for our baby. “We can do this, Mom. We have to
try
!”
Mom stares across the table—not at me, but at the wall behind me. “She’s fragile, Sissy. What if—” She stops, starts again. “What if she—she dies? That can happen, you know, with a preemie. They can die of that sudden infant death syndrome. I—I can’t lose another child, Sissy. I just can’t.”
Her face crumples like tissue paper and she starts to cry really hard. She buries her face in her hands and I watch her shoulders shake with every sob. I don’t know what to do for her. There’s nothing I
can
do for her. The hole Bree left in our lives and in Mom’s heart is too big to fill. How can I expect a tiny baby to fill up such a deep, dark hole? I get up, leave Mom at the table and go to my room, where I cry too.
I act cheerful and happy the next day when Melody, Stu and I ride to the hospital together. I don’t want anyone to know that Mom’s considering giving our baby up for adoption. We ride the elevator up to the neonatal unit and Colleen meets us at the desk. “You must be Susanna’s friends.”
I introduce them and wash up. Melody and Stu wash their hands too. Babies are bundled in their plastic units, most of them red-faced and crying. They sound like mewing kittens. “Everybody’s hungry,” Colleen says. “And we’re short-staffed today.”
I lead Melody and Stu to our baby’s incubator and see that she’s sleeping through all the noise.
“Oh my gosh!” Melody says. “She’s so little.”
Stu just stands and stares.
My hands itch to hold her, but I don’t, so we watch her sleep. Her stocking hat is pushed back, showing off her mass of black hair. Her tiny mouth makes sucking motions and I wonder if babies dream, and if they do, what could they dream about?
“When can you take her home?” Melody asks.
I’m glad I’m not looking her in the eye when I say, “Dr. Kendrow will decide, but remember, she wasn’t supposed to be born until next month.”
I hear a rumbling noise and we both look at Stu. “Sorry. I’m hungry,” he says, red-faced.
Melody and I laugh, and I say, “Let’s go eat.”
On the way out of the unit, Melody stops and stares at the smallest baby in there. He’s surrounded by machines, and tubes are coming out of his mouth and nose. Melody’s eyes go wide and unblinking. “Is—is he all right? I’ve never seen anything so tiny.”
I know a little bit about him because I hang around all day. “He was born way too early,” I tell her. “His mom was only twenty-eight weeks along when she had him.”
“How old is he now?”
“Three weeks old. He’s got a lot of catching up to do.”
“Can he catch up?” This from Stu, whose hand is almost twice the size of the baby’s whole body.
I remember that Bree’s baby was around twenty-eight weeks when her aneurysm burst. Still, Bree held on to her baby for another seven weeks. “I don’t know,” I say to Stu. “I just know he’s got a long way to go. He’ll be here for months.”
“Why’s that tube in his mouth?” Melody asks.
“It’s a feeding tube because he’s too little to suck a bottle. The one coming from his nose is giving him oxygen.” Both Stu and Melody stare down at the baby and I can tell that they’re upset. I’ve come here for days, been at Bree’s bedside for weeks before this. I’ve seen things other girls my age rarely see, and I have a perspective that far exceeds that of my friends. I feel like we’ve been running a race and I’ve sprinted ahead of them, taken a shortcut that was rocky and hard and that’s left me bruised. Now I’ve arrived at the finish line ahead of them and have to wait for them to catch up. “Come on.” I hook my arms through theirs. “The waffles here are pretty good.”
The cafeteria smells warm and buttery. It’s full of people—residents in green scrubs, visitors, hospital workers. The clatter of trays and cups mingle
try
!”
Mom stares across the table—not at me, but at the wall behind me. “She’s fragile, Sissy. What if—” She stops, starts again. “What if she—she dies? That can happen, you know, with a preemie. They can die of that sudden infant death syndrome. I—I can’t lose another child, Sissy. I just can’t.”
Her face crumples like tissue paper and she starts to cry really hard. She buries her face in her hands and I watch her shoulders shake with every sob. I don’t know what to do for her. There’s nothing I
can
do for her. The hole Bree left in our lives and in Mom’s heart is too big to fill. How can I expect a tiny baby to fill up such a deep, dark hole? I get up, leave Mom at the table and go to my room, where I cry too.
I act cheerful and happy the next day when Melody, Stu and I ride to the hospital together. I don’t want anyone to know that Mom’s considering giving our baby up for adoption. We ride the elevator up to the neonatal unit and Colleen meets us at the desk. “You must be Susanna’s friends.”
I introduce them and wash up. Melody and Stu wash their hands too. Babies are bundled in their plastic units, most of them red-faced and crying. They sound like mewing kittens. “Everybody’s hungry,” Colleen says. “And we’re short-staffed today.”
I lead Melody and Stu to our baby’s incubator and see that she’s sleeping through all the noise.
“Oh my gosh!” Melody says. “She’s so little.”
Stu just stands and stares.
My hands itch to hold her, but I don’t, so we watch her sleep. Her stocking hat is pushed back, showing off her mass of black hair. Her tiny mouth makes sucking motions and I wonder if babies dream, and if they do, what could they dream about?
“When can you take her home?” Melody asks.
I’m glad I’m not looking her in the eye when I say, “Dr. Kendrow will decide, but remember, she wasn’t supposed to be born until next month.”
I hear a rumbling noise and we both look at Stu. “Sorry. I’m hungry,” he says, red-faced.
Melody and I laugh, and I say, “Let’s go eat.”
On the way out of the unit, Melody stops and stares at the smallest baby in there. He’s surrounded by machines, and tubes are coming out of his mouth and nose. Melody’s eyes go wide and unblinking. “Is—is he all right? I’ve never seen anything so tiny.”
I know a little bit about him because I hang around all day. “He was born way too early,” I tell her. “His mom was only twenty-eight weeks along when she had him.”
“How old is he now?”
“Three weeks old. He’s got a lot of catching up to do.”
“Can he catch up?” This from Stu, whose hand is almost twice the size of the baby’s whole body.
I remember that Bree’s baby was around twenty-eight weeks when her aneurysm burst. Still, Bree held on to her baby for another seven weeks. “I don’t know,” I say to Stu. “I just know he’s got a long way to go. He’ll be here for months.”
“Why’s that tube in his mouth?” Melody asks.
“It’s a feeding tube because he’s too little to suck a bottle. The one coming from his nose is giving him oxygen.” Both Stu and Melody stare down at the baby and I can tell that they’re upset. I’ve come here for days, been at Bree’s bedside for weeks before this. I’ve seen things other girls my age rarely see, and I have a perspective that far exceeds that of my friends. I feel like we’ve been running a race and I’ve sprinted ahead of them, taken a shortcut that was rocky and hard and that’s left me bruised. Now I’ve arrived at the finish line ahead of them and have to wait for them to catch up. “Come on.” I hook my arms through theirs. “The waffles here are pretty good.”
The cafeteria smells warm and buttery. It’s full of people—residents in green scrubs, visitors, hospital workers. The clatter of trays and cups mingle
Similar Books
