The Language Of Sisters Part 19

Baby, I heard again, more insistently. I moved my sister back to her left side and rose from the bed. "I'm going to get Mom, okay, Jen? Everything will be fine, I promise." I rushed down the hall and through the kitchen, then rapped sharply on my mother's bedroom door. Moonlight flooded the hallway when she appeared. She squinted at me, pulling her earplugs out and setting them on the dresser.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure, but she's acting like something's really bothering her. I don't think she's in labor, but the baby doesn't seem to be kicking."

Mom grabbed her robe to accompany me back to Jenny's room. "Didn't Dr. Fisher say it's pretty typical for the baby's movement to decrease toward the end of pregnancy? I think I remember that happening with both of you."

"Yes," I said, a bit impatiently, "but there's something else. I just feel it."

When we returned to her room, Jenny was still groaning, her fists in her mouth, her eyes wild. Mom leaned over Jenny and checked her belly as I had. "There," she said, sounding satisfied. "I felt a kick. I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just generally uncomfortable. Things get pretty tight in there toward the end." She pushed Jenny's hair back from her forehead and kissed her there. "It's all right, honey."

BABY! veritably shouted within me; my heart bounced with the impact. "She's not just uncomfortable. Something's wrong. I think we should take her to the hospital."

Mom absorbed the look on my face, then nodded. "Okay. But why don't you call first and let her doctor know we're coming? I'll get dressed."

I went into the hallway and dialed Dr. Fisher's paging service. "What's the nature of your emergency?" the operator inquired. "Is the patient in labor?"

"I don't think so." I briefly explained Jenny's special circ.u.mstances and my fear that something might be wrong.

"I'll have an obstetrical nurse give you a call, all right?"

"I'd rather you just called Dr. Fisher, if you don't mind. She's the only one familiar with my sister's case."

The operator paused briefly before responding. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but we don't like to bother the doctor unless her patient is showing clear signs of labor, and it doesn't sound like your sister is."

I kicked the wall impetuously. "How would you know?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, how would you know? Exactly how many handicapped women have you seen showing signs of labor?" My molars ground against each other, the gritty sound of sandpaper between my ears.

The operator was silent again. "Ma'am, I'm just following procedure here. In cases like these, we call the nurse first."

"And I ask you again, how many cases 'like these' have you been involved with?" I sighed angrily. "Look. I know my sister. Something is wrong, so I don't have time to play this little game with you. I am taking her to Swedish Hospital, and I'll expect you to page Dr. Fisher and let her know we'd like to meet her there. Thank you." I slammed down the phone just as my mother emerged from the kitchen, dressed in dark slacks and a denim b.u.t.ton-down shirt.

She looked at me inquiringly. "Is there a problem?"

"No," I said, moving into my room to throw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Mom stood in the doorway, watching me. "Unless, of course, you call ignorance a problem."

She looked confused, and I shook my head. "Never mind. It's not important." I slipped a pair of tennis shoes over my bare feet. "Let's go."

"Shouldn't we get Jenny dressed?"

"They'll just undress her there anyway."

The drive would have been silent if it hadn't been for Jenny's low, keening cries. Fear bounced around in her eyes like a rubber ball as we entered through the sliding doors of the brightly lit emergency room. The waiting room was deserted; the receptionist sat with her feet up on the desk, linking paper clips into a chain, her gaze flickering intermittently to the blinking television across the room.

"Excuse me," I said to her. "My sister's almost nine months pregnant, and I think something might be wrong with the baby."

She handed me a clipboard with a stack of paperwork without even glancing up. "Fill these out, please. Make sure you sign each page."

I dropped the clipboard noisily on her desk. "She's preregistered."

The girl finally looked up and saw my sister standing there, pregnant and drooling, my mother's arm draped around her shoulders like a protective cape. "It's her?"

"Yes!" I snapped. "Dr. Ellen Fisher is meeting us in Labor and Delivery, so we need to be admitted. Now."

