“What is it?” her mother asked.
“Nothing, just a random thought.”
Once they were set up in the delivery room, Sandy felt a strange sense of calm.
“I’m not scared,” she said to no one in particular.
“That’s good,” said the labor and delivery nurse who’d accompanied her. “Your body knows what to do. Trust it.”
A contraction came and Sandy pushed.
“Good,” Dr. Berman said.
Several more strong contractions followed.
“That’s it,” Dr. Berman said. “Keep it up.”
Sandy pushed.
“There’s the head,” Dr. Berman said. “A little bit more.”
The next thing Sandy knew, Dr. Berman was holding up a reddish-blue baby. Hands quickly came in and started doing things that Sandy couldn’t see.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor said.
“Is there another one?” Sandy asked.
Dr. Berman leaned to the side. Her lower face was covered by a blue mask, but her eyes were laughing.
“Yes.”
“What do I do now?”
“You’re doing it.”
Sandy felt another contraction begin. She waited for the right moment, then pushed.
“What’s happening?” she asked after the contraction subsided.
“Everything looks fine. The second baby is moving into position.”
“How many are there?”
“There can’t be more than two,” Dr. Berman said. “The first baby weighed five pounds, two ounces.”
Sandy glanced up at her mother, who was staring intently across the room.
“Is he okay?” Sandy asked.
“Yes,” the delivery nurse said, popping into view. “His Apgar is six.”
“Why isn’t it higher?” Sandy asked.
“He’s a little guy,” the nurse said. “That’s a great number for a baby this small.”
For months Sandy had been determined to not try to see the baby or babies after they were born. But now, at the moment of birth, the maternal urge to have contact with her baby was overwhelming. Another contraction came, and she pushed. When the contraction subsided, Sandy glanced up at her mother, who was looking down at her.
“Should I see him?” Sandy asked.
“He’s gone to the nursery.”
“Did you see him?”
Her mother nodded without taking her eyes off Sandy’s face. There was a deep sadness in her mother’s expression.
“What’s wrong?” Sandy asked.
Her mother simply shook her head. Another contraction came, and Sandy pushed. Several more followed. About fifteen minutes after the birth of the first baby, Sandy had an especially strong contraction and pushed.
“The head is crowning,” Dr. Berman said. “Now, just like you did before.”
A few seconds later, another reddish-blue bundle of humanity swept past Sandy’s view. In a few seconds, Dr. Berman turned her attention to Sandy.
“Another boy,” the doctor announced.
Sandy looked up at her mother, who was again focused on the area of the room where they’d taken the baby.
Sandy heard someone call out, “Apgar of five.”
The delivery nurse appeared at Sandy’s head.
“He’s a little bit smaller than his brother. Four pounds, ten ounces, but he’s a wiggly one. Don’t worry. They’re both fine.”
“Are they identical?” Sandy asked.
“No.”
Sandy could tell the nurse was about to provide additional information but stopped. Sandy watched her mother, who was absorbing every detail of what was being done to the second baby. When she looked down at Sandy again, her mother’s eyes were red.
“They’re both beautiful,” her mother said softly. “And you did great. I hope the families that raise them do as good a job raising them as you have done bringing them into the world.”
A pair of tears rolled down Sandy’s cheeks. The desire to see her tiny boys was breaking her heart.
“Am I doing the right thing?” she said and sniffled.
“I guess so,” her mother said, “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
The delivery nurse came over and wiped Sandy’s face with a cool cloth.
“You’re a tough little trouper,” she said. “You’ve been hauling around a lot of baby.”
“Everything looks good,” Dr. Berman said, joining the nurse. “Nothing came out that wasn’t supposed to. In a few minutes, they’ll send you up to a room.”
“Where are the babies?” Sandy asked.
“In the nursery.”
“What are they calling them?”
Dr. Berman looked at Sandy with kind eyes.
“Do you want to see them?”
“No.” Sandy shook her head. “I’m just curious how they’re going to tell them apart.”
“One is ‘Baby Jones,’ and the other is ‘Baby Smith,’” Dr. Berman said. “Sounds boring, doesn’t it?”
Exhausted, Sandy closed her eyes and tried to let her mind go blank. An orderly rolled her to a regular hospital room, where she was transferred to the bed. Linda was there, looking at her with obvious respect in her eyes. Sandy’s mother tucked the clean white sheet under Sandy’s chin. Sandy gratefully closed her eyes and slept.
When she woke up, the morning sun was fighting its way through the blinds that covered the single window in the room. Another hospital bed between Sandy and the bathroom was empty. Her mother was lying in a recliner beside the bed with her eyes closed. In the split second between sleep and consciousness, everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours rushed back into Sandy’s mind.
She’d delivered twin boys.
There was a cup of water on a hospital tray beside the bed. Sandy reached for the cup and slowly raised it to her lips. Few drinks had ever tasted so good. She took another sip and licked her lips. The door of the room opened, and Linda came in. She’d changed clothes from the previous night. She saw Sandy’s mother asleep in the chair and put her finger to her lips. Linda walked quietly over to the bed and kissed Sandy on the forehead. She leaned over close to Sandy’s ear.
