She finished hooking up all of the cords and instruments to monitor my contractions, oxygen, and Hugh’s heartbeat.
She checked my cervix and told me I was seven centimeters dilated, asking if my water had broken yet. I shook my head and she covered me before turning to leave the room. “Let me know if you need anything,” she said, almost as an afterthought, before she disappeared.
I stared at the monitor, watching a long strip of paper pump. The lines on the screen that were his heartbeat mesmerized me.
I watched those lines for hours, holding onto the metal railing and crying out with the worst contractions.
I breathed deeply, memorizing the sounds of my child's pulsating heartbeat as it reverberated throughout the room. I had never heard anything so beautiful. I made my mind stay in that moment, to not dread the close future.
I appreciated every lasting second.
When warm liquid spread between my legs, the pain in the small of my back grew excruciating. I pressed the emergency button on the handheld intercom.
“Yes?” said a static covered voice.
“OW,” I screamed into the speaker.
“We'll be right there,” the curt voice huffed.
I reared back on my bed as an explosive contraction knocked my breath away.
A middle aged woman with hair that had been streaked so many times it looked crispy and brittle ran in first, along with the nurse that had hooked me up like a bionic whale.
Two more nurses rushed in, washing hands and putting on gloves.
I was told to lay flat on my back as the doctor reached between my legs, her glove returning into sight covered in blood.
The bed was lifted and I couldn't control the instinct to push.
My legs were strapped into stirrups as I struggled, trying to sit up. “How is this supposed to help?” I asked as I was pushed back flat onto the bed. Instinct screamed I had to sit up.
I wasn't a doctor but I understood fucking gravity.
“Lay down or be tied down,” the doctor demanded.
She was lucky my legs were already strapped down as I tried to fling out and kick her.
“Stop pushing. We aren’t ready,” she screamed.
Another wave crashed into me. I stared directly into her eyes and bore down as hard as I could.
Push, scream, wait. Pain, push, breathe.
I could feel Hugh making slow progress, but after two grueling hours ticked by with minimal progress the doctor swallowed her pride.
She glared at me as she pressed her foot on a pedal and tilted the bed.
I sighed in relief as another push proved to be constructive.
“I see hair,” cried one of the nurses.
The doctor met my eyes, “I need you to stop screaming.”
I growled at her with another push.
She grabbed the scalpel. The sharp blade cut into me and I almost screamed with relief.
She reached with both hands. I felt the tugging and the soreness as she lifted the most beautiful sight I had ever witnessed. She jostled him a little as a nurse sucked the gunk out of his air passage. I heard his cry as tears ran freely down my face.
They took him to what looked like a tiny aquarium, cleaned him, and put drops in his eyes that made him cry out. My hands covered my mouth as I sobbed. They wrapped him in a blue and pink striped blanket before stepping to me.
“Here you go, Mama,” my nurse told me softly.
I looked down into his swollen eyes, wondering what color they would be when they turned from the deep, foggy blue. His chin, his lips, and even his squished forehead were all like William’s.
I peeked under the tiny hat and found sprouts of curls. They weren't William’s thick locks of spirals yet. They looked more like a perm. I knew they would grow, and he would be blessed with his father's hair.
He quietly glared around, his eyes unfocused. I brought my face an inch away from his and his gaze met mine. He let out a little grunt and flung a tiny little hand out.
“He's hungry,” I realized, watching his lips quiver.
I was handed a bottle of formula. I tried not think about the reason I wasn't going to get to breastfeed my son.
“Hello, Hugh,” I whispered to him as he nursed the bottle. “I am your mommy, and I love you so much.” I kissed his cheeks, his forehead. His tiny fingers closed around my lips as I kissed his palm. “I will always love you.” The truth of the words devastated and resurrected all at the same moment.
I heard a commotion in the door and saw Mr. Marcus grinning from the hallway. He had apparently been standing there for a while. I tried to smile through the tears and push back the thoughts of my looming despair.
I stared down at Hugh sleeping in my arms. “My baby.”
“Not technically,” rose the voice of wicked jubilation.
I tore my eyes from the angel in my arms. Mr. Marcus stood shaking his head at my mother. She flashed him a smile to announce her victory.
She stepped into the room and I peered behind her, “Where is Father?” I demanded as my heart filled my throat.
The two nurses in the room were preparing for a battle. They washed their hands again, whispering to each other.
“He didn't want to come.” She was trying to break my spirit. I saw the tick. Her eyebrows never moved when she lied.
“You didn't tell him,” I kept my voice low, not wanting to wake Hugh. I couldn’t chance him remembering even the emotion in the room.
She granted me a small nod, her lips pulled up in the corners as if trying to hide her glee. “Are you ready, Ruth? Are you ready for me to take the last thing you care about away from you?”
I stared at her, “Why would you want to do that to me?”
I knew her words before she did. I knew my worth in her eyes. Hugh's worth would be tainted to her simply for being my son.
She stepped closer with her hands behind her back and a bounce on her heels. “Because you did it to me. You have never been the daughter that I deserved, and you took my brother,” she spat at me.
