“I’m in labor,” Dynah said, glancing at the kitchen clock when another contraction started. “The contractions are seven minutes apart.”
“I’ll notify the hospital you’re on your way.”
On her way? How could she get there? She’d have to take a taxi. Money. Oh, Lord. She didn’t have any money. She dialed Joe and then put the telephone down on the third ring. Why did she always think of Joe when a crisis came? What was she going to say? Drop everything, Joe, and come drive me to the hospital? He was an hour away, and he had his own life. It was time she got on with hers.
She moaned and began pacing nervously. She needed a shower. She needed to pack. She needed to calm down!
As she rinsed out her hair beneath the warm spray, the portable telephone rang on the sink counter. It had stopped by the time she finished rinsing off. Shutting off the water, she opened the glass door and reached for a beach towel with bright tropical fish designs. Bath towels weren’t big enough anymore.
The telephone rang again. Picking it up, she punched the button. “Hello?”
“Did you call me a while ago?”
Joe. Oh, thank You, Jesus. Thank You. Thank You! “Yes.”
“Three rings and you hang up? What gives?”
“I wanted to talk to you and then thought better of it.”
“Thought better of it?”
“Don’t be miffed. I just thought better of running to you with every little thing that happens.”
“You hear me complaining?”
“No, but . . .” She sighed.
“Why didn’t you pick up a minute ago?”
“I was wet.” Oh, Lord, it was starting again.
“Wet?”
“In the shower,” she said tersely.
There was a pause. “What little thing is happening?”
She gave a laugh. “Oh, nothing much.” The contraction built and intensified.
“Are you panting?”
“Hang on a minute, Joe.” She slapped her hand over the receiver and concentrated on her breathing. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord, oh, Lord . . .
“Dynah!” She heard him utter a short, foul word, and there was a thud.
She paced the bathroom, puffing. After a long moment, she let her breath out and lifted the receiver. “Sorry, Joe.”
“You’re in labor, aren’t you? What’re you doing home?”
“Calm down, Joe.” She giggled. She couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh at the ludicrous picture of her marching back and forth in the bathroom with a fish-covered beach towel around herself.
“Stop laughing and get to the hospital!”
“As soon as Mom gets home from shopping.”
“Shopping? Why is she shopping?”
“I think we needed groceries.” She laughed again. She couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe her mother was out buying baby booties and diapers. Seemed appropriate. Perfect timing.
“She doesn’t know, does she?”
She giggled. “Nope.”
He uttered a short, succinct word and hung up.
“Joe?” She stared at the receiver and then punched his number quickly, knowing if she didn’t, he’d be on his way out the door. “For pete’s sake!” One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . . “Pick it up! Pick it up!”
“Hang on. I’m on my way.”
“I’m not a baby, Joe!”
“No, you’re having one!” He slammed the receiver down.
He didn’t answer this time. Frustrated, Dynah held the phone in both hands and shook it, growling under her breath. She dressed and packed and carried her overnight case downstairs.
The back door from the garage opened, and her mother came in, arms loaded with groceries.
Hannah smiled. “Hi, honey. Have a nice walk?” She noticed the overnight case and stopped. Looking from it to Dynah’s face, she felt her body go cold. “Oh!” Hurrying into the kitchen, she dumped the bags onto the counter. “Two more bags to unload, and we’ll be on our way,” she said, rushing out to the car. “How long ago did it start?” she called back.
“Four hours.”
“Four hours? Oh, Lord! How far apart now?”
“Five minutes.”
“Lord . . . Lord . . . Lord . . . Lord . . .” Hannah raced past, dumping two more bags on the counter. A carton of eggs spilled out onto the floor. “Oh, blast!”
“I have to put this note on the front door for Joe,” Dynah said. “He’s on his way over. Unless he’s been stopped for a ticket.”
“Did you call your dad?”
Dynah blushed. Truth was, she hadn’t even thought of calling her father. “I’ll do it right now.”
“Never mind. I’ll call him later.” Hannah picked up the soggy carton of smashed eggs and dumped it into the sink. “Here. Give me the note for Joe. You go get in the car.”
