I checked on Elizabeth again after my shift last night, but she was sleeping. I watched her sleep. I read a magazine. I held the baby.
Then I went home and dreamed of birthday parties and vacations to Disney World. Anniversary trips to Paris. Warm family fires on cold nights.
For years—as far back as I can remember—I’ve only dreamed about one thing: medicine. Going to a good college. Scoring high on the MCAT. Getting into a top med school. Matching at a desirable hospital. Running the ER. Opening my own clinic.
I still have those dreams, only now, they include having someone to go home to. Two someones.
Today, as I make my way to work with a rather large basket in my hands, I’m taking a rare ride on the subway.
“My, what an interesting bouquet of . . . Jell-O?” a woman standing next to me asks.
I smile and offer her my standard line. “Just doing some research.”
“Oh,” she says, nodding as if she understands.
I had to stop at four grocers last night on my way home to get everything I needed. Who knew there were so many flavors we haven’t tried.
I drop the basket off in Elizabeth’s room before rounds. It’s early. I was hoping to sneak in and out without waking her. But when I get there, she’s not in her bed and the bassinet is gone.
I hear the toilet flush and a minute later, she emerges from the bathroom looking refreshed. Glowing even.
“Oh, hi,” she says, smiling.
“Wow,” I say, staring at her.
She looks down and fixes her robe to make sure everything is covered. “Wow, what?”
“You look incredible,” I say, putting the basket on her side table. “I expected exhausted, drained, emotional. But you look great.”
“Thanks. They kept the baby in the nursery all night, only bringing her to me when she needed to eat. It really helped me get some sleep.”
She slowly makes her way back to bed, slightly hunched over with her hands low on her belly as if to hold it in place. I rush over to help her, but she puts out her hand to stop me.
“No. I can do it,” she says.
“Elizabeth,” I admonish her.
“Kyle, I need to be able to do this on my own. Please let me.”
“You don’t have to, you know. Do it on your own.”
Her eyes close briefly as she makes it to the bed and slowly sits herself down. I can tell she’s struggling to lift her legs up and swing them onto the bed. I don’t care what she says, I’m helping.
I walk over and help her with her legs. Then I go wash my hands and put gloves on.
“As long as I’m here, I’ll check your incision.”
I lay her back and pull up the sheet so that when I lift her nightgown, her panties remain covered. I open up the belly binder she’s wearing and remove the gauze over her incision. “It looks good,” I tell her, covering it with new gauze. “The stitches will come out in ten days.”
“How long do I have to wear this binder thing?” she asks, as I pull it back around her and fasten the Velcro.
“That’s up to you. It’s really about your comfort. Most women say they feel like their insides will fall out if they don’t wear it for at least a week. After that, your skin and your muscles start to tighten up again.”
I raise the head of her bed and then toss my gloves in the trash.
“It’s true,” she says. “I feel like I’ve been eviscerated.”
She nods to the basket, smiling. “Is that for me?”
I pick it up and put it on the bed. “Unless junior has acquired the ability to eat solid food, I’m going with yes.”
“Junior?” she says with raised brows.
“Well, you haven’t told me her name yet.”
“She doesn’t have one. I thought I’d live with her for a few days and see what she looks like.”
I laugh. “You think she’ll look like a name? As in, she’ll make a face and you’ll think ‘oh, yeah, she’s a Monica,’ or she’ll snore in her sleep and you’ll think ‘wow, she’s definitely a Lisa’.”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes at me. “I just don’t want to screw it up,” she says. “A name is with you for life. I have to make sure she won’t be made fun of at school. Or that her initials don’t spell something outrageous. Or that I don’t name her something so girly that she won’t be taken seriously as the first explorer on Mars.”
I bite my tongue to keep from laughing again. “First explorer on Mars, eh?”
She shrugs. “It could happen.”
“You’re right, it could. And names are important,” I say. “Just please be sure to Google it to make sure you don’t name her after a porn star or a serial killer.”
Elizabeth laughs, and then winces as she puts a hand on her tender belly. “I promise I’ll do that before making a decision.”
“She’s a beautiful baby. She deserves a beautiful name. Like yours—your name is beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she says sadly, as if she doesn’t agree.
She rifles through all the cups of Jell-O I brought her. “Someone wants to play a game,” she says, smiling.
“Did you know there are nineteen flavors of Jell-O?” I ask. “That’s thirteen flavors we haven’t tried.”
“That’s a lot of ‘Never have I evers’,” she says.
“Well, I have a lot of questions.”
She looks out the window sadly, taking a deep breath. Then she looks down at her tattoo. The tattoo she didn’t bother to cover up again.
“The bracelet is too hard,” she says, when she sees me looking at her wrist. “It would hurt the baby’s head when I hold her.”
“Good call,” I say, staring at some bastard’s scripted name on her wrist, hating him with everything inside me even though I’ve never met the man.
She covers the tattoo with her other hand. “I’m not with him,” she says. “I’ll never be with him again. But I’m not ready to talk about him. Please just give me time.”
I pick up one of the Jell-O containers and read the expiration date. “Looks like we have about three months.”
She sighs with relief.
I, on the other hand, am kicking myself for not pushing a little harder. I promised myself I was going to ask for answers. But maybe when her child isn’t even a day old yet is too soon.
A nurse wheels the baby in. “This little one is hungry,” she says.
“My cue to leave,” I say. “I’ll check on you later, Elizabeth.”
“Egg rolls!” she calls out after me.
I turn back around and cock my head at her in question.
“It’s Meatloaf night.” She scrunches her nose in disgust. “I’d kill for some Sal’s.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Ms. Smith?”
The nurse chuckles as she picks up the baby from the bassinet.
Elizabeth shrugs as her pinky finger finds its way to her mouth.
I leave her room with a huge damn smile on my face.