Good Girls Have Secrets

Chapter 22

I've never spent so much time in a hospital. Five years ago, Corrine, Max, and I parked in a waiting room watching tv, while my mom sat at our grandpa's bedside. After a few hours, we left because my mom couldn't watch him die.

Heading to my room to order lunch, while my mom goes to grab me a few things, I order a veggie burger. Hanging up, there's a quiet knock, a guy comes in to take my blood. I'm sick of all the needle sticks, hopefully this is the last one.

As he's leaving the doctor comes in. He's wearing khakis and a starched blue button down. I admire his expensive Italian leather shoes. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Okay. A little sore and tired." I shrug.

"How's your cramping and bleeding?"

Looking away, I don't want to talk about this. Dr. Merrill is on vacation, so this guy is filling in for her. I can't remember his name, but I'm too embarrassed to ask a third time. "It's all bearable. I just hope my stomach goes back."

"It will. It takes time." He pauses. Pulling off his glasses, he asks. "Are you planning to breastfeed? I would like to set up a meeting with a lactation nurse to help you."

I never planned to have a baby; here I sit, considering whether to bottle feed or breastfeed. I'm already failing as a mother, most moms probably know the answer, but I don't.

The doctor interrupts my self-loathing. "You're going to be here anyway. Let me set up a meeting with Angie. She can explain things and answer your questions."

I mumble, "Okay."

The doctor checks out my belly, finding several large bruises on my torso. He directs, "Your body has been through a lot of trauma in the last 24 hours. I'd like you to stay tonight, so we can continue to observe you. I'll sign off that you can walk to the NICU on your own, but if you have shooting pain or signs of distress, you need to contact your nurse immediately."

He looks me over, as he continues to talk about postpartum depression. Giving him a fake smile and an occasional nod, I tell him I'll be fine. A few more stiff words and phony phrases come out of my mouth, until at last he leaves.

Sitting alone, door opening snaps me back to reality. My mom hands me a couple of sacks. "I got you a pair of leggings and a long flowy shirt. I figured you might as well be comfortable." Pursing her lips, she asks, "What's going on? Why are you just sitting here?"

Starting to cry, "I don't think I can do this. It's too much."

Stepping forward, she puts her hand on my shoulder, "I'm afraid you don't have a choice if you're going to keep the baby."

Feeling trapped, I imagine walking out of the hospital pretending this never happened. Could I abandon my child?

"I need a shower." My voice is flat. "Do you know if they brought my purse to the hospital?"

Digging through the closet, pulling it out of a sack that says personal belongings, I'm relieved when it's in there. Inside I find enough makeup to make me feel human. Grabbing the little pouch with shampoo and conditioner, from the shelf beside my bed, I hold back my tears until I'm alone with the water running over my head.

Twenty minutes later I finally feel a little bit like myself, as my mom and I head back up to the NICU. Stepping off the elevator, I see Matt sitting on one of the couches. He stands, walking towards me.

Wrapping me in a hug, I melt in his arms. Then remembering my mom is standing there, I step back. "Mom, this is Matt."

Matt shakes her hand. "Nice to meet you Mrs. Beckman."