Chapter 15

Everyday Heroes

For days, the creative spark remained, and I took full advantage of it in between my ultrasounds with Ashley, TV binge-watching with Paul, and daily visits from friends, family and Dr. Cooper. My outside visitors especially made for wonderful study breaks, and when we said our goodbyes, instead of getting sad, I channeled my emotions into my songwriting.

Since the morning I left
I could not forget your sweet face
The tears were running down all over my face
I had to go forward, and carry on

“You should use ‘go on’ since it rhymes with ‘and carry on,’ and we can place emphasis on the double r,” Caroline suggested.

I found that I enjoyed my one-on-one time with Caroline way more than attending the group meetings. No one ever really participated. The moms that did show up just sat in their chairs, heads down, playing on their phones—as if the only reason they were there was because their doctors had made them go. My songwriting and talks with Caroline were a better use of time for me. So I stopped attending the group meetings altogether, but I did enjoy receiving updates from Caroline about the moms that had gone home and new ones that checked in.

We had settled into my routine after lunch one afternoon. The sun shined through the blinds, and Caroline sat by my bed playing country and jazz background music on her guitar.

I know it won’t be this way forever
Soon we will all be together again

“Okay, so ‘together again’ can be your chorus,” Caroline said. “This is amazing, Crystal, you are a natural songwriter.”

We were cranking this song out together, but I took the compliment.

“Aww, thank you,” I said as I blushed. “I’ve always loved writing. What is it they say that makes a great writer—writing about what you know. I guess I just needed some material, some intense feelings, to get me started.”

The previous weeks had been such an emotional rollercoaster. One thing after another. It was around-the-clock worrying about the safety of my babies. I had had several sleepless nights in a row from long, stressful monitorings. There had been a different nurse each night, which definitely didn’t help. One would find Katherine right away but then wouldn’t be able to find Lauren, the wiggle worm, as I started calling her.

Baby girl, I love you, but you are stressing Mommy out, I told her. This can’t be good for you either. And can I venture to guess that you might have been the one who tore the inner twin membrane? You either wanted to cuddle with Katie, or you just wanted to add more dramatic flair to your time in my womb. As if we need any more drama around here.

The more stressful things got, the more I threw myself into songwriting. Caroline and I explored several potential melodies. Too upbeat, too fast-paced, too out there. I finally chose one with a slow tempo and a soothing rhythm—perfect music for a melancholy, introspective song.

Dreaming of you while I’m away.
Being there to see your sweet face.
Setting off on adventures, on walks to the park.

“How about, ‘When you look up at the Goodnight Moon, hope that you know that I’ll be there soon. I miss you. Oh, Abby, I miss you.’ We can change the tempo here for more effect.”

“Oh my goodness, Caroline, you are a genius. I love that we incorporated Goodnight Moon, one of Abby‘s favorite books.” I closed my notebook and looked up at Caroline. “Girl, you are something else. You seriously are my hero.”

“Me?” she sounded surprised. “No, heroes risk their lives for our safety, like policeman and firefighters, or doctors and nurses who save lives.”

“Well, not all heroes wear a uniform. Some heroes are people we encounter in our everyday life,” I said.

She smiled and glanced down at her guitar. “I’m flattered,” she said. “Giving someone the gift of music during a trying time in their life is incredible.”

It was true. I hadn’t wanted to admit that I was in therapy, but I suppose that was the purpose of music therapy; it didn’t carry the stigma of traditional therapy and was more of a musical and creative process that simultaneously healed. Whatever it was, it worked really well for me. I needed the musical outlet to process my feelings, emotions and everything we had gone through. My song embodied everything about my experiences of motherhood and my incredible love and intense longing to be with my child. The song had a tremendous impact on me; it empowered me in so many ways, allowing me to process the pain and start moving past it. I had tried so hard throughout my pregnancy to not stress, to control my emotions, but I was only human. But I didn’t want my time in the hospital to be tinged with despair. I didn’t want to let myself sink into a hormonal depression. I didn’t want to get so messed up from this experience that I would need traditional therapy when my babies were born. And that was just it; I didn’t allow myself to think if my babies are born, but rather when they are born. I knew that when they were born, I’d be as busy as the President; I wouldn’t make the time to heal or go to therapy. A mother always puts her children‘s needs above her own. Right or wrong, that was the reality, and I’d observed this countless times with my Ita. She was selfless and generous with her children and grandchildren. Even when her husband passed away and she was grieving his loss, she was able to pull strength from within and carry on. I was grateful both for that lesson and to have found comfort in songwriting, a beautiful pastime that allowed me to take care of myself. Something that might not have happened had I been home alone with Abby.

“Sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” Jenny said as she strode into my room. “Crystal, I need to take you down to Ashley for your biophysical ultrasound.”

“Okay, no problem. We’re at a good stopping point.” I turned toward Caroline. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yep, same time. I’ll be here,” Caroline said, and holding Jewel tightly, she skipped out of my room and down the hallway.

Jenny wheeled me down the hall and parked my wheelchair in the hallway. She knocked on the door of the exam room.

“I’ll be right out,” said a voice from the other side of the door.

Ashley, the ultrasound technician, opened the door. “Hi, honey! Sorry, just wrapping up some notes, but I’m ready for you.” She looked down and rubbed my belly. “How are my precious baby girls today?” she said, peering down under my blouse.

I had met Ashley once, briefly, in the middle of the night. The night nurses were panicking after they had not been able to locate the babies or get a heartbeat. They needed to get a visual on the babies’ location to be able to place the monitor on the correct location. What a rough night! I’d feared we had lost one or even both of the babies. We’d called Dr. Cooper on his cell phone and he arranged for an ultrasound tech to come to my room. In came Ashley like a guardian angel sent from heaven, with her magic ultrasound machine. In twenty seconds, she found Katie and Lauren, saving me from mass hysteria. Lauren had completely shifted positions. She had previously been on the right side of my stomach breech, but suddenly she was in the middle, lower, head facing down.

You little squirm bucket. You just want to be near Katie, I said to her. You are giving your mommy gray hairs, but that is the sweetest thing ever.

I often wondered why they didn’t leave an ultrasound machine on standby in my room and just use that for every monitoring. I once asked Jenny and she told me, “Oh shug, those machines are super expensive, the hospital doesn’t have that many of them floating around. Plus, as a nurse, performing an ultrasound is beyond the scope of our job. You need a technician or doctor to do it. Believe me though, it would make all of our lives easier if we could.”

“If I live through this experience, I’d like to volunteer and advocate for that one day. More ultrasound machines readily available to antepartum patients,” I said, making a mental note.

Ashley helped me onto the examining table.

“I can’t wait to meet these two, Ash,” I told her. “They are tenacious. I love it.”

“I know they are, especially from what I can tell on the screen,” she said. “I feel like I know their personalities already. Katie is gentle and sweet; Lauren is spunky and active. I wonder who takes after who?” And she winked.

“I have no idea,” I said, sarcastically. I knew darn well that Lauren was every bit like her mama, whereas Katie was more Ed and Abby. “Do you have any plans for this long weekend?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Nope,” she said, “I’ll actually be working most of the weekend.”

“What? No, you need a break from work—time to let loose and hang out with a fun guy.” I playfully pushed her arm.

“Ha!” she snorted. “Not a chance. I’m almost forty, and I’m taking a break from men for a while.” She paused and scratched her nose with her knuckle. “I had a painful break-up some years ago.” Her expression turned somber.

Oh, shoot! Me and my big mouth. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” I patted her arm again.

“No, that‘s okay.”

She opened up and told me her back story. She was originally from Louisiana but had been living in California for school when she met her boyfriend. She dropped out of school and followed him to Texas where they dated for many years. They’d bought a house together. She thought that, after the major life purchase, an engagement would follow. He would always tell her, “Oh yeah, one day, but we have plenty of time.” She kept waiting for “one day” to arrive. While looking through their kitchen junk drawer one afternoon, she came across a piece of paper that would change her life. She found a receipt for a two-night hotel stay at a fancy luxury hotel downtown. The dates were the exact same ones from a month before when she had gone home to Louisiana to visit her parents. Her boyfriend had lied and said he couldn’t join her because he had to “work all weekend.” She put all the details together and confronted him when he came home that evening. She discovered that the affair had been going on for months with a co-worker of his. “Screw you both, I’m done,” she screamed at him while packing up her things. She moved out of the house, got her own place and went back to school. She’d always wanted to work in health care, a passion that stemmed from her own health problems. She shared that she had an auto-immune disease that worsened when she became sick.