“I’ve changed my mind. You’re the most unselfish person on the planet.”
Sandy smiled. There was a light knock on the door. Sandy’s mother stirred and opened her eyes.
“Come in,” Linda said.
It was Mrs. Longwell. Another woman Sandy had seen a few times at the adoption agency was with her.
“Do you feel like having visitors?” Mrs. Longwell asked.
“Yes.”
Sandy introduced her mother. The other woman with Mrs. Longwell was named Mrs. Baker.
“You were right about the twins,” Mrs. Longwell said. “I won’t be as quick to doubt a woman who thinks she’s going to have multiples in the future.”
“How are they doing?” Sandy asked.
“Fine. I stopped by the nursery. They’re going to spend a few extra days in the hospital to make sure they’re eating and eliminating as they should. Their lungs are fine, which is a concern for smaller infants, especially boys.”
“Do they look like me?” Sandy asked. “Their father is a redhead.”
“They’re newborn babies,” Mrs. Longwell said. “There’s nothing to stop you from taking a look if that’s what—”
“No, I can’t put myself through that.”
“I understand,” Mrs. Longwell said. “I have some good news about the father. He’s agreed to sign the surrender papers.”
Sandy closed her eyes in relief.
“The papers were delivered via courier to his lawyer’s office in Rutland. I called this morning, and the father is going to come by the office today to sign.”
“What day is it?”
“Friday,” Mrs. Longwell said.
“I guess they’ll let him out of school,” Sandy said. “Anyway, once he signs I’ll do it too. I just want him to go first.”
“I
understand, but it’s a good idea to take care of it as soon as possible. The prospective parents are on their way to the hospital. As you know, they’ll take the babies home even if the ten days haven’t run out. As you requested, neither of the couples knows their child is a twin.”
“And the babies aren’t identical, right?”
Mrs. Longwell looked at Mrs. Baker, who smiled.
“They are, without question, fraternal twins,” Mrs. Baker said.
“Okay.” Sandy looked at her mother. “Mama, what am I forgetting to ask?”
Sandy’s mother hadn’t brushed her hair and looked a bit disheveled.
“Have you ever taken a baby away from the adoptive parents because the mother’s consent was revoked?” she asked.
“Yes, but we try as hard as we can to keep that from happening. It’s very traumatic for all parties. I’ve told Sandy many times that she doesn’t have to place the babies for adoption unless she’s convinced it’s the best thing to do. Is that right, dear?”
“Yes, but I thought my heart was going to break when I didn’t get to see the babies last night in the delivery room.”
“Second thoughts on the adoption?”
“No, I need to follow through on what I’ve decided. Mama, are you still okay with that?”
Her mother didn’t respond. Mrs. Longwell took out a large envelope and handed it to Sandy.
“The surrender papers are in here. We went over them together a few weeks ago, but I want to leave them with you. Check everything and write down any questions. And remember, you have the right to have a lawyer review them.”
Sandy put the envelope on a small nightstand beside the bed.
“When will you be back?” her mother asked.
“Probably tomorrow. I want to be able to confirm that the birth father has signed everything.”
“Thanks,” Sandy said.
“You did great,” Mrs. Longwell said, patting Sandy on the hand.
The two women left.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Linda asked Sandy’s mother.
“Yes, thanks.”
When Linda left the room, Sandy turned to her mother.
“Why did you ask Mrs. Longwell that question about the mother taking back her consent to the adoption?”
The sad look Sandy had seen in her mother’s eyes the previous night returned.
“It’s so painful to think that my first two grandsons are going to slip out of my life forever before I get to know them.”
“I saw you staring at them in the delivery room.”
“I couldn’t see much. They were busy cleaning them up.”
“Did either one of them look like Ben or Jack?”
Her mother got a faraway look in her eyes.
“The second one reminded me of you and Jack. There wasn’t much difference between the two of you for the first few months. Ben has always looked more like your daddy.”
“And the first one?”
“I didn’t see him as clearly. I was still in shock about the fact that there were two.”
Sandy’s image of the babies in the delivery room was so fleeting that she couldn’t slow it down to get a better look.
“Did you go by the nursery?” she asked.
“Linda did, but I didn’t think it would be right for me to see them without you.”
“What did Linda say?”
“That Baby Jones and Baby Smith looked like tiny, shriveled-up old men.”
Sandy reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand.
“I want to see them,” her mother said.
“You do?” Sandy asked in surprise.
“Very much.”
The resistance Sandy had built up crumbled in an instant.
“Me too.”
Now that the decision had been made, Sandy sat up and moved her legs toward the edge of the bed.
“Wait, Dr. Berman hasn’t come by to say that you can get up.”
“But I feel okay.”
“No,” her mother said emphatically.
Suddenly feeling light-headed, Sandy didn’t argue. She laid her head back on the pillow and tried to relax; however, her heart didn’t get the message. It was beating out of her chest.
