a wonderful blessing.

  Justice is asleep in the bassinet and Dari is helping me with the finishing touches. Justice’s room is decorated in a zoo animal theme. We are doing the final touches, hanging up picture frames. Dari lifts her arm, hanging a picture of a mother and baby elephant. As she does, I notice bluish and dark brown marks on her wrist. Seeing them stirs a nefarious emotion in me. I’ve had similar marks on both wrists. Dari is almost as light complected as me—a golden honey color, which makes the bruises easy to see.

  Absentmindedly, I grab her wrist. “What’s this?”

  Her brown eyes dilate momentarily. She pulls her wrist away from me quickly. “Oh, it’s nothing. I ... just hurt myself.”

  Placing my hand on my hips, I say, “Hurt yourself how? I’ve had the same bruises before. After that night....”

  Dari bites her lip looking away. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

  “Tell me what happened? You can confide in me.”

  Dari sighs. “Darius and I had an argument. When I walked away from him, he grabbed my wrist. He didn’t want me to leave.”

  “If it’s nothing, then why lie and say you hurt yourself?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to get upset or the wrong idea.”

  “Darius must have been gripping you tightly to leave those marks.” I would know.

  “Darius didn’t realize he had such a tight grip. I’m light complected and bruise easily.”

  I don’t know if I’m buying it. “Has he ever done anything like this before?”

  “He has a temper, but this is the first time, I swear.”

  “With what I’ve been through, seeing bruises on you makes me uneasy.”

  “I completely understand where you’re coming from. Darius felt horrible when he saw my wrist.”

  “I only want you to be happy, Dari, and safe.”

  “I am.”

  “So, you’re still with him.”

  “I’ve fallen for Darius. I gave myself to him, and I want it to work.”

  “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “Of course, I will.” Dari grabs another picture of three giraffes. “This one is my favorite. I love giraffes. Where should we hang it?”

  I’m not immune to the abrupt subject change. I’ll leave it be for now—praying it’s a onetime incident, and the boy my cousin’s fallen for doesn’t end up hurting her worse.

  * * *

  Justice is a good baby, only waking up every three to four hours to eat. I’ve heard the horror stories of babies who wake up every two hours. Although I’m getting a fair amount of sleep each night, the nightmares start to seep back in. I think they’re reminding me of what I need to do—seek justice for the wrongdoings done to me.

  Gigi told me Ms. Driver had asked about me in church last Sunday. The last time we spoke, I’d told her I wanted to move forward. Ms. Driver had relayed she would get back with me in a couple of weeks, and then I delivered almost a month early.

  I need to call her for an update. I’m afraid if I don’t move forward now, I’ll lose my nerve. Before my courage evaporates, I dial her number. I leave a message when she doesn’t answer, and it doesn’t take her long to return my call.

  “Congratulations on the birth of your daughter,” Ms. Driver says.

  “Thank you.”

  “Your grandmother told me you delivered early, but your daughter is doing well.”

  “Justice is doing wonderful. She’s home now.”

  “That’s great news. I figured with your little one, you’d have your hands full.”

  “I need to proceed before I lose my courage, because I’m doing this for her,” I admit.

  “I understand. Let me know your availability, and I’ll see when we can go to the police station.” Ms. Driver clears her throat. “For the record, Ms. Guillory, I think you’re very brave.”

  I’ve never been more frightened of what the future holds. “I don’t feel very courageous.”

  “I’ll be with you through this every step of the way.”

  * * *

  I’ve never felt more self-conscious in my life. As Ms. Driver and I make our way through the station, I feel like everyone can see straight through me—see my darkest secret. The female officer behind the front desk smirks, her lips curling up slightly. I flinch, then shake the overreaction from my mind. She can’t possibly know why I’m here.

  I follow Ms. Driver into an office where another female official sits behind a desk. She’s a pretty Hispanic lady who looks to be in her fifties. She greets us, instructing us to have a seat.

  “Madison, this is Officer Luna. She will be taking your statement,” Ms. Driver tells me.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Madison.”

  “Hello, Officer Luna.”

  I swallow hard, shifting in my seat.

  “There is no need to be nervous, Madison. I specialize in cases like these. Trust me, there’s nothing I haven’t heard. Whenever you’re ready, please explain what happened. It’s protocol to record your statement, but you won’t even know you’re being recorded,” Luna says.

  It’s more difficult to unlock the door to my secret in the police station. At church, talking it over with Ms. Driver was much easier
. I don’t know if it’s Officer Luna or the police station itself that’s intimidating. Being here makes it real.

  Ms. Driver senses my trepidation. “It will be no different than when we talked, Madison.”

  Swallowing the moth ball in my throat, I gather my courage. “Where do I start?”

  “From the beginning,” Officer Luna tells me.

  * * *

  A couple of weeks later, I get an irate call from Mama. Ms. Driver told me they would be contacted soon. I’ve only spoken briefly to Mama once since I left Houston, right after I’d given birth. She called saying she’d let me know when her and Tanya could come see Justice. Our last conversation she seemed willing to let bygones be bygones. Her tone of voice this time around is the polar opposite.

  “Madison, what’s going on? Please tell me this is a sick joke!”

  I’ve been expecting her call, hoping for the best. I should’ve known this is the response I would receive. “Why would I go to such lengths to pull a prank, Mama?”

  “Don’t patronize me, young lady. Police officers served Jackson with a subpoena.”

  “I think those charges speak for themselves.”

  “How could you do this to Jackson?”

  “Don’t you dare treat me like I’m in the wrong. Not after what I’ve gone through.”

  “Are you trying to say that Jackson….”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. He manipulated and sexually assaulted me.”

  “This doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I was terrified of what he might do. He threatened me more than once.”

  “You wait until now, when I’m supposed to marry his father in less than two months to spring this on us. When did this happen?”

  Is her future husband all she cares about?

  My plan isn’t to screw up her life. I do deserve some form of normalcy. I’ve brushed what occurred under the rug for nine months. The result is a broken form of who I used to be. Refusing to let her make me feel bad about coming out with the truth, I reply, “Does it matter? It happened, and I did try to tell Tanya earlier this year. She didn’t believe me. That’s why we had the big brawl.”