Dorothy rearranged Fannie’s pillows and urged her to relax against them. Of course, Fannie couldn’t relax but she could anddidtake notice of Dorothy’s conduct. In this particular set of circumstances, the nurse came off as extremely competent.
“My guess,” said Dorothy, “is we’ll move you to the labor room soon.”
With Hyram, Fannie had been put on such a heavy dose of morphine she could barely recall the labor room at all. She had drifted in and out of consciousness, numb not only to her contractions but to the moments between each contraction, too.
The delivery room was harder to forget. The bright white light, the long white leggings that, once on, acted like straps, securing Fannie to the table. She had felt like a chained animal, had been sure she would die with her hands and feet in the stirrups and an ether mask clamped onto her face. The idea of being back in that same room, alone, trapped in a twilight sleep from which she couldn’t wake, made her feel dizzy with fear.
Within a few minutes, Helen returned with word that Dr. Rosenthal was on his way. “I couldn’t reach your husband,” she said, “but I called your parents.”
“Is my mother coming?”
“It sounds like it.”
Fannie felt a wild urge to send word to her sister in France but reminded herself it would be best to wait until she was holding a healthy baby in her arms. While she waited for the doctor, she composed the telegram in her head. BABY ARRIVED TODAY STOP NO COMPLICATIONS STOP WISH YOU WERE HERE STOP. Was the “wish you were here” part too much? It was true.
Dr. Rosenthal arrived and examined Fannie promptly. He turned to Dorothy. “How long since the last contraction?”
She looked at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
“She’s not dilated.”
“What does that mean?” Fannie asked them both.
“It means,” said Dr. Rosenthal, “that this baby might be willing to wait a little longer.”
“Is that something we want?” asked Fannie.
“You’re not due for two more weeks. So, probably. As long as your blood pressure remains in check.”
Fannie didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. She wanted to give the child every advantage but she thought she might go crazy if she spent another hour, let alone another fortnight, in her hospital bed.
Dr. Rosenthal promised he’d be back to check on her in half an hour and instructed Dorothy to stay with Fannie until he returned. Dorothy looked disappointed but didn’t argue. She made a big show of plumping Fannie’s pillows and refreshing her water but after Dr. Rosenthal was gone, she let out a large yawn and sank into the chair beside the window.
“What time is it?” Fannie asked her.
She looked at her watch. “Nearly two.”
“What were you listening to? In the lounge.”
“Oh, just reruns ofPalmolive Beauty Box Theater. There’s nothing on at this time of night.”
“Is it dreadful working nights? I don’t know how I’d stay awake.”
“It’s all right. It’s quieter and there’s usually less to do.”
Fannie pulled the bedsheet over her stomach.
“Did you work before you got married?” Dorothy asked.
“If you don’t count helping my parents behind the counter at the bakery, no. I got married at nineteen, so there wasn’t much time for any of that.”
“I want to get married.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No,” said Dorothy, flatly.
Fannie cocked her head to get a better look at Dorothy. She really was a very peculiar person.