It was over an hour before Dr. Berman came to the room. Sandy’s mother and Linda were watching a cooking show on TV. Dr. Berman examined Sandy.
“You look good, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Your vital signs are stable, and I wish every one of my patients had blood pressure as rock-solid as yours.” She made a notation in the chart. “Of course, it helps to be eighteen years old and in great physical condition.”
“Can I get out of bed?” Sandy asked.
“Yes, but not until the nurse removes the catheter. There’s no use dragging that around with you if you can make it to the bathroom on your own. I want to keep you on the IV for the rest of the day. If you have a good day and night, I’ll discharge you tomorrow.”
“I’m going to see the babies,” Sandy said.
Dr. Berman raised her eyebrows.
“Having second thoughts about the adoption?”
Sandy glanced at her mother. “I’m trying not to, but I have to see them, even if it’s only to say good-bye.”
“You’ve got to weigh the risks,” the doctor said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “When you were in labor and delivery, I told you to trust your instincts. Now you should listen more to your head than your heart. Your instincts will drive you down a path I’m not sure you’re ready to follow.”
It was the most direct Dr. Berman had been about the adoption process.
“I know,” Sandy said. “Mrs. Longwell came by earlier. I told her to come back tomorrow so I can sign the release papers. My mind is made up.”
“Do you want me to begin the medicine that will stop your milk production?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Sandy repeated.
“Okay, I’ll send in a nurse. See you in the morning.”
Dr. Berman left.
“Does the adoption agency cover her charges?” Sandy’s mother asked. “Your father didn’t mention anything about paying a deductible.”
“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “Mrs. Longwell took care of that stuff.”
“Don’t you think she has a conflict of interest?” Sandy’s mother turned to Linda.
“Careful, Julie,” Linda replied. “What the doctor told Sandy about following her head and not her heart applies to you too.”
Sandy remembered Mrs. Longwell’s comment that paternal grandmothers sometimes tried to step in and short-circuit an adoption. Undoubtedly, the same thing happened with maternal grandmothers. A nurse removed the catheter, then stayed until Sandy demonstrated her ability to walk to the bathroom.
“It’s harder to move my legs than I thought,” Sandy said as she slowly returned to the bed. “Maybe I should use a wheelchair to go to the nursery.”
“I’ll find one,” her mother said, quickly leaving the room.
After she left, Sandy and Linda looked at each other.
“I don’t think she was prepared for how she would feel when the babies arrived,” Linda said. “She called your father in the middle of the night, and they were on the phone for a long time.”
“Did you hear her side of the conversation?”
“No, she asked me to leave so they could talk in private.”
“I can’t imagine what they said. At first, Daddy wanted me to get an abortion. Since then he’s been okay with the idea of adoption. I think he’s just been waiting for this to end so our lives can get back to normal. There’s no way he wants to take on the responsibility of two infants.”
“Your father is bullheaded, but your mother knows how to get what she wants.”
“Yes, but this isn’t her decision. It’s mine.”
Sandy’s mother returned with the wheelchair and rolled it to the side of the bed.
“The nursery is just around
the corner,” she said brightly.
Sandy eased out of bed and into the wheelchair. Her mother flipped down the footrests and put on her slippers.
“We’re off,” her mother said. “Linda, are you coming with us?”
“Yes, I think I should supervise this visit.”
FIFTEEN
The first person they encountered was a woman with an infant in her arms being wheeled back to her room. The woman, a beautiful smile on her face, was nuzzling the baby and talking softly to it. Sandy swallowed. They went around a corner into a different hallway. On the left was a row of patient rooms. To the right, there was a long window that extended from the floor to the ceiling. Through the window, Sandy could see several rows of clear plastic bassinets. Workers wearing masks were moving about. On the front of each bassinet was either a blue or a pink card that recorded the baby’s last name, gender, date and time of birth, birth weight, mother’s name and room number, and the baby’s pediatrician. There were at least thirty babies in the nursery.
“Where were the twins when you came to see them in the night?” Sandy’s mother asked Linda.
“One was at the far end, and the other one was in the middle.”
Sandy’s mother pushed the wheelchair down the hall. As she did, Sandy let her eyes scan the crowd of infants.
“Stop!” she said. “There’s one of them. In the back row.”
Her mother stopped the wheelchair.
“She’s right,” Linda said. “It’s Baby Smith.”
Sandy stood up and put her face close to the glass. In the third row was a baby boy smaller than those surrounding him.
“Can you see the card?” her mother asked. “I left my glasses in the room.”
Linda read the information on the card, which listed a fictitious name and room number for the mother. All the other data was correct. The pediatrician was listed as Dr. Fletchall. The baby was wrapped tightly in a white blanket and lying on his side. His eyes were closed.
Sandy drank in every detail.
There was a hint of blondish fuzz on the baby’s head. He had a perfectly shaped nose and lips that were slightly pouty. His left cheek had a healthy rose color. As she watched, a female worker came over and patted him on the back while she talked to another woman. Seeing the worker have physical contact with the baby made Sandy’s heart climb into her throat.
The Choice Page 14
