by Alison Cole
In response, he runs for the stopwatch he bought a few weeks ago. Then, he goes to grab a pillow and blanket, which he uses to make me as comfortable as I can possibly be.
"Water. Snacks. Ice." I hear my beloved husband muttering under his breath.
Thought becomes deed. Soon, the coffee table sports bottled water, ice and snacks and we both sip and nibble as the hours pass. Marcus, with his mathematical mind, keeps track of my contractions like a pro. Shortly before we hit the five-minute mark, he calls my midwife, who says, "Come on down! I'll be waiting!"
That sends Marcus into action. He slips into his heavy coat and wraps me into my coat and scarf. We've already had two good snowstorms.
"Marcus, you are not carrying me downstairs! I'm fully capable of walk - OW!" I crumple against his side and breathe through this latest contraction. "I don't want the two of us falling downstairs, so I will walk," I tell him.
Just as I sit in his car, I have another contraction, so he waits to buckle me into my seat. He runs back upstairs for our bags and locks the flat up tight. He's panting when he climbs into his seat.
"Okay. To the hospital," he says.
Somehow, he restrains the urge to drive like a racing maniac and we arrive at the hospital.
"Wait here," he tells me.
I can't do much else - I feel a whoosh and immediately think my water has just broken as I'm sitting in a veritable sea of wetness. He comes back with a wheelchair and a nurse. They both help me into the wheelchair, just as another labor contraction starts.
"Talk her through it! Gwen's waiting inside," the nurse orders.
We move through the cold, humid air to the heated interior. The nurse and Gwen take charge of me while the floor nurse waylays poor Marcus for our insurance information. Finally, fifteen minutes later, he strides into my room, stuffing his wallet back into the back of his pants.
"How are you?" he asks me.
"Definitely in labor, that's for sure! Gwen's chivvying the nurses to get the birthing room ready. I think I definitely want the water...OH, OWWWWW!"
"Look at me and breathe, Jo! In and out, in and out, good, you're doing well. You'll get on top of this one..."
He gives me no choice. I will get on top of these contractions. Once I manage to manage them, it does feel somewhat better - at least as much as labor can. I progress through the evening, walking, bending over a large ball and walking some more. Even though I'm getting more and more tired, I also feel my excitement building. I know that each contraction brings me just one step closer to actually meeting my little one, so that makes the pain somewhat easier to bear.
Gwen comes in, looking happy. She ties her hair back so it hangs down her back in a long, graying ponytail. "Okay, mum, let's check you. I get the feeling you're nearly there," she tells me.
Marcus helps me lie back on the hospital bed so Gwen can check my progress. When she's done, she looks at me and says, "You're there. Any time you feel the urge to push, let me know and go for it. Would you like to labor in the tub?"
"Yes! Please!"
Fifteen minutes and several good, strong contractions later, I slip into the tub, supported by Marcus. He's donned an old T-shirt and a pair of comfy sweatpants so he can bend over comfortably. As I feel contractions, he helps talk me through them, making me look into those gorgeous eyes - that's no difficulty!
Half an hour later, after pushing several times, I feel something beginning to happen. I feel my baby's head progressing down - painful, yet exciting!
Gwen leans over the tub on the opposite side and checks my progress.
"You're doing very well, Johanna! The baby's head is well engaged and not slipping back into you. We'll be birthing his or her shoulder in just a...whoa! Push!"
I do so, feeling my baby sliding further and further out of me. I wail from the exertions I am making. I see my baby's head! Then Gwen does something and I see a tiny hand, arm and shoulder! I keep pushing, wanting to meet my baby.
Minutes later, the baby is fully out of me, connected only by the umbilical cord, which is still pulsing with life.
"It's a girl!" Gwen gushes as she lays the wee one on my chest. She gives Marcus the scissors to cut the cord. She holds the spot where she wants him to cut. Looking uncharacteristically serious, Marcus squeezes the scissors shut and severs the lifeline between my baby and me. Tears are sliding down his cheeks.