Dynah watched her mother darting hither and yon, clearly getting more nervous by the minute. She was always testy when she was stressed. “Maybe I should drive.”
“Very funny. You can’t even fit behind the wheel.”
The hospital staff was ready with a wheelchair and admission papers. As she was rolled down the antiseptic corridor, the accompanying attendant asked questions and made notations on the form on her clipboard. Recent fluid and food intake? Onset of labor? Bleeding? Exposure to infectious disease? Progress and character of contractions?
As soon as she was in a room, undressed and in a hospital gown, her vital signs were checked, as were her eyes, ears, nose, throat, lymph nodes, and breasts.
“Things are moving right along,” the nurse said, glancing at her watch as another contraction started.
Dr. Wyatt entered the room smiling. “D-day,” he said, coming up alongside the bed. He saw by Dynah’s face that she was in the midst of a contraction. He glanced at the nurse.
“Four minutes apart. One-minute duration. Typical.”
He nodded. As Dynah relaxed, he leaned down and placed his stethoscope on her abdomen, listening carefully. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong and fast,” he said with a smile. Hannah moved closer, standing guard on the opposite side of the bed while he palpated the fundus and identified the fetal presenting part. The baby’s head was engaged in perfect position for normal birth. He gave the nurse instructions to start an IV infusion.
“You’re doing fine, Dynah. When the next contraction comes, I’m going to do a pelvic examination to determine cervical dilation and effacement. Try to relax. All right?”
Relax? Was he kidding?
When it was over, Jim removed his gloves and smiled down at her. “You’re about halfway there.”
Hannah looked noticeably relieved.
Jim lingered, talking with Dynah between contractions while observing her carefully. He cared about this baby with an intensity he hadn’t felt since his own children were born. Over the past few months, since Dynah had come to his home in Mill Valley, he had spent every spare minute boning up on obstetrical procedures and speaking with medical colleagues to whom he had referred pregnant patients in the past.
Two weeks ago, on Cynthia’s suggestion, he had spent a day in a birthing center. The relaxed atmosphere had been a startling contrast to this bustling hospital setting. One of the things he had noted was the constant reassuring and encouraging presence of the birth facilitator. He intended to play that role for Dynah. “Try to rest as much as you can,” he said, patting her arm.
Looking across the bed, he smiled at Hannah. “You’re about to become a grandmother.”
Hannah smiled back at him, though she felt far from happy about it. Under other circumstances, she would have rejoiced, but how could she when this child was the product of an act of violence upon her daughter? She brushed tendrils of hair back from Dynah’s face. “Would you like some water, honey?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really.”
Fine. What an innocuous word. She saw the uncertainty. Dynah didn’t know what to do. The day had come, and no decision had been made. She wanted to reassure
her and tell her she didn’t even have to lay eyes on the child if she didn’t want. She could make sure the baby was whisked away by a nurse. The attorney could see it was given to loving parents.
It could be taken care of so easily. So why this pain inside her? Why this ache in her breast?
She remembered the day she had given birth to Dynah. Oh, the joy she had felt. It was indescribable. Tears pricked and she swallowed convulsively. What would Dynah think if she started to blubber all over her?
Oh, God, help me get through this. Give me strength so I can give her strength.
But her insides were shaking like Jell-O. How strange that her voice should sound so calm in her own ears when everything inside her was crying out loud.
“Pant, honey. That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing great.” She panted with her daughter as another contraction built, stronger and quicker than the last. “Ride it out.”
Hour after hour passed as Dynah made a slow climb and then a sharper one through transition.
“It won’t be long now,” Jim said, removing another pair of gloves and depositing them in the wastebasket.
Dynah moaned. “Have you called Daddy yet?”
“I’ll do it as soon as—”
“Call him now.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“Now, Mom.”
Hannah saw Dynah wouldn’t relax until the chore was done. She hurried down the hallway and asked to use the telephone at the nurses’ station. Holding the receiver, she punched in his number and gave his secretary the message. She asked if everything was all right, and Hannah gave a hasty yes.
“Did you get him?” Dynah said when she came back in the room.
“He knows.”
