The Battered Heiress Blues - By Laurie Van Dermark Page 0,6
only sleeping. There were no visible wounds on his perfect body. All I could do was press him to me and rock.
As I moved back and forth in repetition, warm liquid ran down my chest, wetting my gown. My milk had come in; only there was no baby to receive it. I cried over what should have been. Even my body was deceived.
Henry returned without the coffee. My sadness must have drawn him back to me. You could see the conflict in his eyes as he struggled to find the right words to speak.
“Do you want me to call the nurse? Get you a new gown?”
“No,” I quickly responded, knowing that the nurse would likely snatch Connor.
“Shall I take him then?”
“No. Where would he go- back to strangers?”
“Jewels, I’ve made arrangements for Connor to be flown back to Savannah. I assume that you want him to be buried next to your mum?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I can make alternant plans if you like.”
“No. Of course, you’re right. He should be in Savannah with Mom. Thank you.”
“The doctors won’t release you for another week. They are insisting on keeping you here until the drains are removed. They’re worried about an infection. I think it’s a good idea. You could use the time to regain your strength. Anyway, people will need time to travel to Georgia.”
“People? I don’t want anyone else to come. Just us…okay? Tommy will say the funeral Mass.”
“I’ll apprise John of your wishes.”
Continuing to stare at Connor, I conversed with Henry, barely taking my eyes off my son. “Has the house been opened for the summer yet?”
“It’s being taken care of, Julia. Don’t worry yourself with those details.”
“I want Connor to have the blue blanket that I knitted for him. Also, he should wear the white christening gown hanging in the nursery closet. It’s all in my New York apartment. Can you send someone over to get them?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“I should donate his furniture and toys to the women’s shelter. There are some clothes in the drawers. They are welcome to them as well. I can’t go back to that nursery, Tru.”
“I know. I know. Let me take him now, Jewels. You need to rest.”
I laid him in my lap and wrapped him in the same manner I found him, tucking the edges in like a package. I was a natural. A stray lock of hair poked out of the blue knit cap and my fingers were drawn to the curl.
“Can you find a pair of scissors for me?”
He left and quickly returned, offering the scissors and a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He knew what I was after. Snipping the brown curl, I carefully wrapped it in the embroidered cloth and stared at that beautiful face awhile longer, kissing my son’s cold cheeks. He didn’t have that baby smell like I expected. He smelled sterile, like his surroundings.
The nurse knocked on the door and walked in front of me with outstretched hands. She didn’t speak, but I knew exactly what she expected of me. The exchange felt like it took place in slow motion. She was kind and patient as he lingered in my arms. Once relinquishing my hold, she whisked him away before I could change my mind. He would soon be on his way back to the States, without me.
My belly remained sore, but the doctors were pleased with the progress. After removing the drains, they marveled at how the incisions were neatly sutured. The chief surgeon gave me instructions about refraining from lifting for another month and cautioned about physical intimacy for awhile. Then he delivered grim news. My uterus had suffered a serious insult and was weak. The chances of being able to sustain a future pregnancy were slim. He encouraged me to seek the advice of a specialist when the time was right. In my view, there would never be another time. They should have removed it when they took Connor.
Our days in Lima were spent roaming the hospital halls. The doctors lamented about the necessity of being mobile, instructing me to make daily laps around the surgical ward. At first, walking was dreadful. When I stood upright, my abdominal muscles and the underlying sutures felt like they were tearing me in half, causing a great deal of pain. I saw very little reason to venture out and comply, but Henry was a serious task master- a real masochist. Within a few days of his regimen, I was no longer hunched