Gwen motions to a nurse from the nursery, who takes my little Lizzie to check her out. While she's being examined, Gwen instructs me to continue pushing. What? More pushing? I comply, feeling the now-familiar squeezing sensation. I push the afterbirth out and feel ready to focus on the cries of my daughter. I'm impatient to hold and nurse her!
Gwen and Marcus help me out of the tub. Once I'm cleaned and dried up, I lie back in the bed, holding my gorgeous little Lizzie. She roots around, looking for sustenance. The baby nurse shows me how to position Lizzie's little mouth on my nipple.
"Make sure she takes your entire areola into her mouth. It seems like a lot, but she can do it. Otherwise, you'll be really sore when she feeds. She'll know exactly...yes, that's a smart little girl!"
Lizzie has latched on like an expert and is now drawing milk out of me - this sensation feels sharp and makes me jump slightly. It also makes me cramp.
"Yes, that's normal," says Gwen. While I'm feeding my baby, she presses hard on my uterus, pushing it down hard. "We want your uterus to contract quickly. Lizzie can help you out with that."
"Okay." While I feed my baby, I suddenly begin to feel very sleepy. After all, it's early morning! Before I nod off, I look closely at the baby - she has curly, brownish-blonde hair. Her eyes are still shut, so I don't know what color they are. I've read that they won't actually take their true color on for several weeks. She has a tiny, button nose and a little rosebud-shaped mouth. Finally, I doze off, feeling Marcus tenderly lifting the baby out of my arms.
The next day, in hospital, my family and Marcus' family come in, all excited to meet the newest little Hadley. By then, she has managed to stay awake for several minutes at a time. Once I get over the exertion of labor and delivery, I feel fine - until I try to take a walk down the hall with Marcus. By the time I return to my room, I feel as though I'd run a marathon! I take an hours-long nap afterward, waking only when I hear Lizzie crying for a feeding. I see her daddy tenderly and carefully taking her out of the bassinet. He cuddles her for a few minutes while I rearrange my nightgown and nursing bra. Once she's in my arms, she roots around looking for my breast. As before, I jump when she begins nursing. We stay in hospital until my doctor is sure that Lizzie and I are healthy. Marcus stays during the day and returns home at night.
Chapter 3
Finally, it's time for us to be discharged. I am so nervous - will I know when it's time to feed and change her? How will I know what to do? By the time it's time for us to leave, I'm reduced to a bundle of weepy nerves. My nurse, seeing my tears, comes to me and cuddles me for a few seconds.
"Hush now, mum! You've done brilliantly here in hospital. We've been watching you and you've caught on through our coaching. You know how and when to change and feed your little luv. Besides, you have daddy here to help you out. He works from home, right?"
I nod, sniffling.
"Okay, mum, then you have everything you need. You're nervous and your hormones are dropping like a stone. That's why you feel like this. Tell you what - nap when your daughter naps. Rely on Marcus and your family. You're going to do just fine!" She hugs me again and, feeling slightly better, I hug her back.
At home, I take my nurse's advice and have a good lie-down when Lizzie takes her naps. This helps my mood tremendously. Thankfully, mum and my mother-in-law have laid in a good stock of meals they made and stored in our freezer, so all we need to do is thaw and heat them. Our first night home, we have Lizzie's bassinet in our room - which is a good thing. At two a.m., she wakes, bellowing. I sit straight up, frightened. What's wrong with my little girl? Then, I look at the time an
d realize she's hungry.
Marcus gets her for me, looking at me wide-eyed.
"My God, I didn't know she could get that loud!"
"I hope she didn't wake up our neighbors downstairs."
"We'd better start looking for a single house soon. I don't know how long they'll want to be hearing that, multiple times a night," says Marcus reasonably.
"Yes, I agree. Soon as I have my strength back, we'll start driving around and looking. It's a good thing we know that we can afford," I say. After a successful tour and the way album sales have been soaring, we are fortunate enough to be able to pay cash for a home.
