animal prints
Sun 2.5.24
It is four o'clock in the morning; a dreamlike stillness permeates the bedroom, whose only sound is Lucien's rhythmic breathing as he lays sleeping next to her, his damp auburn hair curling at the sides. Her eyes travel around the room over to the east wall where the crib, given to them by Lucien's friend Paul, is placed. It holds no life yet.
They have a two room flat; their bedroom is crammed with her collection of stuffed animals peering out from various niches and Lucien's weights over in one corner. Some pretty animal print sheets and a soft, fluffy blanket cover the mattress of the maple crib. She becomes fearful as she looks over at the piece of furniture.
Laying back carefully so as not to awaken Lucien, she finds she cannot fall asleep because of the pain; nothing serious, just some mild abdominal cramps that keep recurring. Checking the alarm clock on the bureau, she decides to start timing the cramps. After a while she figures the pain probably occurs every fifteen minutes. By the time it drops to twelve minutes she wakes him up.
"I think my time has come."
He is silent for a minute, just looking at her, "Are you
sure?"
"No, I'm not sure. Something's happening," She’s aware that a psychological change has occurred, but the minor cramps do not convince her she is about to give birth. Having heard a full description of birthing from her friend Carol who has seen a video of it, (Jeanne had become frightened, lightheaded and then to her horror, fainted.) she concludes this mild abdominal disturbance cannot be it.
"You're two weeks overdue; what else could it be? I say we call the doctor and head for the hospital," says Lucien.
"There's no hurry yet. I'm gonna take a bath," she counters.
He dresses and goes down to the deli to have breakfast. She fills the tub and eases her bloated body into it gently. It no longer belongs to her, she concludes sudsing up, but to that life growing inside. There are long purple scars on her abdomen where the skin has been stretched beyond elasticity. It's delicate white texture seems translucent, displaying a network of blue vein lines connecting and crossing over just below surface.
After her bath, she gingerly steps out of the tub and goes to the bedroom closet whose clothes make her feel like a breeding queen bee trapped in a hive. In the far corner are her favorite red flats which she slips on. Acutely aware of the cramps now, she keeps monitoring their appearance. Nothing has changed; they are fairly mild and still twelve minutes apart. She pulls the prepacked suitcase from the top shelf and checks to make sure she will have everything she needs.
"This is not real." she repeats several times, her mind seeming as heavy as her body, unable to grasp the fact that although she denies her time has come yet she steadily prepares for it.
"Doc Pomerleau says to bring you in." Lucien tells her when he gets back.
Once inside the cab, she says "Let's go visit Carol."
Although puzzled by her request, he does not question it. They arrive at Carol's apartment at six thirty. Carol, who normally sleeps till noon, doesn't appreciate seeing the both of them at her door. "Jesus, Jeanne, give me a break, 6:30!" but she quickly figures out what‘s happening and panics, "You've got to go to the hospital."
Carol dresses and they're off again. Jeanne notices that everyone around her seems agitated; even the cabdriver speeds all the way to the hospital, undoubtedly fearing it will happen in his car.
She hates the aqua blue tent she is wearing and shrinks into herself filling out forms in the admissions office. After it is over, the three of them head for the elevator where a small group is already waiting to board it.
Carol talks loudly, “You’ll be alright, Jeanne. This happens to women everyday. Don’t worry, I’m right here.”
Carol becomes a policewoman directing traffic at the school crosswalk, carried away with the drama of the event. Soon everyone understands what is happening.
Jeanne cannot bear all the gawking and fuss and regrets having involved her friend in the event. She spots a red exit sign and heads for the stairs.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lucien protests.
“What if you have the baby in the stairs?” cries Carol.
“You’re being hysterical!” Jeanne snaps back, walking towards the landing. They follow behind and all trudge up the five flights to maternity in silence.
Next month will be her twentieth birthday and the first anniversary of her wedding to Lucien. She feels her life is changing so rapidly she barely has time to settle matters in her mind. How has it come about that she is now in the hospital? Because the rhythm method didn't work, she acknowledges. Jeanne hates being pregnant. The events of one night have brought her world crashing down around her. And sex was not what she had expected, certainly not worth all the fuss everyone makes over it. Afterward, she felt like an outsider with her friends. They inhabit a world she is no longer privy to. She can't hang around with girls her age anymore, and she can't go dancing down at Jake's because she has become a huge, wattling larva. Girls agilely slip by her on the streets chatting happily. She wears her tent dress and curses.
The three of them reach the fifth floor panting heavily. A nurse with a name tag on her uniform marked Irene Caron, RN, approaches them and extends a hand to Lucien, then speaks to Jeanne, Let’s take you to the labor room and prep you.” Carol, who feels her role of nurturer has been usurped, wants to leave after Nurse Caron takes charge. “You’ll be alright now, Jeanne. I’m gonna go home and get some sleep. Lucien will call me.” She kisses her friend on the forehead and turns to go, relieved to be heading out of the institution.
