11. Maple

November 2020

“Just going to take a few more images and pay more attention. Sorry if I’m less chatty right now,” said the technician.

That was when I knew. We were trading jokes, and then Alice stopped talking and put more gel on my stomach. The abruptness of her U-turn made me want to laugh. She leaned closer to the ultrasound screen. I was left to my own thoughts. Every painting on the wall was disappointingly average. It could do better for a hospital in Evanston. It’s a college town full of art majors. I think the thoughts and then let them go. Instead, I focused on my breath, slow and intentional.

The gel feels slimy, sliding across my skin. “I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” I mumble.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing,” I say, but she doesn’t respond. I watch her lean forward, staring at the screen, as her hand hovers across me.

I remember the strawberries that I meant to add to the grocery list. I think about the last time I ate one. The farmer’s market. I remember the girl who sold them to me. We tried to smile with our eyes while our mouths were masked. Look, I am friendly. See, my eyes are crinkling. All the Botox people will invest in when the pandemic is over. I think about Jane and her small face. How her blue eyes sparkle when I make her laugh.

The technician asked me to wait on the examination table, as though I had the option to leave—perhaps now is the time to go to the movies. She stepped toward the door, hesitated, and looked back at me. Quickly and quietly, she spilled out her words, knowing she was breaking protocol. But we live in Covidia now, so rules are out the window.

“The doctor will be back in to look at you. I’m unsure yet, but I think I see something with her heart. I want to give you a moment before he comes in to take a look. He’ll talk through everything with you.”

I feel the pressure push against the inside of my eyes and bite the tip of my tongue. “Okay,” I say. My voice does not crack. It retreats inward, becomes still and quiet, tucked in a corner, and sits in a chair — waiting.

“Would you like to try one?”

The girl who offered me the fruit. Think about her now.

She was there with her mother, selling berries and vegetables. Her cheeks were pinked by the warm breeze. On the last day of the summer market, only a few of us were there, masked and distanced. I almost skipped it, but I was craving berries. The juice stayed on my lips as I bought quarts of blackberries, blueberries, cherries, raspberries, and strawberries. Jane and I sat on our deck and ate them, savoring each bite. Something in me stirred. A feeling familiar but faded over the years. Of childhood. Of being a girl with my legs swinging in circles, sitting on a bench, my fingers and lips sticky, and laughing with my grandmother as we ate peaches at our favorite park. Her laugh accompanied mine, as soft and gentle as her hands and as quick as her fingers.

I make myself stare at the painting in front of my face. The beach is a colorless shade of brown, lacking the beauty of sand. Someone whitewashed the painting before selling it at a grocery store and tucked it on a shelf next to glue and tape so that it could numb you while you waited for the bad news that was coming. How awful, I think, and focus on my high heels. I wore a blue dress to the appointment.

The doctor knocks at the door. I flex my hands into fists and dig my nails into my palms just enough to distract myself from the throbbing in my eyes.

“Hello, Mrs. James. I’m Doctor Wilson.” The technician steps in and gently closes the door.

My nails connect with my skin once more before I relax my hands and rest them at my sides.

“Caroline.” I watch his mask move as he nods and moves to the machine to look at the images again.

“And do you know what you’re having,” he asks, talking to the folder and notes in his hands.

“A girl. We just found out last week at my last ultrasound.”

He nods again and adjusts the screen, gesturing to it while he breaks my heart. No words of congratulations. Straight to work.

I hear every word that he says. Her heart. It’s broken. There could be more. It could get worse. It could get better. It could get worse. Dr. Wilson sandwiches the news. My hands move to my stomach and press my teeth into my tongue to stay present. He continues to tell me more. I continue to listen, trading ugly questions for uglier answers. The technician stays silent, but I watch her eyes, pulling strength from them. Until finally he ushers me into another room where I am left alone to call Adam and text my parents to go to my house because we need to meet another specialist in a few hours, and Adam will need to join me for it.

The technician brings me tissues for my eyes. I don’t accept them. Not yet. That’s for later.

Leaving the hospital, I walked to my car and drove to the shoreline — to a park where I spent a year playing in my twenties, living in a three-flat apartment with two friends. I remember the red brick and yellow oak floors.

I walked through the park, moving away from students and people walking their dogs, and head to the pier. No one was there. Just birds on the water. The lake was calm. I watched the sky and someone in a kayak further out from the pier. I spoke quiet words to God. I asked what next. I said please. I said don’t you dare. Words that we say when we are not in control. Adam met me there. He hugged me, and I ate a sandwich and drank a hot chocolate that he brought to me. My fingers brushed away crumbs from my dress, and I stared at strangers until it was time to head back to the hospital for the next appointment. Termination was briefly discussed as an option as was amniocentesis and I said that I would take the night to decide and call them in the morning.

We walked outside, away from the hospital, hours later. The sun was putting itself to bed, and the air was crisp. I wanted to put distance between myself and that building. Each step was a breath.

We walked to our cars. I told Adam that I needed to drive the slow way home. It was dinner time, and the sun would set while we drove our cars west towards home. I needed the time to myself before we would walk into Jane, Atticus, and my parents. My mother. I wanted her lap. I wanted to be a child again.

A maple leaf landed on my shoulder. I looked up and down the street. Only oak trees. There wasn’t any wind. We stared at the leaf. Got into our cars. I rolled my windows down. Turned on the car. A second maple leaf landed on my lap. It made me smile. We drove, my car following his, while the sun set and the moon rose, the stars making their appearance quietly. I thought every thought. Adam grabbed dinner for us, turning right while I drove towards home. As I got closer, I began to say, “What am I supposed to do?” in a voice that was pulling anger, grief, and fear out of me. I repeated the question, a record skipping itself over and over. Then John Hiatt’s song came on. Have A Little Faith In Me.

I laughed, and I understood it. Message received. I went to my mother for comfort downstairs, then walked upstairs to my daughter to have dinner and to be her mother. My parents left to give us our space. We tackled the rest of that night and shielded Jane from our day, taking turns reading books to her and waiting for her to nod off before we climbed into our bed. We talked about amniocentesis or not, termination or not, and we fell asleep without any answers. It was my decision to make. Adam would support it either way. I hated the weight that was set on my shoulders.

I dreamt of slaying invisible beasts until my body was exhausted, and my dreams became calmer. Then, in the first moments of the morning, half in my dreams and halfway awake, I heard a man’s voice, deep and present, say “Believe,” and it woke me up straight away.

I called the office and scheduled the amniocentesis and carried the pain of it with me until I could breathe again once we received the results from it. Moving from thoughts of abortion to what to name her. The simple act of naming held more importance to me as I looked to arm her with strength and landed on Elisabeth – God’s promise. I spent the rest of my pregnancy shepherded by the song and maple leaves. They followed me everywhere, finding me when I needed them.