Baby Girl Page 4

  “I’ve got a really bad ulcer and need to see a doctor,” I told the receptionist.

  My stomach was gurgling and the urge to throw up threatened to come back, but I still had to fill out the paperwork. Once I handed her back the clipboard, she ushered me into a small examination room and said Doctor Haussler would be with me shortly.

  Doctor Haussler was a tall man with silver hair and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. He was still reading the paperwork I’d filled out when he walked into the room. He lifted his eyes, peered over the glasses and asked, “So, what makes you think you’ve got an ulcer?”

  “It runs in my family,” I explained. “Uncle Harry had the same problem.”

  He scrunched his forehead and gave me a strange look. “You seem rather young for ulcers. Have you gained or lost weight recently?”

  “Lost,” I answered. “And I’ve been sick to my stomach.”

  “What kind of sick? Nausea? Acid reflux?”

  “Both. I haven’t eaten anything, but I threw up again this morning.”

  “Is there a chance you might be pregnant?” he asked.

  Ryan and I weren’t married yet, so we’d been pretty careful most of the time. There might have been an occasional slip-up, but I doubted that was the problem. My stomach was flat as a pancake, and I was in what I considered to be my bikini shape.

  “I don’t think so,” I said with a laugh. “Anyway, aren’t pregnant women supposed to gain weight, not lose it?”

  “It’s not unusual for a woman to lose weight in the first trimester,” he said. “Especially if she’s had morning sickness.”

  “This hasn’t been just in the morning.”

  “It can happen that way,” he said. “Do you recall when you had your last period?”

  I started thinking and couldn’t remember. It had been a while, but I’d chalked it up to a hectic schedule and not eating.

  “I’m not certain,” I answered.

  “Well, since a pregnancy test is the easiest, let’s start there and rule that out before we go any further.”

  A few minutes later a nurse came into the room, drew a vial of blood, then left me sitting there. When Doctor Haussler came back he was smiling.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “You’re having a baby.” He hesitated then added, “I hope that’s good news.”

  I nodded, even though at the moment the only thing I felt was shock. I left the clinic carrying a pamphlet with diagrams of what was happening inside my body and a list of obstetricians in the Burnsville area.

  ~ ~ ~

  The thought of motherhood grows on a woman faster than you might imagine possible. I’d started the day with what seemed to be an ulcer and now had a baby growing inside of me. According to Doctor Haussler it was eleven weeks old, no bigger than a fig, and yet had its own tiny little fingers and toes. That thought whizzed right by those dreams of having a big house with a pool and gave me a warm cuddly feeling.

  I didn’t call on any customers that day; instead I walked around town soaking up the warmth of summer. My senses seemed somehow sharper. I sniffed the air and caught the smell of potted geraniums, heard the rustle of birds hidden in the oak trees and even felt the breeze against my skin, warm with a whisper of dampness.

  When I turned onto Broadmoor Boulevard I passed two women who appeared to be mother and daughter, the daughter pushing a baby in a stroller.

  I peeked in at the tiny person with a pink sunbonnet tied beneath her chin. “She’s adorable. How old is she?”

  “Six months tomorrow,” the mom answered.

  I smiled and patted my almost non-existent stomach. “I just learned today that we’re expecting a baby.”

  There is a universal joy in this type of news. It is something to be shared. The two strangers and I stood and talked for a good fifteen minutes, chatting about babies and the way they tie a family together. It wasn’t until after they’d moved on that I realized I’d told two total strangers what I hadn’t yet told Ryan.

  Telling Ryan was not something to look forward to. I knew how he felt. None of his plans included a baby. Not one. They included a bigger house, a new car, a boat and even a vacation, but not a baby.

  “That’s a responsibility we don’t need,” he’d said and ticked off all the reasons. We were too young. We couldn’t afford it. Having a baby would put a stop to our savings and mean the end of all those dreams.

  At the time I’d agreed with him. He’d painted such a beautiful picture of us swimming naked in the pool, making love on a boat, running off to some exotic vacation paradise, but all that was before. Back when having a baby was nothing more than an abstract thought. Now it was a reality.

  Baby Versus Boat

  The euphoric feeling I’d had walking around town slowly dissipated when I got home and started thinking of how to break the news to Ryan. He wasn’t going to like the idea, but hopefully it would grow on him as it had on me. Trying to give myself every advantage, I showered, put on fresh makeup and dressed in an outfit he loved: a pale blue sundress the color of my eyes.

  Ryan was later than usual, but when he got home he seemed in a great mood.

  “Let’s go out to dinner tonight,” I suggested.

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Give me twenty minutes to grab a shower and have a beer.” As he started upstairs he hollered down, “Nab a couple of beers and come join me.”

  Grabbing a single can from the fridge, I followed him up.

  “Here you go,” I said and handed him the beer.

  “Nothing for you?”

  I shook my head. “My stomach’s still kind of upset.”

  “Then we won’t go to dinner.”

  “Actually I’d like to go out,” I said. “It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

  “Talk?” he replied and gave me a look of apprehension. “About what?”