Dynah looked at her, and Hannah forced a smile. She saw the sorrow creep into Dynah’s eyes and was ashamed to be the cause of it. How much pain would her stubbornness cost? But there was no time now for repentance. The steel railings were being pulled up and locked as the bed was being moved from the labor room to the delivery room.
“He’ll come, Dynah.” In all fairness, she knew Doug would have been here hours ago had she told him his daughter was in labor. He might not care a whit about the baby, but he loved Dynah more than his own life.
Dynah puffed soft, quick breaths as the contraction built and crested. She was making noise now, no quietly heroic ladylike silences. Tears came, along with a rising bubble of panic as the bed was wheeled into a brightly lit room. She couldn’t see her mother and asked for her.
“She’s putting on a sterile gown,” Jim said. “Try to relax.”
“I don’t think I can do this. . . .” As if she had any choice.
“You’re doing fine.”
Hannah heard the fear in her daughter’s voice and hurriedly pulled on the gown. “I’m right here, honey.”
“Eight centimeters,” Jim said. “It’ll be soon now, Dynah.”
Not soon enough, Dynah wanted to say as another contraction came. She moved her hands very lightly over her taut abdomen, trying to relax, trying to breathe, trying to be brave. Her heart was thumping wildly.
“Don’t push, Dynah,” Jim said.
Easy for him to say! Her body was doing it for her.
Everyone was in masks and paper gowns, even her mother. People were talking, whether to her or to one another, she didn’t know or care. Soft music was playing. She wanted to ask for something loud and fast but hadn’t the breath as another contraction came rolling over the last. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God . . .
I AM THE LORD, YOUR GOD, WHO TAKES HOLD OF YOUR RIGHT HAND. DO NOT BE AFRAID. I WILL HELP YOU. I HAVE DONE THIS SO THAT PEOPLE MAY SEE AND KNOW, MAY CONSIDER AND UNDERSTAND THAT THE HAND OF THE LORD HAS DONE THIS, THAT THE HOLY ONE OF ISRAEL HAS CREATED THIS CHILD.
“That’s it, honey. Pant. Remember what you know.”
I AM HE, BELOVED. I AM HE WHO WILL SUSTAIN YOU. I HAVE MADE YOU, AND I WILL CARRY YOU.
“It’s almost time, Dynah.”
Two nurses covered her with sterile drapes and painted her with antiseptic.
“Turn the lights down a little,” Jim said.
YOUR MAKER IS YOUR HUSBAND, THE LORD ALMIGHTY IS HIS NAME, THE HOLY ONE IS YOUR REDEEMER, THE GOD OF ALL THE EARTH.
“Everything’s going fine, honey.”
Dynah looked up and saw the fear in her mother’s eyes.
I WILL TURN THE DARKNESS INTO LIGHT BEFORE THEM AND MAKE THE ROUGH PLACES SMOOTH. THESE ARE THE THINGS I WILL DO, BELOVED. I WILL NOT FORSAKE YOU. I AM HE WHO BLOTS OUT TRANSGRESSIONS AND REMEMBERS SIN NO MORE.
Dynah was perspiring and trembling. Groaning, she bore down, her hands tightening.
“Jim!”
“It’s okay. We’re ready,” he said, the table tilting slightly.
Dynah looked at Jim and saw by his eyes he was smiling as he told her it was all right to push now. Not that she needed to be told. She had been waiting for this moment for months. “Oh, Lord . . .” She clenched the handholds tighter.
“That’s it, honey,” Hannah said. “It’ll be over soon. . . .”
Dynah heard herself groaning and couldn’t stop.
“The baby’s crowning,” Jim said. “Don’t clench your teeth, Dynah. Do your breathing. That’s it. Gentle now. Let your body do the work. Don’t press it. Easy, easy.”
“Keep breathing,” her mother said.
One of the nurses touched her leg. “You’re doing great.”
Why wouldn’t these people shut up? She didn’t need them telling her to push or not to push, to breathe and to pant. She couldn’t have stopped the process if her life had depended on it. A force beyond herself was in control now. God was bringing her baby into the world with a baptism of water and blood. Her body shook with the awesome act. She felt the ring of fire and gasped in pain.
“Your water just broke, Dynah. Pant now,” Jim said firmly.
“That’s it, honey.”