Mr. Marcus tensed in the hallway. His face set in rage. Two orderlies from Lakeview moved in front of him, throwing fiery glances toward Mother.
My voice shook but I was already defeated. I might as well throw a few daggers myself. “You have never deserved me. You have always been cruel and heartless. The miniscule piece of solace I can find in you stealing Hugh is knowing he won't be raised under the same wrath I was brought up under.”
I held the sleeping babe against my chest tighter, stroking his tiny head. I thanked God that Hugh was too tiny and fresh to understand what was about to happen to him.
Mother’s smile turned to a laughter, “You have no idea what I have planned for you.”
She looked at the nurses, freshly gloved, and jerked her head in my direction before spinning on her heels and marching out of the room, throwing Mr. Marcus one more look of triumph.
The nurses moved toward me. I wanted to fight them away. Mr. Marcus grew weak and covered his face, turning his back as the orderlies turned away with him.
I kissed Hugh anywhere I could reach, whispering frantically everything a mother should say to her child over the span of their lifetime in a few short seconds. He grunted in discontent at the hands trying to make their way under him and pull him away from me.
He cried out as he was lifted. I was afraid of hurting his fragile body by clinging too hard. I despised myself as my fingers slipped from his silken skin.
I screamed in agony, throwing myself against the metal railings away from the dripping needle. I tried to fight out of the bed, my muscles weak and torn from labor.
Hands shoved me back as I watched my son’s puffy face crumble. He twisted in his blanket, searching for the comfort of his mother. The horror made it all happen too slowly.
The worst moment of my life lasted an eternity.
As I felt the sharp stick of the needle in the side of my neck I begged for another kind of eternity.
The
echoes of the sweetest voice in the world flowed behind him down the hall, away from me.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I sank into the darkness of the medicine. My last thought before succumbing was a prayer for it to have been too much, that maybe Mother wanted me dead and I would be blessed with my end.
Chapter 36- Seeds
I woke slumped over the rails with a line of drool dripping into my hair. The blood that had been pooling in my head rushed down, making colors burst in my eyes when I sat up. I tried to focus. I didn't know what time it was or how long I had been out.
There was nothing to suggest Hugh had been there. I saw no bottle of formula, no swaddling blankets, and not even a bassinet.
Dr. Burnt sat in the arm chair across the room. Ms. Lucia stood behind him leaning and against the wall. She noticed I was alert and tapped Dr. Burnt on the shoulder. He looked up with surprise. “How are you feeling, Ruth?”
I tried to push my hair out of my face but stopped when I saw the IV leaking into me. I stared at it for a moment. My thoughts were so unclear every movement was sluggish.
Dr. Burnt's voice pulled me back a little more, “We went ahead and started your medications back. You're on a mood stabilizer and had your first dose of a new sedative. You're receiving morphine now, for the pain of labor.”
I laughed, cold and broken. I didn't bother to dry my eyes or tell myself to hold it together. I had nothing left of myself to hold.
“We need you to shower in a few minutes so we can get you discharged.” His tone was soft and his lips were pressed together. Lucia dabbed at her face with her sleeve. “You know you have to come back, don't you?”
“Yes,” I slurred. I didn't care where I went anymore. It didn't matter where I died.
He nodded and Lucia helped me stand. She unhooked the depleted IV bag from the plastic needle in my hand. She led me to the bathroom and turned the warm water on.
I held onto the railings as she untied my hospital gown and closed the curtain, standing on the other side. I tried to cry softly in the water, but the sounds coming from my chest were that of a wounded, feral animal. I tried to soap my hair with one hand, the other holding my swaying body up.
My stomach felt weak, my back hurt, and as I tried to clean myself I winced when my fingers came in contact with the stitches. I simply poured the bottle of soap all over myself and let the water do the work, foaming and running it over me.
I stood in the steam for a long time. The river of never ending tears joined the suds swirling into the drain.
Lucia reached from behind the curtain and turned off the water, “It's time to get out, honey.” I opened the curtain, almost ripping it down when I stumbled. She had a towel opened and ready as she caught me and helped me balance.
She dried my hair and brushed it for me, helping me dress as Dr. Burnt signed release papers to take me back to my cage. A nurse soon came up with a wheelchair. The two orderlies that had been with Mr. Marcus glared at her and snatched the wheelchair away. She looked ashamed and hung her head.
She was the one who had taken Hugh.
I stared into her, trying to burn her soul with my fury. She looked met my eyes as we neared.
Her mouth dropped at the emotion in my face. She turned and scurried away quickly.
As we passed the nurse's station unfamiliar faces but my nurse, who was running in to start her new shift, stopped us.
“I'm so sorry, Ruth. You would have been an amazing mother. I can always tell,” she squeezed my hand and gave me a pained smile.
I didn't choke, but I didn't smile. I couldn't pretend to care about her sympathy. I looked away and closed my eyes, blocking everything but the image of Hugh's face.
Evening therapy was beginning when I was pushed into the wing of the facility. The voices silenced as we rolled by the common room.
I was helped out of the wheelchair and into my bed. Mr. Allen came to check on me often, never turning the lights on but leaving the door fully opened.