  “Just things. Our life. Our plans for the future.”

  Ryan had a way of knowing when I had something on my mind, and he could usually tell whether it was good or bad.

  “Oh, shit,” he said and plopped down in the plaid club chair. “What now?”

  “I went to the doctor today, and it’s not an ulcer…” As I spoke I could hear the quiver in my voice.

  Calm down, I thought. This is Ryan. He loves you. Once he knows about the baby, he’ll change his way of thinking.

  I tried to remember the phrases I’d put together, beautiful words to describe the joy of having a family, but seeing the steely set of Ryan’s eyes took the words from my mind. I stuttered a few meaningless words then blurted, “I’m pregnant.”

  He looked like I’d smacked him in the head with a skillet. He sat there for a full minute then said, “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m eleven weeks. The doctor said the baby is due mid-January.”

  If ever I needed someone to love me, it was at that moment. I prayed Ryan would walk over, wrap his arms around me and say something. Anything. I would have even welcomed him saying that he was glad I didn’t have an ulcer.

  But he didn’t. He leaned forward, dropped his face into his hands and sat there sorrowfully shaking his head side to side. His silence was worse than a kick in the stomach. I waited several minutes then moved closer and stood directly in front of him.

  “Say something.”

  “What can I say?” he replied. “You know how I feel. I’m not ready to be a father. Your timing is all wrong.”

  “My timing is wrong? Do you think I planned this?”

  I wanted him to look up, see my face and understand how much this meant to me, but instead he gave a lackadaisical one-shouldered shrug.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he answered. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

  “Either way, there’s not going to be a baby.”

  I felt my eyes welling up. “There already is a baby! It’s almost three months old! It has fingers and toes!”

  He sto
od up from the chair and edged past me. “There’s still time enough for you to do something, so I don’t want to talk about it.”

  The thought of an abortion was like a snake slithering through my brain.

  “I can’t,” I said. “I just can’t.”

  With his back turned to me he said, “Well, you’re going to have to do something because we can’t afford a baby. Especially not now.”

  I followed behind him as he started down the stairs. “Why not now? Why is this different than any other time?”

  He stopped and turned back. “Because I bought a boat today.”

  I gasped. “Bought a boat? How could you? We never talked about—”

  “Yeah, Cheryl, we did,” he cut in. “We talked about it a hundred times. What we never talked about was you having a baby.” His words were edged with anger, his voice cold and unrelenting.

  “Maybe we didn’t talk about it in such precise terms,” I replied, “but you must have realized that at some point—”

  Before I finished the thought he said, “At some point maybe, but not now. Not when we’re just getting started with our own life. We have plans. Places we want to go. Things we want to buy. Hauling a baby around is not—”

  “We don’t have to change our plans,” I argued. “After the baby’s born I’ll go back to work. We can—”

  “No!” he answered sharply. “I’m not going to raise a kid the way my mama raised me. I’m twenty-one years old and not ready to be a father. That’s all there is to it.” He hesitated a moment then tried to soften the thought by saying, “Sometime in the future, possibly, but not now.”

  By then I was already teary-eyed. “Is this about not wanting to marry me? Because if it is, we don’t have to get married…”

  He took my shoulders in a firm grip and looked directly into my face as he spoke.

  “I do want to marry you,” he said, “but not now and definitely not this way. Once we’ve had our fun and we’ve got the things we both want, then we can talk about having a baby.”

  “But what about this baby? What am I supposed to do about this baby?”

  He took his hands from my shoulders, turned and picked up his beer.

  “Do whatever you have to,” he said and walked out of the room.

  That evening we went to Gino’s for dinner. We sat opposite one another and ate in silence. As I looked around the room and watched other couples talking and laughing together, I felt as lonely and forgotten as I did all those times I ate dinner with Mama. I sat there looking across the table at my baby’s daddy and wishing I still had my Walkman.

  ~ ~ ~

  Over the next two weeks I talked to Ryan about the baby several times. I kept thinking maybe he’d change his mind, but he didn’t. Each discussion only led to another argument. Countless times he reminded me that right from the start he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in having children.

  “At least not right now,” he’d say. He promised if I’d give up my thoughts of having this baby, we would get married and in time have a baby that we’d planned for.

  As I’ve said, Ryan had a certain magic about him. He could tell you the most God-awful thing in the world and give it the sound of sweetness.

  “I want you to have the best of everything,” he’d say, “and that can’t happen if you’ve got a baby to take care of.”

  According to Ryan, keeping this baby would mean we’d be stuck in our small house forever, never travel, never again make love and force him to get rid of the boat he’d always wanted. It seemed an awful lot of ramifications for one small baby, but after I’d listened to him long enough I began to think maybe he was right.

  In the years ahead I would come to question whether I ever believed this or simply allowed myself to be manipulated into choosing between him and the baby.

