Chapter 24
Well, the baby is breech now,” the doctor said, touching my belly during our thirty-eight-week appointment.
“What does that mean?” Was the baby safe? The doctor continued to touch different parts of my belly with both hands, putting slight pressure near my ribs. Speak already.
“His head was down, but now he flipped.” His hands moved to my lower belly again. “This right here is his bottom. His head is up by your heart.”
Peter rubbed his forehead. “Is that bad?”
“Not bad, but we might have to deliver him via C-section.”
“What about my birth plan and my doula? I have everything packed for labor.”
“Plans change.” The doctor patted my hand, his voice soothing.
My head turned away from the room and to the large window that faced the woods.
“We can try to rotate him manually, using pressure on the abdomen, but there are no guarantees.”
“Is it safe?” Peter’s voice was calm too, and I tried to let their tranquility wash over me.
“It’s not comfortable, but it’s safe. I would monitor the baby while attempting the external version, and if something were to go wrong, we would take Ana to surgery and deliver the baby that way.” He crossed his ankles in front of him. “Don’t worry. One way or another, you’ll have your baby in your arms soon.”
Don’t worry? Could I snap my fingers and have the baby in my arms right now? The external version did seem worth a shot… “Does manual rotation usually work?”
“Two out of three attempts are successful.”
“Wanna try?” My eyes turned to Peter.
“I don’t know.” His weight shifted and a deep line formed between his brows.
I wanted to ask him to stop tapping his fingers on my arm but decided against it. He’d been tapping his fingers a lot lately—on the steering wheel, on the dinner table, on the pillow, and now on my arm. What had him so tense lately? He didn’t like it when I asked, so I didn’t.
“Let me give you guys some time to talk.” The doctor walked out the door and left us alone.
As his footsteps faded away, Peter’s gaze turned to the beach picture on the wall in front of him. Was he not comfortable with the—what was it called? External version?
“Ana, what do you think about keeping this simple and scheduling a C-section?”
“Simple?” Did Peter have a clue as to what a C-section entailed?
“Sorry. You know what I mean.”
No, I wasn’t sure. “But the manual rotation sounds safe—and simple. Why not try it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, Peter. Let’s give it a shot. Hmm?”
He stopped tapping on my arm and folded his hands, elbows on his knees, head down. But then he started tapping his feet.
“Please stop tapping.”
He nodded without looking at me, and I suspected he would be in one of his moods for the rest of the day, regardless of what we decided to do for the baby.
Early in the summer he’d started having noticeable mood swings. I used to tease him saying, “It must be that time of the month again.” But after a while, those comments made him even sourer, so I learned to ignore the behavior. God, please help us make a good decision—a wise one, like I read a while back. Was it Solomon? I know I haven’t prayed or read much lately, and I still think things that happen to me are not fair sometimes, but I need You. Please help us.
Did I even know anyone who’d had a C-section? I knew they were common, but how about my birth plan? Surgery wasn’t part of it.
Plans change. Yep, the doctor was right.
“Fine, let’s try.” Peter rose to his feet and squared his shoulders.
“Oh, good!” Yes! Thank you, God. I reached for Peter’s hands, and his lips touched my forehead as the doctor walked in.
We scheduled the external cephalic version for the following Monday, three days away, and we went home to enjoy what could be our last weekend without a baby in arms.
After a quiet dinner, I stood by the nursery window and followed a red-tailed hawk as it flip-flip-flip-glided near the wood line. Our sequoias had been growing well for almost a year and were taller than Peter now.
“Sorry I’ve been a bit of a grump.” He walked into the nursery.
“I’ve been grumpy too. I’m sorry.”
“You’re almost nine months pregnant, and you’ve been carrying a big baby inside of you all summer. You’re supposed to be grumpy.” He pulled the string of the mobile, sending its four silver angels flying in circles over the empty crib. “Let’s dance.”
My hand reached for his, and as we swayed to the tune of “When You Wish Upon a Star,” my eyes turned heavenward to the first stars of the pre-dusk sky over the lake. Everything would be all right. Gabriel was almost here.
I spent the weekend trying to imagine myself as a mom and reading the C-section chapters of the two birth books we owned, just in case. Would I be a good mom? Will I, Gabriel? Wrapping my arms around my belly, I realized that he was in the right position to be held already—head up and by my heart.
Peter was quieter than usual and went out on long walks both Saturday and Sunday, but by Monday he seemed nervous and fidgety again. When we got to our appointment, his agitation became worse.
A nurse showed up with an ultrasound machine, and the doctor walked in right behind her. “We’ll take a quick look inside and make sure there’ve been no changes since Friday, and then we’ll get you upstairs for the external version.”
Peter held my hand as the doctor applied warm gel to my belly and studied its contents. He added more gel. “Hmm.”
