Dr. Gage, the obstetrician, came to talk with us again in the post-op bay.
“Have you chosen a name?” His tone was pleasant, matter-of-fact.
We’d been planning to name the baby Sarah if it was a girl. But I didn’t know if we wanted to still use that name. We’d been expecting a different child. A normal one. I looked at Sally.
“Sarah,” she said. “We’ll call her Sarah.” Sally’s voice was raspy.
“What a pretty name,” Dr. Gage said, “and what a pretty baby.”
Sally and I stared at him.
“Sarah will be more like other children,” he said, “than unlike them.” He paused, and then said, “The pediatricians will want a chromosomal analysis, but that’s just a formality.” He looked to Sally, and then me. “She has it.”
Sally’s lips tightened. Her eyes squinted against the glare of the light above.
“We’ll get an echo of Sarah’s heart. She may or may not need surgery.” He paused again.
Maybe the hole in her heart would be so big she wouldn’t survive. She could die on the OR table. We could put her in a small white coffin, deal with the loss, and then move on. Try again in a couple of years. Have a normal family. I felt my face flush.
“Sometimes a parent feels that it may be best if a child dies painlessly and quickly.” He looked from me to Sally, and back to me. “Others don’t have that feeling. Whatever you’re feeling, you should know that lots of people have felt the same way.”
I felt like crying. I took a deep breath and felt my lungs expand. I let it out, slowly.
“For the first few months,” Dr. Gage said, “you’ll be caught up in all the routine baby stuff: breastfeeding, diapers, car seats, and baby buggies. But in about six months you’ll get the hang of it, and then all of the other issues will bubble up. A new baby puts a huge stress on a marriage. I tell all couples to think about seeing a counselor at about six months. Just to air things out. For you guys, I think it would be especially important.”
I nodded along with Sally, but I was faking it. Six months? I don’t know how we’ll make it to tomorrow morning.
“One last thing,” Dr. Gage said. “This isn’t your fault. When something like this happens, we always look for a reason—it’s human nature to want to know what could’ve caused it, or some way it could’ve been avoided. But in this case it’s nothing you ate, drank, or smoked. Nothing you did or didn’t do. It just happened.”
I felt my lower lip tremble, and tears begin to form. I finally knew what I was feeling. Stricken. If I looked at Sally, I would be overwhelmed. I stared down at the puckered blue booties still covering my shoes.
“When you get unexpected news,” Dr. Gage said, “it’s impossible to remember everything, so I’m going to ask you to remember just three basic things.”
Sally and I both looked at his face.
“Sarah will be more like other children than not.” He held up his thumb. “You should get some help in six months.” He held up his index finger. “And it isn’t anything you did or didn’t do—it just happened.” He extended his middle finger. “Okay?”
I looked at Dr. Gage and nodded. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sally nod too.
“Can you say it back to me?” Dr. Gage asked. He was looking at me.
My mind was blank.
“Sarah will be like other children,” Dr. Gage said. “You may want to see a counselor in six months, and it isn’t anything you did or didn’t do.” His face was so earnest. He wanted so much to ease our pain.
“She’ll be like other children.” My voice sounded raspy. “We should see a marriage counselor.” I cleared my throat. “And it isn’t our fault.” I believed the first two things.