It takes me only a few weeks, then I begin to feel more normal. One cold, clear Saturday, we bundle Lizzie into her car seat and take her to my parents' so they can take care of her while we house-hunt. I've been expressing and storing milk for her, so now she's got used to taking some feedings from a bottle.
We've talked about what we want in a house. Good neighborhood and excellent schools obviously. I don't know what Lizzie's interests will be, so a good public primary school will suffice until she's expressed her interests. With these requirements in mind, we've decided on a few neighborhoods to look through. We spot several possibilities and I note the addresses down so we can let our real estate agent know. After a few hours we go pick the baby up. Even though we have been gone for a short while, we miss her so much.
Every chance we get, we go out looking at houses we've identified from the adverts in the paper. So far, we've looked at a dozen homes. I remember the daydream I had, where Marcus and I were relaxing on the front lawn with our baby girl; the daydream where I came out of a big stone house. We see just such a house, believe it or not! Four bedrooms, so definitely room to grow; it has a large kitchen and a good-sized front and back yard, so we can picnic when it's pleasant out. Best of all, the house is in an excellent neighborhood, with several top public schools close by. After taking a tour of the house, we look at each other and realize that we have to offer for it! As soon as we get into town, we tell the agent that we want to do so. He looks very pleased and says he will let the seller's agent know. Then, we talk about any improvements that the house will need. We ask about the roof and any recent repairs and upgrades to the house, and our agent says he will get the information we need.
At home, Marcus and I put Lizzie into her crib, then tiptoe out and celebrate by making love. This is the first time since Lizzie was born, so I am nervous. But we fall back easily into the swing of things. Marcus takes it nice and easy with me, which is really sweet. Our lovemaking session is cut short by Lizzie's cries, but I am determined our next one will not be. Wrapping my robe around me, I go in and check on the baby. She needs a feeding and a nappy-change.
Being that it's nearly Christmas, Marcus and I put our tree up. This will be our first Christmas together as a married couple, and Lizzie's first Christmas, period! I'm kept busy fielding calls from relatives about what they should get for her. I tell them clothing, baby supplies and small toys we can play with to stimulate her.
Once our tree is up, I bring Lizzie from her room and hold her upright so she can look at its beauty. She waves her arms up and down - I think she is interested in the lights twinkling, but she doesn't yet understand the significance of the holiday. Still, Marcus and I spread a baby blanket on the floor and set Lizzie on it. We're lying down on either side of her, enjoying the feeling of our first Christmas as a family.
Nigel, our band manager, has set up a series of concerts in and around London right around the Christmas and Boxing Day holidays. These concerts are timed for right before we leave for our delayed honeymoon. At one concert, I peek out through the heavy stage curtain and look for Marcus. As per his usual habit, Marcus is sitting to one side, in the first row. I spot him and wave to him and he waves back with a big grin. Then, I see an odd sight - two young women are sitting in the row behind him, slightly to one side of him. One of the women is markedly overweight. I notice she is staring, totally fixated, on my husband! Her mouth is held agape and her eyes have a fire in them. I don't know why, but I suddenly get the willies and a sick chill throughout my body. I don't know who she is or what her purpose is for being there, so I decide I should alert Marcus. I go backstage and send him a text message, telling him what I've just spotted. I walk back to the curtain and peek through - Marcus' smile is completely gone. He texts me, saying he'll meet me backstage during intermission. By now, he knows our play sets cold, so, just a few minutes before intermission starts, he leaves his seat and shows his backstage credentials to the auditorium employee. Once he's given the okay to come backstage, he waits until we finish.
As before, the smile is completely gone from my husband's face. He takes my arm and sits me down, then tells me he's seen this young woman about quite often in the past few weeks. She's always close by and always seems transfixed on him. Now, I am really scared - for Marcus, the baby and me. We're new parents and we have a new and very tender life to protect. Are we dealing with some kind of stalker?