The receptionist, who wasn't wearing a name tag, dropped her eyes to the desk, awkwardly shuffling some papers. "Uh, is she in pain?"

"You know what? I don't need to be interviewed right now. Just admit her and get someone down here from Labor and Delivery."

The girl looked offended. "Well, I need to get the answers to this questionnaire before I can let you-"

"Arrrwgh!" Jenny screeched, slamming her hands together and into her mouth, her eyes flashing in warning. The girl jumped at the noise, looked hastily at me, then picked up the phone.

"Um, this is Sh.e.l.ley in the ER. I need an admit clerk to come bring a patient to Labor and Delivery. Right away, please." She paused, tapped her long nails on the desk, then turned her head and ineffectually lowered her voice to a whisper. "She's r.e.t.a.r.ded."

"She's not the only one," I remarked loudly, and my mother smirked, still trying to calm Jenny.

Baby, baby, baby. The word pounded in my brain like a jack-hammer. When the clerk arrived, we settled Jenny into a wheelchair and headed up to Labor and Delivery. I clutched Jenny's hand, unsure whether it was she or I who needed the gesture more. A nurse led us to a small room, where we arranged Jenny on the examining table. Her muscles were tense, her eyes still wild.

Baby.

"What seems to be the problem with her?" the nurse inquired as she took Jenny's blood pressure, not even looking at my sister.

"She's been very agitated," my mother replied. "Which is very unusual for her. We just want to make sure everything is okay."

"I haven't looked at her chart-how far along is she?" The nurse spoke the words as if they left a bad taste in her mouth, looking at my mother and me as if we were lepers for allowing a handicapped girl to get pregnant.

"Just over thirty-seven weeks," I said, fuming. "Why haven't you looked at her chart?"

"We don't usually until we've spoken to the patient." She turned Jenny a bit roughly in order to wrap a monitoring belt around my sister's belly.

"Well, if you had read her chart, you'd see that this pregnancy was a result of rape, Doris," I said nastily as I located her name on the hospital identification she wore around her neck. "I'd appreciate it if you could increase your level of sensitivity a bit when dealing with her. Or is that a problem for you?"

Doris flushed, her lips pursed into a scowl. "I provide the same level of sensitivity for every patient."

"Well, if that's true, then I feel sorry for your other patients." I stood with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot angrily on the shiny linoleum.

She stared at me, her eyes flashing. "I'll just go get the chart."

"Why don't you do that?" I agreed. She left the room quickly. "G.o.d!" I exclaimed. "Some people!"

"I know," my mother soothed. "They talk like Jenny's a piece of furniture. I never quite worked up the courage to stand up for her." She rubbed my upper arm. "You're a strong woman, Nicole. I'm proud of you." The compliment sounded peculiar coming from my mother's mouth; I still expected her to find fault with me.

"Uhhwaa," Jenny moaned, turning her head back and forth on the crunchy-sounding pillow. Her dark hair was a mess; I hadn't thought to bring a brush. I went to stand by her, my hand on her cheek, until the nurse returned with Dr. Fisher right behind her.

"h.e.l.lo," Dr. Fisher said, addressing Jenny as she checked the readout sheets from the monitor. She wore mint green scrubs and still managed to look regal. "What's going on with you?"

"She's been very agitated," my mother repeated. "Nicole thinks something might be wrong with the baby."

Dr. Fisher looked at me. "Why's that?"

"Her movement seems down and Jenny is bothered by it, I think. I just want her checked out, if that's okay. Just to be safe." I suddenly noticed the room was cold and shivered violently.

"Of course," Dr. Fisher agreed. "I'll get the ultrasound in here so we can take a peek, all right?" She asked Doris to bring in the machine, and after the nurse had left, she smiled conspiratorially. "So, I hear the sister of the pregnant girl in this room is a little edgy."

"Let me guess. Doris?"

"And the operator at the paging service."

