CHAPTER 25

Once inside his house, Don went upstairs. He needed a quick shower, then to bed. Before he went into the bathroom, he called the hospital to check on his wife. He had asked for and secured a private nurse to be with Alisha for a day or two. When the nurse, a Mrs. Sparks, answered, she told him, “Mrs. Matthews is doing well, vital signs normal, and she is sleeping right now.” After thanking her for her help, he went right to the shower and then to bed, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

When he awoke, it was noon, and at first he felt somewhat disoriented, but the previous day’s activities flooded into his mind. He reached for the bedside telephone, anxious to find out how Alisha was doing.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Matthews, we’re doing nicely,” Mrs. Sparks said.”Yes,” she said when he asked about the baby, “he’s right here with his mother. She’s breastfeeding him right now.”

“That’s great! Tell Mrs. Matthews I’ll be there within the hour, and ask her if she needs anything.”

“She says ‘no,’ Dr. Matthews. Just bring yourself,” she said and laughed.

Don dressed in gray slacks, a white tee shirt and a navy blazer, drank a glass of milk, ate some crackers and left for the hospital.

He stopped at the florist shop for a bouquet of pink and white roses for his wife. As he drove, feelings of relief swirled all through him knowing that Alisha had finally accepted her child. What would he have done if she had totally rejected the child?

The very thought made him shudder. He decided to ask Mrs. Sparks if she could help out for a few days at their home.

He really had to get back to his practice, which seemed to be on the upturn with new patients.

When he got to Alisha’s room, he was delighted to find her sitting on a rocker with her baby in her arms.

“Shh-h,” she smiled when he came over, kissed her and pecked at the sleeping infant.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” she whispered.

“Sure is. Most beautiful one I’ve seen in a long time.” He handed her the flowers. “These are for you.”

“Thanks, Don, they’re lovely.”

“I’ll see to these,” Mrs. Sparks said. “See if I can find a vase.”

“How are you feeling, Alisha?”

“Fine. A little tired, but I don’t remember giving birth or anything!”

Don was completely surprised at what she’d said, remembering her strange behavior the night before.

“Don’t you remember anything?”

“Only the ride to the hospital and Dr. Collins pushing me in the wheelchair to the maternity unit. All the rest is a blur.”

“Well,” he hastened to reassure her, “you did fine! Great! Honey, you hit it right out of the ballpark. A home run all the way!”

“I did? You’re just saying that!”

“No, no, you were outstanding. You went from seven centimeters dilation to full dilation in an hour, and then no freight train could have stopped you! You were awesome!”

Mrs. Sparks tapped on the door, came in with the roses in a crystal vase, and in her other arm a beautiful arrangement of fall flowers.

“These are from your staff, Dr. Matthews.”

“They are very nice.” He thought that very likely Becky had initiated the gesture.

Mrs. Sparks took the baby from Alisha and returned him to his bassinet, which had been brought to Alisha’s room. The infant would be returned to the nursery after the evening feeding so that his mother could get a good night’s sleep.

When he returned home, Don put in a call to Joe Collins.

“Joe? Don here. Man, you’re some kind of a miracle worker! I’ve just left Alisha and she’s doing fine. What a turnaround! She’s breastfeeding. What miracle drug did you order?”

“As I told you, Don, the condition your wife was in…somehow the labor and delivery…having a baby, expelling seven pounds of a human being from her body, was an extremely traumatic experience for her. And I knew that if we could get her over that hurdle, past that…”

“So, you sedated her?”

“Yes, indeed. Years ago we would use an opiate, along with another drug that would temporarily block out any memory of the painful experience.”

“Now that you mention it, I do remember in med school, during my OB-GYN rotation, hearing something like that. Not used much anymore. We have more sophisticated drugs these days.”

“Right, but there are times when an older generation of drugs may fit the need perfectly.”

“Don’t know how to thank you, Joe.”

“Just be happy, Don, that’s all. Be happy.”

“Thanks, Joe, for everything.”

“No problem,” Joe said as he hung up.

* * *

Alisha’s plans were to take Baby Jay, as they called him, “J” for John, her father’s name, to visit her parents in Pittsburgh. Don could not go because he was trying to catch up on missed patients’ appointments.

The baby had a very happy, placid disposition and was beginning to recognize and respond to his parents with smiles and bubbly sounds.

Alisha, too, had noted the peculiar slant of her son’s eyes, as well as the dark wisps of black, straight hair that added to his faintly Asian appearance. Silently she worried, Had the sperm bank made the wrong selection? How much would Jay’s appearance change as he grew older? Would Don notice?

So far Don had been pleased with the baby’s growth and development. He seemed to be reliving the joys and happy moments he’d had with his two other children. She knew that her husband had felt deep disappointment at their response when he informed Curtis and Jane of the birth of their half brother. He’d sent out announcements to friends and co-workers. His children’s reply was a curt “congratulations.” He was upset, but could understand their feelings.

And then there were times when little Jay would seem to be looking at Don with questions in his dark brown, almost black, slightly slanted eyes. His hair seemed untamable, standing up in coarse, wiry spikes despite his mother’s attempts to control it with baby oil.

“His hair is much like yours, Alisha,” he told her. “Sometimes he almost looks oriental, with that hair and eyes.”

“I never told you, I guess,” Alisha lied, “there is oriental blood in my family.”

“I didn’t know that!”

She looked at her husband to access his reaction to this unexpected news.

He seemed thoughtful, then responded, “That could account for the slight Asian look that Jay has. But I’ve never, in my practice, figured that a genetic predisposition would be so evident…”

“You see, Don, my mother’s father, my grandfather, was from Jamaica. And as I understand it, there were many Japanese and Chinese immigrants who intermarried with the native women, and I think my grandfather’s name was Tom Shikako when he brought the family to Alabama, where Momma was born.”

“Who knows,” Don conceded, “there might be Asians in my family.”

“You never know, I guess. Do you have a family tree?”

“I only knew my grandparents on my father’s side of the family. I always said I was going to do some DNA research to see what I could find out. Today many are using DNA to find out where they really come from.”

Alisha shivered as if a creepy chill had crept over her body. She had had to think quickly to come up with a name for a mythical Japanese ancestor.