“Is everything okay?” Peter squeezed my hand.
“Yes, but we’ll not be able to proceed as planned.” He stopped the exam. “On Friday your amniotic fluid was fine, but today it isn’t.”
“What do we do now?” My heart was beating so loud I wondered if they could hear the sound through my chest. My mouth dried up and I was suddenly dizzy.
“We go to labor and delivery and prep you for a C-section.”
“Today? Now?” Couldn’t we wait for me to reach forty weeks later in the month?
“Right now—we need to deliver this baby. Your fluid is dangerously low. We caught the problem just in time. If you hadn’t had this appointment today, there’s no telling what could have happened.” He turned to Peter. “Are you ready to be a daddy?”
He beamed and my eyes filled up with hot tears. I’m going to be a mom. Today. Wasn’t I supposed to be afraid? I was about to go into what’s considered a major surgery. I’m going to be a mom. Today.
Four hours later Gabriel was born with big brown eyes and a head full of honey-colored hair.
Gabriel was exactly six weeks old when I took him to Columbus to visit the company.
Of course I wanted people to meet him, but that was not the only reason we went. There was something I needed to do.
Amid the oohs and aahs from the group that surrounded us when we walked in, I saw Lorie walk past us. I had to find a way of talking to her in private.
“We have a second principal now,” Brian said. “Young girl. She’s only sixteen.”
“I met her, right? Soloist in Les Sylphides?”
“Yeah. That’s right. Last year’s fall program. We’re staging Giselle for her next spring. Lorie will be Myrtha.”
I giggled but felt sad for Lorie at the same time. Myrtha is a great role. She’s the queen of the betrayed spirits who rise from their graves at night to seek revenge upon men. But once you are Giselle, you want to be Giselle always. Had Lorie’s career already peaked?
“We didn’t have a chance to talk much after your farewell.” Brian tickled Gabriel. “That was a great piece that you and Claus put together. If you ever feel like choreographing, let me know. We can see what you can come up with on your own.”
“Thanks, Brian, but I’ve got my hands full in Pine Mountain.” I took a deep breath and looked around the place that had been my second home. “I’m doing well with my new life, and I even found a school in LaGrange. I’ve been dancing on and off, mostly off, since the summer. But I’ll be going back in a couple of weeks.”
“Well, I’m glad everything is working out for you. Just remember our doors are open.” He put his arms around me, then took a step back as soon as his belly touched mine.
Touching my little post-baby pouch, I made an exaggerated embarrassed face.
Brian shook his head, and we giggled. “All right. Go home, Mom.”
After I do one more thing. I waited for Lorie outside.
She walked out of the company building and froze when she saw me standing by a parking meter, staring at her.
I reached for the diaper bag under the stroller, found her book behind the changing pad, and lifted it toward her.
She smiled at the sight of the pink and purple cover and approached me.
The tearstain was still there, the one from the tears I’d cried when I told God I didn’t know how to make myself happy. Had Lorie figured out how to be happy? Had she snapped out of whatever had taken a hold of her?
She took her Bible and shook her head heavenward as her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she said, looking at me. “I thought you were still mad at me and were going to slap me or something—mommy hormones. You never know.” She started laughing.
I shook my head and laughed too. She seemed to be in good spirits— especially for someone who was now sharing the top spot in the company.
Lorie bobbed her head in the direction of the RiverCenter. “I’ve got to go. It was nice seeing you.” She hugged her book with both arms, looking like a schoolgirl and reminding me of the Lorie I’d first met—the one who was my friend.
“It was nice seeing you too.” Pieces of that “all things together for good” verse I’d first read in Mallorca popped into my mind unannounced. Romans… Lorie waved and turned around.
“Cute baby,” I heard her say.
“Thanks.” Did all things work together for good? I watched her walk away. Her steps were quick and light, and soon a handsome blond kissed her and put his arm around her shoulders. In his hand, a violin case. It was him—the European guy from the symphony—the one she’d been dating before Romeo and Juliet. Good for her.
She rested her head on his shoulder and slowed down.
Maybe everything did work together for good.
On the ride home, I heard Massenet’s “Méditation” from “Thaïs” on NPR, and with each lingering note, I realized I was happy, and with that realization, came fear.
Had I figured out how to make myself happy, at last?
Had God decided to help me even though I was not doing anything to warrant his favor? Or was I about to lose something? Or everything?
The thought made breathing difficult, and I swallowed hard.
But then I remembered something Brian had said when we were working on pirouettes the day after the last performance of Romeo and Juliet.
“Stay up!” he’d said. “Don’t worry about the landing. You will land eventually. Gravity will take care of that. I promise you. Worry about staying up there in relevé! It’s a beautiful place to be.”