"They're both idiots. Totally insensitive to Jenny's needs ... "

Dr. Fisher stopped me with her hand raised in front of her. "I know. I was just teasing you. You be sure to let me know if any of the staff gives you a problem. I inform them whenever I have a special case, but there's only so much a warning can do."

Jenny was groaning and watching us talk, her hands pressed between her teeth. When Dr. Fisher rolled the wand over her belly, Jenny moaned louder.

"Does everything look okay?" I asked, my breath a stone caught in the bottom of my lungs.

"Just a minute, please." Dr. Fisher spent another minute or two watching the blurry image on the screen, checked the monitor's readout sheets again, then turned to look at Mom and me as she picked up the phone next to the bed. "Hi, this is Dr. Fisher. I need an OR set up for an urgent delivery. Who's on the nursing team tonight?" She paused. "That should be fine. Thanks."

"What's going on?" I asked, my heart rattling against my rib cage.

"The baby's heart rate is very low. So is Jenny's amniotic fluid."

"What does that mean?" Mom asked, coming forward from her seat to hold Jenny's hand.

"It means the baby isn't getting enough nutrition or fluids from the placenta. You were right to bring her in. Next week's appointment might have been too late."

"Dear G.o.d," my mother murmured.

"So you have to operate?" I asked.

"I don't think the baby would tolerate a natural labor. Of course a v.a.g.i.n.al birth is always the ideal option for mother and baby, and we could try to induce Jenny and monitor the baby's response to the stress, but honestly, I'm afraid it might be too much for both of them." She rubbed my sister's arm, then continued. "As it is, I'm concerned about the baby's lungs being ready to work on their own. She's going to be fairly small, so there'll be a pediatric team in the operating room, ready and waiting. We can do a spinal so you both can be in there with her. It's probably going to be a bit scary for her, not being able to feel anything from the chest down, so I'll need you to try and soothe her as much as you can."

"I don't know if I should be in the room," Mom said hesitantly.

I whipped around to face her. "Why not?" I couldn't believe she was backing out on me now, when I needed her most.

"I'm not very good with blood. I'm afraid I'd pa.s.s out and cause an uproar." She reached out for my hand over Jenny's body on the exam table. "It's your baby anyway, Nicole. Yours and Jenny's. It should be the two of you." She sounded sincere; maybe she was right that it should be just Jenny and me bringing this baby into the world.

Dr. Fisher turned toward the door. "Whatever you decide is fine. I'll see you in a few minutes." Uncharacteristically, she winked at me before exiting. "Don't worry about Doris. She asked to be a.s.signed to another patient. Surprise, surprise."

Mom squeezed Jenny's hand and touched her daughter's belly. "Did you hear that, Jenny-girl? The baby is coming very soon. Your sister is going to be with you and everything is going to be just fine."

I took a couple of deep breaths to calm the chattering in my chest, then dropped into a chair. "I can't believe this is happening. I'm so scared, Mom." My eyes filled when I looked at her. I never thought I'd need my mother's support so much. "What was I thinking? How am I going to do this?"

"You'll be fine. Look at all you've done already for your sister." She smiled wistfully. "Every woman in the world who has ever expected a baby has been terrified of it at some moment. Then she holds that little baby in her arms. Suddenly she realizes her purpose in life. You two were mine. This baby will be yours."

I sniffled, swallowed the terror in my throat, and tried to return her smile. "Thanks," I exhaled. "I should call Nova. She'll want to be here."

"I'll take care of that, okay? I'll have Nova bring all the gear you'll need and Jenny's overnight bag. You just focus on helping your sister through this." As she spoke, a different nurse entered the room, along with two strong-looking aides. The nurse smiled at us briefly, then walked over to Jenny's side.

"Hi, Jenny. I'm Emily. I'll be in the operating room with you, okay?" She was a slight thing, dark-haired and pale against her pink scrubs. She looked at my mother and me. "Are you both coming with us?"

"Just me," I said, standing up and stepping forward. "I'm her sister."