I thought back to all of the precious memories I had in that bed- talking, reading, stroking Hugh, and singing softly to him though I couldn't carry a tune.
My heart was shattered. The pain radiated through my body. I curled into a ball. My arms intuitively pulled the sheet across and around my throat.
Dizziness clouded my head. My lungs tried to fight for air but my body wouldn't give.
✷✴✷
I woke with the normal wake up call. I tried not scream at the fact that I was alive. I had to fight every muscle to simply lift my legs over the edge of the bed.
Mr. Marcus rushed into the room, telling me to lay back. Food would be brought to me for the next few days. “You do have to walk today, but I can wheel you outside and help. The fresh air will cleanse you after a while.” He laid a hand gently on my forehead to push it back onto the pillow.
I tried to smile and tell him thank you, but it was too much effort. He had been the one to support me. He had felt my pain. He hadn't been able to handle the agony of watching my life being torn apart.
The days passed in an agony that intensified with every passing minute.
I would wake in the middle of the night, frantically searching for the wailing phantom child out of arm’s reach.
Dr. Burnt raised the dosages on my medications after a week. I walked every day without the support of an arm or hand. I ate what I could stomach. I rarely slept but never mentioned it. I needed my alone time in the dark to mourn.
I screamed on the inside every moment of every day, but at night I was able to release the pain without the eyes of pity and sympathy on me. Whenever I did lift my head around the other patients I always caught them staring. They looked away, uncomfortable seeing someone in such distress even as they wore their own scars.
I pulled apart the inside of the paper towel dispenser until I found something sharp and long enough to tear into my flesh, ready at a moment's notice to end it all, but never received the opportunity. They moved the desk outside of the common room to the end of the hall. Someone sat outside of my room all night, every night, watching me.
I knew I could never be normal, but I got good at faking it.
I learned to smile on command. At first it was difficult. My cheeks would shake and my lips would quiver. Eventually people didn’t back away from the expression in fear.
I could sometimes show my teeth and squint my eyes to make it seem sincere.
I learned to walk with my head in the air.
I started to jog again every day but no longer did it for my health or the health of another being. I did it in anger. My legs pumped hard under my body and my breath huffed as I sped to a run.
In the beginning I couldn't control myself. I would sprint, the tears streaming behind me until I couldn't see. I stumbled and slid on the earth, sometimes flying straight into the black iron fence.
Mr. Marcus helped me to control it. He told me when I needed to concentrate and remain calm. I learned how to pace my anger with the thuds of my feet on the dirt.
It never got easier.
Time does not heals all wounds. My soul doesn't have scabs to peel or flesh to be sewn together. I simply became tamed and defeated, not stronger. Strength would insinuate being able to lift it away. My body became more detached from the emotions within. I was two constant beings- the pain and the human.
✷✴✷
My son turned six months old the day I sat in therapy and Ms. Lucia made the surprising announcement that I was being released the same day.
I suddenly realized all of the staff- Mr. Marcus, Mr. Allen, a few of the other psychiatrists, and the orderlies who had all spent time with me at some point were in their own circle of chairs behind the patients.
I hadn't known I would be leaving. Father hadn't come to see me since my birthday. It was another ton of pain I carried.
Mr. Marcus stood beside Ms. Lucia in the middle of the circle. “Ruth, we've been with you for almost a year and a half,” he swallowed hard. Ms
. Lucia’s eyes glistened. “I remember when you arrived. I thought you were another punk kid who got herself into trouble. But I learned your family life isn't the perfect picture it appeared to be. We would like if you could tell us your story.” I looked at him, unsure. “I won't argue with you this time.” His joking tone and tight smirk granted my soul a breath of relief.
I didn't know where to start, so I sat up in my chair. I looked around to see the curious patients in front of pondering adults.
When I opened my mouth my mind kicked into overdrive. I started with the day William came to live with us, how I was afraid he would be brutal like Mother. Everything poured from my lips, from the accidental connection William and I fought, how he had tried to leave me behind and run away without me, to Granny’s sweet treats tied to weed.
Expressions twisted and changed as I described my perfect life, and almost laughed at the judgments some people showed. I hadn’t cared then. I never would let anyone mar those perfect months.
I didn't want to condemn anyone so I claimed the brothers had beat me, without describing them, and when William came home they fled in fear. My instinct to protect Dizzy, Reese, and William was still strong.
I explained Granny was the one to patch me up. I had to tell them about the second robbery. I didn't fear repercussions for shooting the men. The single lie I told was that William paid a stranger to help drive us.
There wasn't a dry eye in the room as I described the anguish I felt in our last moments, as the police broke down the door, but my story didn't end there. I kept the history of my pregnancy short. The raw, serrated edges of pain almost silenced my voice, but I felt a small release as I told the room about my painful, lonely, terrifying labor.
I described Hugh in perfect detail. I saw the happy longing in some people, the personal memories in others, and an understanding of the feeling of completion on most of the older group around us.
As they listened to the words my mother had flung at me, the inhumanity and malice my own mother had shown me, I witnessed their confusion and disgust.
I bit back a sob as I described Hugh being ripped from my arms and how he had cried out for me. I wasn't able to comfort him.
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