21st Century
At some point in what is to become a mostly-blurry memory of pain, brightly-lit rooms and the antiseptic scent of the hospital, I am moved to a different room. I refuse the epidural because the anesthesiologist explains that it will numb my entire body from the waist down and some primitive instinct buried deep inside my lizard brain thinks I might be able to make a run for it when the baby is born.
I don't even notice when my father arrives, because I'm in another world by then, a world made of pain, pain and more pain. I'm only vaguely aware that I'm groaning and shrieking like a wounded cow, because every ounce of my consciousness is taken up with the task at hand.
"I feel like an animal," I gasp at one point, to a nurse who is kindly allowing me to crush her left hand. She half-smiles, half-winces down at me.
"Your baby will be here soon, Paige."
My eyes search the room as I give birth, finding my father's face at the last second. I push one more time when the doctor instructs me to do so, and then it feels like my heart is simultaneously exploding and being crushed as a slippery, tiny, naked creature is placed on my chest. I look down, somehow not quite seeing, and then up again at the medical staff, at my dad.
"Is it –?" I ask, because it doesn't seem possible. A minute ago there were five people in the room. Now there are six. Now there are six?!
Again, I look down. This time, I see a face. A very small face, the eyes dark blue and fathomless.
"Oh my God," I breathe. "Oh my God. He looks just like –" I catch myself. Even at that moment, when I should be free to say and feel everything, I have to catch myself. "He's beautiful," I continue. "He's so beautiful."
It's not a lie. He – because the child is a boy – is beautiful. And he also, and I have to keep this part to myself, looks so much like his father it takes my breath away. I clutch the baby to my breast and sob for Eirik's absence. He should be here. I sob for happiness, too, because I feel happy. How could I not, holding my baby for the first time?
***
Half an hour later, my son and I are alone in a recovery room, his downy head nestled into my neck. Everything is quiet now, soft, dim. Nurses speak in whispers, the lights are turned down low. I'm besotted. I'm also not thinking.
A knock at the door.
"Paige?"
"Come in," I whisper, beckoning my dad into the room. "Look. Isn't he gorgeous? Look at his little hands!"
My dad struggles to maintain his composure when I pass the baby to him. "You're right," he agrees. "He's wonderful. Beautiful. They're not going to take him away from you, Paige."
A sliver of ice cuts through the blissful warmth of a new mom and her baby.
"How do you know?" I ask, my voice so soft my dad has to lean in close to catch it.
"I spoke to your friend Emma yesterday," he says. "She came to the house after visiting you. I didn't think she was making sense, but she was so persistent. I – I called a new lawyer, someone famous – she offered her services a month ago but I turned them down. And then I –"
"Dad?" I prompt, as my son snuffles in his grandfather's arms. "What?"
"I called the news," he replies after a long hesitation, eying me like he's afraid this is going to make me angry. Which it would have, weeks ago. Not now. Now I see that my father and I are both on exactly the same page – every single possible thing must be done to keep this baby with me – with us.
"Not the local news," he continues. "The national news. CNN. They wanted me to do an interview and I, uh – I agreed to it."
I look up and say one word: "Good."
"They're not taking him away from you," my father repeats and there is something steely in his voice that I don't remember ever hearing before. "It's not right, I won't let it happen."
We sit, staring down at our new family member and making plans to keep him with us, for I don't know how long – hours. The new lawyer has been in touch, she thinks my dad should do the CNN interview. I don't want to be dealing with any of it. All I want to do right now is drown in the softness of my baby's skin, the way his expression, when he turns his head a certain way, is exactly the same as one I used to see on his father's face all the time.
But that isn't how things turn out. When Dr. Lawson barges into the room that evening, after a small commotion and some angry voices I can't quite make out in the hallway outside, I'm expecting it. All the same, my entire body tightens with anxiety and my arms itch to shove her away from the baby as he sleeps in my arms.
The doctor runs a hand over her hair and gives me the fakest smile I've ever seen. You'd think a psychiatrist would learn how to fake goodwill a little better.
"Paige!" She says brightly. "How are you doing? I hear the birth went well."
"You're not taking him," I reply calmly as my dad, who has fallen asleep in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, stirs awake.
Dr. Lawson ignores me and leans over, trying to get a look at the baby. I turn my body away.
"What are you doing here?" My father asks when he sees who it is. "Get out of here. My lawyer should have called the –"
"Mr. Renner," Dr. Lawson cuts him off. "Yes, your lawyer has been in touch with us. Don't worry, I'm not here to do anything nefarious."