"Okay, Jenny, I have to start an IV for you so we can give you medicine if we need to. You're going to feel a small p.r.i.c.k in your hand, then a little pressure. You just let me know if I hurt you."

Jenny watched Emily with wide eyes as the nurse completed the procedure but didn't make a peep even as the needle poked through her skin. The two aides made sure she was secure on the bed before they maneuvered it through the door and down the hallway. Mom came with us to the OR's entrance, then hugged me after I slipped on a crinkling pair of scrubs. "You'll do fine, honey. I'll be right here waiting. For all three of you."

"Okay." I gulped. I followed my sister into the room, where, if all went well, I was about to become a mother.

The morning sun radiated through the hospital room's drapes, casting oddly shaped shadows across the slippery floor. A gift from Nova-a white porcelain vase spilling over with yellow roses, white freesia, and burnt orange tiger lilies-sat on the windowsill across the room from where I gently swayed in a rocking chair, a new life resting in my arms. She was a wisp of a being-four pounds, six ounces-but otherwise, every part of her was perfect and in the right place. Ten fingers and ten toes and intensely blue, black-fringed eyes: the ghost image of my angel sister. She was eighteen inches long, but because Jenny's placenta had stopped supplying adequate nutrition, the baby was born with virtually no body fat. Her little rear end was flat as a board, her silk-soft skin, red and wrinkled. She resembled a crone from a fairy tale, a wise old woman entering the world under the guise of a child. On the first day of her life, I wondered already what lessons she would teach me.

Both she and Jenny had weathered her birth well; it had been I who wept in fear as the surgery progressed. Jenny had wriggled a bit as the spinal numbed her, but I spoke to her constantly, both in my heart and out loud, so that others would hear my telling her what was happening: that the baby she had carried was being born; that all her discomfort was going to disappear; and mostly, that I thanked her from the bottom of my soul for giving me this gift. When Dr. Fisher held the baby up for us to see and I heard her wail with vivid resistance at being pulled from the safe, wet warmth of Jenny's womb, my frightened tears melted into joy. The pediatric team checked her vital signs thoroughly before declaring her a healthy, strong little fighter and handing her, warmly swaddled and searching for a meal, to me. Her mother.

"Did you see what you did, Jenny?" I whispered as I rocked. "She's amazing. Thank you so much."

My sister lay in the hospital bed, sound asleep. They had placed us in a mother-baby suite, where Jenny would stay until she had healed enough to be transferred to La Conner. Ms. Navarro had rea.s.sured me that Jenny's place was secured and they were looking forward to her arrival.

I still ached with guilt every time I thought of leaving her there; I had become so accustomed to caring for my sister, seeing her every day, hoping for some sign, some blessing that might redeem me. Had I done enough? In coming home, had I made up for the years I had deserted her? I wasn't sure.

I considered it as I sat there cradling this fragile infant in my arms. A soft rap on the door interrupted my thoughts. "Come in," I said quietly.

Nova pushed the door open and came to sit next to me.

"Where are the kids?" I inquired.

"With my mom and dad. They all send their love." She smiled as she slid a finger over the baby's face. "How're you two doing?"

"We're great," I whispered. "She's glorious. Do you see how perfect she is?"

"Yes. She's a beautiful baby. Absolutely gorgeous." My friend turned her blond head to Jenny. "How's Jen?"

"She seems fine. Dr. Fisher said the hysterectomy went well, but she's drugging her up pretty good to make sure she's comfortable. She hasn't been awake very much."

"So your mother decided to go through with the hysterectomy, huh?"

I nodded. "We both thought it would be best. Just in case, you know. So we wouldn't ever have to worry about this happening again. And so Jenny won't have to suffer through her periods anymore."

Nova tucked a stray curl behind her ear and moved her finger over the baby's face again. "She knows who you are."

I paused, looking down at the child in my arms, joy and fear and sadness rushing over me in one fluid motion. "G.o.d, this is amazing. I just want to savor it."

"I know exactly what you mean. I'll get going in a minute."