“That‘s cool that you chose to become an ultrasound technician,” I said, shifting positions on the chair.

“I’ve always loved babies, I wanted to find a job where I could help them but didn’t involve direct patient interaction because of my illness. Plus, the salary is great.”

“Nice!”

The conversation shifted back to weekend plans.

“How about you, missy? Is your family coming up?” she asked.

“Yes, Ed will bring Abby, and my sister-in-law, Bridget, is in town. Ed‘s cousin, Danny, who just moved to Houston, will be joining us too.”

“Fun! Sounds like you will have a full room.” She smiled, and then turned her attention to the ultrasound, moving the scanner all over my belly.

Memorial Day was coming up. In my previous life, I always planned a trip for us or hosted a barbecue. I thought back to the first summer after college when Ed and I moved in together. We had a teeny tiny studio apartment in Dupont, the hip part of Washington at the time. The oppressive heat reminded me of Texas summers—hot, sticky and humid, swarming with mosquitos. The weather gave me a bad case of hair flyaways at the top of my head. I was always so excited for Memorial Day, the holiday that kicked off summer. One year, we decided to throw a barbecue at our place. Ed and I were busy with preparations as the date drew near.

“Did you get enough burgers and hot dogs, Ed?” I asked him the night before. “So far everyone has RSVP’d “yes.” Half of Washington is going to be on our rooftop.”

“Yes, but I had to go to two different stores because—being a holiday weekend—Safeway was out of everything.”

“Who runs out of buns?” I laughed.

Some of my best memories of our time in Washington were from that afternoon. A huge crowd of yuppies—mostly recent grads from Georgetown, GW and American—desperately trying to stay cool in our rooftop pool. There wasn’t much room, but by the end of the night, we decided the more the merrier. We ordered pizza when the hot dogs ran out, and everyone was sharing beer. From the rooftop you could see Georgetown‘s main campus—Healy Hall tower. That‘s where Ed and I met and our journey began, I thought.

Ed and I had been dating a little over two years at that point; we were young and so carefree. I would never have imagined a mere seven years later—in a blink of an eye—I’d be spending the same national holiday with Ed and our family jammed in a frigging hospital room. No backyard BBQ or picnic, no pool party—just me as a science project.

I finished my ultrasound with Ashley, and Jenny wheeled me back to my room. I pulled out my phone and called Ed at work.

“So, want to come by to bring me dinner and drop off some clean clothes?” I knew the answer, but I still wanted to ask nicely. “You know, I was just thinking about that first summer we spent in Dupont. Remember the rooftop pool party?”

“Ahh, yes. That seems like so long ago.”

“Yeah, those days are long gone.”

Ed chuckled. “Well, don’t be so sure,” he said.

I sighed. “I really don’t see how we are going to do much of anything this year, seeing how I have to ask permission to even get wheeled down the hall.”

“I may not be able to take you to a fun, rooftop party or the beach, but I promise I’ll make this Memorial Day special for you,” Ed said. “Abby and I have a little something planned.”

On Memorial Day, my family arrived one-by-one, each carrying what seemed like more stuff than usual. Bridget pushed Abby in the stroller. Danny had some grocery bags containing what I could only imagine was some snacks for us—which was perfect because I was starving. Ed came in last, holding our large white laundry basket from our home. What in the world?

“So, we decided since we couldn’t take you to a party, we were going to bring the party to you!” Ed said. He smiled as he revealed his surprise. He’d stuffed the basket with plates, napkins, plastic cutlery and cups. There were condiments and more chips and salsa. Then he pulled out one last thing from the laundry basket.

“Oh my goodness! You snuck in a grill?” I exclaimed.

It was a decent-sized grill from William Sonoma that sat perfectly on our counter at home—a wedding present from Uncle Bob. We had spent countless hours together grilling up delicious meals.

“That‘s so incredibly sweet, honey,” I said as I threw my arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. “But…”

“But what?” he said.

“What if the nurses find out?”

“Don’t worry. If someone comes by, we can just offer them a delicious grilled burger or hot dog in exchange for their conspiring silence.”

“I can’t believe you did this, Ed,” I told him. “You are my hero.”