She pronounces the word 'nefarious' like one would pronounce the word 'scary' to a small child – as if it's a joke. But it's not a joke, and her tone just infuriates me.
"Not here to do anything nefarious?!" I hiss. "You've been telling me for weeks that I'm not fit to care for a baby, that you're going to take him away from me!"
Dr. Lawson gives me the gently confused look you would give a crazy person who is ranting about nonsense. "Oh dear," she says, pretending to be concerned. "Paige, if you thought I meant I was going to take away your baby, I can assure you that was never the case. I'm just the psychiatrist, I can't just arbitrarily decide to take away a baby. Besides –"
"You know what I mean –"
"I'm as concerned for your son as you are, Paige," she continues, totally ignoring me. "I understand this is a very emotional time for you – all women are emotional during pregnancy and after giving birth. But I think if you take a step back and really think about this – about the situation you find yourself in at this point in your life, you might come to see that maybe I have a point."
Dr. Lawson's tone is totally different to anything I've ever heard from her before. She's trying to persuade me now, rather than straight-up accusing me of things. Instantly I know that the lawyer has contacted the hospital – and it sounds like she has had an effect, too.
I laugh bitterly. "I know you think I'm crazy," I say coldly. "But do you think I'm stupid, too? Do you think that any part of me buys anything you're selling, after all these weeks of you telling me I'm insane, a danger to myself and a danger to my baby?"
"Paige," the doctor responds, still using that same tone. I look at my dad, anger tightening into a red hot ball in my chest and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Mr. Renner," Dr. Lawson says, changing her focus. "There's no need to –"
My dad holds his hand up. No one says anything for a few seconds until my dad speaks to whoever has taken the call.
"She's here," he says, and I can tell, at once, that he is as close to violent rage as I am. "The fucking doctor! She's in the room right now! I need you to –" he pauses, listening. "Uh-huh. OK. OK. Two hours?! OK. Alright. Thank you. Bye."
He hangs up and looks right into Dr. Lawson's eyes. "You need to get out. Right now."
I watch as the faux-sincerity on the doctor's face curdles into anger. "Your daughter is not fit to care for a child," she sneers, not even looking at me. "She's a pathological liar, Mr. Renner, a borderline personality. Don't you ever wonder –"
"GET OUT!" My dad shouts. "NOW! Lady, I swear to God, if –"
A man in a suit and two worried looking nurses burst into the room.
"Sheila," the man says, stepping between Dr. Lawson – Sheila – and my dad. "I asked you not to come in here. Come with me, we can talk –"
"Don't touch me!" Dr. Lawson screeches, even though no one has touched her. "John, you're making a mistake. You're really going to cave in to some celebrity lawyer over this? This baby is in danger! You're going to have blood on your hands if –"
At that point, my dad loses it completely. He lunges at Dr. Lawson but the man in the suit and the two nurses hold him back.
"Call security!" The man yells at one nurse, and she disappears out of the room. Then he turns to my dad. "Mr. Renner! Sir! Calm down, please. I am John Allan, the head administrator of this hospital – no one is going to take your daughter's child away from her. Please. Sir, please calm down!"
And my father does calm down, as soon as he hears that no one is going to take the baby away. He looks John Allan in the eye. "You better not be lying. You better not just be saying that so –"
John Allan looks harried and pissed off, but it doesn't seem aimed at my dad. He shakes his head. "I'm not just saying it, sir. Your lawyer has been in touch with our legal team and we realize some mistakes might have been made in the course of your daughter's care –"
"Bullshit!"
Everybody in the room looks at the person who has just shouted 'bullshit' – Dr. Sheila Lawson.
"She's psychotic!" She yells, pointing at me as John Allan moves to escort her out of the room. "She's been here for weeks, John! Weeks and she still hasn't said a thing about what happened to her when she was 'kidnapped!' Everybody knows she made the whole thing up and now you want –"
"Out," the administrator replies, coldly. "Right fucking now, Sheila. OUT."
And then they're gone. The argument continues in the hallway, but the loud, angry voices fade as Dr. Lawson is led away, hopefully to the end of her career. I look at my father. He looks at me.
"Damn," he says. "I guess that lawyer meant it when she said she was going to put the fear of God into this hospital's legal team."
"So what does this mean?" I ask, still not truly willing to believe I'll be allowed to just walk out, not after everything. "I – we – can just go?"