After I get my breath back, I grab Marcus' arms and tell him that we need to notify the police, if only for Lizzie's sake. I'm having flashbacks about Gemma and I don't want any repeat performances. Lizzie is with my mum and dad right now, and we'll pick her up straightaway after the concert is over. Marcus thinks about calling the police, then he nods. I call them and report what we've seen happening in recent weeks.
Two officers show up less than ten minutes before the second half of our concert is due to begin. They come backstage and ask Marcus and me to point the girl out. Marcus points her out, describing her to a T. Short, overweight, dyed blonde hair, with lip and nose piercings. I spot something new - the girl is now whispering to a tall, very emaciated girl sporting a freakish, badly cut and multicolored Mohawk. The overweight girl is pointing to where Marcus had been sitting. I tell one of the officers what I've just noticed.
"She's probably wondering where Marcus has got to," I say.
"Mr. Hadley, please stay backstage for the second half of the concert. We're going to go find out why she's been following you. Mind, she has the right to be here. She's bought a ticket. But we can ask her about why she's been following you through town," says the officer.
Leaving the backstage area, they go to the audience seats. We still have a few minutes until the end of intermission, so we peek through the curtain. We see both officers approaching the women. The shorter, overweight woman becomes visibly angry and frustrated when she can't come up with a good reason for following Marcus about town. The officers respond by telling her that her behavior could legally be considered stalking. She grows even more angry at this, so I plead with Marcus to stay backstage until the end of our concert. A stagehand finds a comfy chair for him and he watches our performance from the side of the stage, just behind the blackout curtain. Right before we perform our final song, I look to the area where the two young women had been seated - now they're gone! This is proof that the draw for them was Marcus, not our band. I feel fear squeezing around my heart.
When we return to England from our holiday in Spain, we think the stalking situation has been dealt with by the police. We're living our life as normal, looking at new homes to buy in a frantic hurry. The first home we wanted already had an offer on it that the seller took. We were back to square one in finding a new home. One morning, I'm going back into our flat after tossing our bagged rubbish into the bin. It is blistering cold, so I wrap my coat around me and look around. I spot the same squat, overweight girl standing across the street, just staring at our flat. I don't want her to know I've just spotted her, so I wrap my arms around my chilled body - in truth, I'm chilled, both from the cold and from the fear I'm feeling. I hurry inside and upstairs, where I alert Marcus.
He peeks through the window sheers, trying not to be spotted. When he sees her staring right at our front window, he backs up fast, turning ghastly pale. He scoops up his phone and calls his dad, letting him know what's going on.
Th
e two of them decide that the three of us will stay elsewhere until we know we've got the house we've offered on. That afternoon, we pack our immediate necessities and both of our dads help to get us moved to Marcus' dad's property. Because we don't want that girl to know that I spotted her, we wait until it's totally dark to get everything moved over. Fortunately, the flats where we live have got a fence with a back gate and entrance, so we move everything into trucks that way.
We move all of the baby's things, all my music and equipment and Marcus' research, books, router, modem and computers. After we get all our necessities settled, we decide we'd better move all our furniture as if we're officially moving house - Marcus' dad spots her when he's coming out from our flat. She came back! Of course, we call the police and they talk to her. Once they talk to us, we learn her name is Cara Wells. They warn her that what she's doing is officially considered to be stalking - and, if she doesn't stop stalking Marcus, she'll be arrested and charged with the crime. We learn that she took serious offense to the warning, but at least she left. Even so, I am sufficiently scared that the thought of unpacking and moving into a different home pales in comparison to my husband being stalked.
This situation with Cara has all of us, including my band mates, on edge. Marcus decides he's going to bring me to all my practices and drop me off. This new arrangement works for several weeks - until he calls me one afternoon, shortly before he's supposed to pick me up.
"Johanna, I've just spotted that Cara following me. I'm on my way to pick you up," Marcus says. I can hear the upset in his voice.
"Wait! Stop in a shop parking lot and I'll call the police right now. I don't want her to see where we practice - and I don't want her to know about Lizzie!"