“Gently now. Keep breathing. The head’s coming.”
As the head was born, Jim cleared the baby’s mouth. Dynah heard the mewling cry and instinctively reached down to touch her baby. Tears burned as she caught a glimpse of her child. Oh, God . . .
Jim placed his hand briefly over hers. “I’m going to rotate the baby slightly. The shoulder’s coming now. Gentle pushes. That’s it. Easy . . .”
She let out her breath as she felt her child slip out in a wet rush.
WHEN YOU PASS THROUGH THE WATERS, I WILL BE WITH YOU. . . .
Jim gave a joyful laugh as he held the squalling child in his hands. Perfect in every detail. Exhilaration filled him. He hadn’t felt this good in years. Choking up, he didn’t relinquish the infant when the nurse reached out for her. He knew it was against procedure, but he held the baby girl closer to him and savored this moment.
Oh, God, forgive me. How many have I helped sacrifice on altars of fear and selfishness? Sons and daughters of an entire generation.
And even as his heart cried out in anguish, a feeling of forgiveness and redemption swept through him as the darkness fled before the Word of God.
I HAVE MADE YOU A NEW CREATION IN CHRIST JESUS. YOU ARE BORN AGAIN THROUGH THE POWER AND LOVE OF MY BLOOD. I HAVE SET YOUR FEET UPON THE ROCK OF MY SALVATION SO THAT YOU WILL STAND. YOU WILL STAND. YOU WILL STAND.
“Doctor?” the nurse said. “Is everything all right?”
“More than all right,” he said hoarsely. “You have a daughter, Dynah,” Jim said gruffly and placed the infant on Dynah’s abdomen.
“Ohhh . . . ,” Dynah said, her throat closing with tenderness as she brushed her baby’s palm and tiny fingers clamped around her little finger.
“I’ll take her,” a nurse said, aware of the circumstances.
“Not yet,” Jim said and looked up at Hannah. “Do you want to do the honors?” He nodded for another nurse to give her the scissors as he set the clamps.
Hannah took them without a word and cut the cord. Her hand was shaking as she handed the scissors back to the n
urse and returned her full attention to her daughter holding the wailing infant close against her breast.
Dynah started to cry. Her feelings were in such a muddle, and she didn’t know why. She held her baby closer, distressed at the pitiful wail and trembling limbs. Her daughter turned her head and nuzzled, finding what she sought, and a piercing sense of surprise and connection gripped Dynah.
Hannah saw and understood. Her own child was becoming a woman before her eyes. It had happened in the barest few seconds. A shifting, a subtle change in her demeanor. Tenderness smoothed away the shadows of pain and hours of labor. Dynah smiled at her daughter and spoke softly. “Hello, little one. Welcome to the world.”
Hannah looked at the baby then, carefully, fully.
Oh, Lord, what did I expect? That because of the circumstances of her conception, she might be some kind of monster? She’s beautiful. So perfect.
Over the past three weeks, she and Dynah had spoken a number of times with the lady at the adoption service. There were families waiting for this baby, families who promised her a secure future. She shouldn’t have let Dynah touch her. She shouldn’t have looked at the baby herself.
This is my granddaughter, Hannah thought, my own flesh and blood.
Another contraction brought forth the placenta. Jim examined it carefully to be sure it was fully intact while a nurse tended Dynah. Another took the baby from her.
“Mom?” Dynah said, her voice husky.
Hannah glanced at the nurse and saw her expression. It was clearly a warning: Don’t make things more difficult.
With trembling fingers, Hannah combed the damp tendrils of hair back from Dynah’s forehead. “They’re bathing her and putting her under a warm lamp.”
Dynah could hear her daughter screaming. Oh, Lord, must I give her up so soon? She felt a bubble of panic and fought it down.
“She’s fine, honey. They’ll take good care of her,” Hannah said in a choked voice, unable to look and see that they were.
Washed and draped with a lightweight warm blanket, Dynah was wheeled into the corridor. “You did beautifully, honey,” Hannah said, walking alongside her to the recovery room. She was unable to say more than that. Glancing back, she saw the baby bundled in a clear plastic basin heading toward the nursery. Her heart did a sick flop. Her granddaughter.