  I was nineteen years old and had no one else to turn to. Mama had pretty much disowned me, and Ryan was my only family. I was strong enough to work seventy hours a week, climb onto the roof and clean gutters, squat and paint baseboards and push a wheelbarrow many men couldn’t have handled, but I wasn’t strong enough to lose Ryan and have this baby all by myself.

  Reluctantly, I made my decision.

  Finding A Family

  Other than Daddy, Ryan was the only man I’d ever loved, but after he pushed me into making a decision that went against everything I believed in I came within a hair’s breadth of hating him. I say he pushed me, but he didn’t really push; what he did was give me no alternative then leave me to make the painful decision.

  Trust me when I tell you making the decision alone was far worse. I hated myself even more than I hated him. I hated myself for being a weak, spineless soul who didn’t have courage enough to defend my baby.

  The day I called the abortion clinic, I pretended to be asleep until I heard Ryan slam the door on his way out. Even then I waited until I heard the rumble of his truck leave the driveway and disappear down the block. Looking back maybe I waited because I thought by some miracle he’d come running back and say he’d changed his mind. Of course he didn’t.

  ~ ~ ~

  The telephone rang three times; then a woman answered.

  “Labara Clinic,” she said. “This is Peggy. How may I help you?”

  “I’d like to make an appointment for an abortion,” I replied.

  “Have you had your consultation?” she asked. Her voice was warm and friendly. I had no idea how old she was or what she looked like, but I pictured her as a grandmother with silver curls hugging her face.

  “I’ve already been to the doctor, if that’s what you mean.”

  “No, I’m referring to a consultation here at the clinic.”

  She said before I could arrange for a procedure, I would have to come in for a consultation. We were talking about an abortion, but she called it a procedure. I guess that was the politically correct term for killing a baby.

  “We do this so you’ll understand the process and be aware of what’s going to happen,” she explained.

  “I know what happens,” I replied angrily. “Three years ago I was part of an anti-abortion group that picketed the clinic in Back Bay.”

  She hesitated then asked the question I should have been asking myself.

  “If that’s how you feel about abortion, why on earth are you considering it?”

  The tears I’d been holding back began to flow.

  “It’s not what I want,” I said as I sobbed, “but I have no other choice.” I explained that I was nineteen years old and not married.

  Peggy was a stranger, a woman I’d probably see once and then never again; still I tried to give justification for this horrific deed I was about to do.

  “My boyfriend doesn’t want the baby,” I said, “and I’ve got no way of caring for it by myself.”

  “Abortion isn’t the only answer for someone in your situation,” Peggy said. “Have you considered adoption?”

  Until then I hadn’t, but listening to Peggy talk about families who wanted babies and couldn’t have them presented a new and slightly less painful option. I wouldn’t be able to keep my baby, but at least I didn’t have to kill it.

  I never did meet Peggy and don’t even know her last name, but I will forever be thankful for her wisdom. She sensed the agony in my heart and helped me wade through my misery to discover the truth. I wanted my baby to live.

  That evening when Ryan asked if I had called the abortion clinic, I nodded. That was it. He had no questions, and I said nothing more.

  ~ ~ ~

  Carrying a baby does something strange to your heart; it opens it up and teaches you the meaning of unconditional love. I found myself thinking of the Disney movie Dumbo. In it a mother elephant attacks a crowd of circus goers because they make fun of little Dumbo’s oversized ears.

  At the time I thought it was just a cute cartoon, but suddenly I could see the significance of the story. It tells of a mother’s overwhelming love for her baby. Dumbo’s mother was protecting her chi
ld, and I was going to do the same. I pulled out the list of obstetricians Doctor Haussler had given me, picked one and made an appointment. By then I’d already promised myself I would start eating healthier and stop getting through the day with just a diet soda and candy bar.

  All too soon the time would come when I’d have to give my baby to someone else, but for now it was mine to love and protect. I had another six months to be with this child, and I was determined to make the most of every single day.

  Two weeks later I contacted the Family First Adoption Agency. Although I had come to accept that I couldn’t keep the baby, I was going to try to give it a good home. A home where it was wanted and would be loved.

  The agency was in a yellow brick building in the center of Dorchester. On the afternoon of my appointment, I parked in front of the building then resolutely pushed through the glass doors and stepped into the elevator.

  Suite 308 was at the far end of the hall. I walked in and the receptionist, a girl who looked to be my age, glanced up and smiled.

  “I’m here to see Melanie Dodd,” I said. My words were thin and wobbly; they had the sound of a stranger’s voice.

  “Cheryl Ann Ferguson?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  She gave an acknowledging nod then came from behind the reception desk and ushered me down the hallway.

  “Melanie is expecting you,” she said and pointed toward the open door.

  Melanie Dodd looked like a woman who once lived on the far end of Spruce Street. She was younger than I’d expected, with narrow shoulders and delicately boned hands. Her hair, a medium brown, was streaked with grey, but the thing you noticed was the emerald green color of her eyes.

  She reached across the desk, shook my hand, then motioned for me to sit.

  “I was just going to have my afternoon tea,” she said. “Will you join me?”

  “Um, I don’t think—” I stuttered.