Authors: Michelle Huneven
A mistrust and dislike of the hospital staff gave Libby a reckless buoyancy. “Somebody tell that nurse to get a better peroxide job,” she said. She referred to her doctor as Big Head, with variations. “Where is Big Head, anyway? Tell him to finish his Cheerios already and get his ass down here. I can’t wait all day.” Passing by the nursing station, she said, “Tell Cabeza Grande to load up that epidural.”
“
Oooohh
,” said the nurse with the bad hair. “Somebody’s in transition.” She herded everyone into the birthing room and a different doctor came in and measured Libby. Big Head was allegedly on his way.
Once Libby’s legs were up in the stirrups, Lewis got that fizzy feeling in hands and lips. He strayed to the periphery of the action, gave a good long look at the painting of those building blocks. After some time, the doctor said, “Okay, go ahead, push.
Push.
… Yes, yes. Beautiful. … That’s great—you’re doing great.” Lewis lasted for about two pushes. Seeing Libby’s entire body constricted in pain, hearing her whimpers and rough groaning, was more than he could take. Frankly, the whole thing was a tad too gynecological for him. Looking at those peachy walls, he had a wild urge to find someone,
anyone, who could just stop the whole process. Then the gray linoleum floor slid upwards in a slick, waxy wave.
“One’s going down,” someone said, and two attendants grabbed Lewis’s arms before he hit the floor.
“Let’s find you a chair,” one attendant said. “You’re pale as a ghost.” He led Lewis out of the room. “We don’t need people passing out in there.”
Lewis was too busy not throwing up to argue. In the waiting room across the hall, the walls were mercifully yellow. The attendant brought him a paper cup of water and instructed him to lower his head below his heart until he felt better. Lewis hung his head between his knees. By then, it was close to noon.
“Hello? Are you okay?” A tall woman with brown hair and brown eyes was looking down at him. White blouse. Cotton flowered skirt. Hose and sensible shoes. Hospital ID card on her shirt pocket. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and was pretty in an appealing, midwestern way: big-breasted and buttoned-up.
“Just catching my breath,” Lewis said. “Got a little intense in there.” He waved toward the birthing room.
“You with María Mendoza?”
“No, no—Libby Ray.”
“Oh, so this is your first?”
“The first birth I’ve seen, yeah,” he said.
“I saw my first one yesterday,” she said. “Of course, I gave birth sixteen years ago, so there were no real surprises. Still, it’s unbelievably moving. And, of course, I also knew it would be over soon. It will be over for you too—before you know it.”
Lewis looked at her more closely. “Are you a doctor?”
“No, a chaplain. A student chaplain. I’m in seminary, and I have to do this clinical-pastoral internship before I can be ordained. This is my second day. I have no idea what I’m doing. They tell you to be a presence, to just sit there and listen.” She caught herself, then laughed. “And here I am blabbing away.”
“That’s okay. I don’t have anything to say. I almost passed out. I’m still a little shaky.” The woman’s badge did, in fact, say “Clergy.” Lewis held up a vibrating hand. “I mean, it’s educational, but God—so much pain. I’m never going to complain about my mother again. Makes me queasy just to think about it.” Lewis put his head back
down between his knees, speaking up at her sideways. “It’s funny. Some of my friends say I should be a minister. The only problem is, I don’t have a religion. I mean, I have spiritual leanings, and I meditate, but I don’t believe in God. Major hitch.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I believe in
God
God,” she said. “I’m pretty much a Hindu myself.”
“Don’t you have to believe in God to be a minister?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” She laughed gaily. “At least nobody’s made me sign any loyalty oath.”
Her name was Linda. She was a Unitarian, she said, and practiced Hindu chanting meditation for serenity, Buddhist breathing meditation for insight.
Lewis heard thudding and sprang to his feet. He made it into the hall and saw a blond-haired doctor sprint past and push through the clot of people standing in Libby’s doorway. “Oh!” Lewis said. “Something’s going on.” His head buzzed. He didn’t know what to do.
“Want me to go see?” asked Linda.
“Please.”
Alone, Lewis took a deep breath.
God,
he thought,
or whatever, don’t let anything happen to Libby and that baby now.
He limped over to the waiting room’s window, steadied himself against the sill. Outside, a roof was the color of cigarette ashes, with pink vents and large aluminum air-conditioner cowlings. Farther off, the tinder-dry hills were the color of lions. The sky was milky, the glare intense. Libby’s pain was going to be over soon, Lewis told himself, no matter what.
Linda reappeared almost immediately, hair flying, eyes ablaze, skirt swishing with her sudden turn at the door. “Hey!” She grabbed Lewis by the hand. “Hurry up! Come meet your beautiful baby girl!”