“Thanks for coming,” Jeannne calls out to the woman walking down the corridor. She is glad to see her friend leave, acknowledging to herself that she cannot go back to that time before Lucien and her new responsibilities, and she doesn't want to anymore; she's got to face this by herself.
"Perhaps I'm just having some discomfort, it might not be time yet," she tells the nurse, worried she will have to pay for a day spent at the hospital unnecessarily because she has no insurance.
“We’ll decide that.” Nurse Caron tells her as she hands her a johnny and points her to the corner bed.
Lucien stays with her as long as he can and parts reluctantly when a hospital nun shoos him away. “I’ll be right here, out in the hall,” he tells her, more to comfort himself than her.
Alone in the labor room, she slips her street clothes off and puts on the johnny, surveying her surroundings. The room is oblong, with mint colored walls, white ceilings and two beds, at odd angles to each other. A network of poles holds curtains to separate the beds. She heads for the only window in the room; the smell of sun baked earth and growing things come to her on this first, truly warm, day of the year. She wonders if the birth will be over by evening . . perhaps there might still be time to enjoy the warm spring night.
Soon all contact with time and weather will be lost. Once she has stripped and lays in the white bed in her sterile white gown the nurse proceeds to shave her pubic hair. It is precisely at that moment that her water bursts soiling everything. Dripping Nurse Caron gives her a dirty look.
Jeanne has other worries as her contractions come faster and the pain is more insistent. Lucien comes to sit with her but she does not want his company. The contractions are unbearable, and once they end the pressure on her back does not ease; there is no relief from pain. It occurs to her that something might be very wrong; maybe she will die. Her mother did; not during childbirth, but she never regained strength after Jeanne was born and died a year later. And now it is Jeanne's turn and she does not want to die.
The hours pass slowly as she slips in and out of reality. Moaning loudly, she is told by Nurse Caron, “Stop behaving like a baby.”
Later, she vaguely remembers someone telling her "When the pain comes breathe into the mask it will help." but she is beyond reason by then and is not even aware that she has been transferred to the delivery room.
It is over by seven in the evening. Lucien has waited in the lounge all day. He sees the doctor who tells him that the birth has been difficult.
"She worked against it." he tells the father. "The baby should have been born hours ago." The doctor is sopping wet with perspiration.
Jeanne wakes and looks around her. There are two empty beds beside hers in the room, and a wall in front of her. This is not the labor room. What has happened? She finds the buzzer on the side of her bed and rings it. From the open window she can see it is evening.
A nurse enters her room; she thanks god it isn't the bitch Caron.
"What's happening?" she asks her, "Where am I? Why has everything stopped?"
The nurse looks at her and smiles, "It's about time you wake up; the baby was born hours ago."
"Baby . . born . .? No." This last word stated with finality.
The nurse nods, "Yes, it's over. You've had a little girl."
Jeanne shakes her head, "No." This is a hoax.
The nurse keeps insisting and finally she comes upon the solution to convince her. "Touch your abdomen."
She does so, then pulls the sheet up to look at it. There are long ochre streaks of disinfectant staining her abdomen and thighs.
She looks up at the nurse dazedly, "It's true."
"Yes."
"Everything is alright?"
"Everything is fine."
"Can I see the baby?"
"Well I guess it's ok, you haven't seen her yet." the nurse concludes, formulating the response she will have to give her sisters in Nursery,
She comes back with a wrapped bundle in her arms. Jeanne can feel her heart beating irregularly. She looks; a tiny, feisty looking baby with clenched fists looks straight at her. She has Lucien's blue eyes and Jeanne can see how the baby looks like her too. She does not understand what is happening but she knows this is a powerful moment. It's beyond her life with Lucien, beyond the hospital and its medical explanation of genetic information being transmitted, and cells multiplying. She is catching a glimpse of the mystery, like the time long ago when she saw the first drops of blood in her underpants. The little girl is beautiful.
She stammers, "Uh . . is she . . alright?"
With that the nurse completely unwraps the little girl, showing her thoroughly to Jeanne, all the while reassuring her that the baby is healthy and perfectly formed in every way.
After they leave, Jeanne reaches into her pocketbook, pulls out a cigarette and lights it. Laying back in bed, she is aware of the coarseness of the starched hospital gown and stiff sheets against her body. The spring night is starry and still, not a sound does she hear from the corridors of the sleeping hospital.
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MANHATTAN SEERESS NOW ON EBOOKS
Eight o'clock Sunday morning, the police arrive at her apartment in Greenwich Village, "How long have you been living here?" The roommate Elizabeth, after having accepted her half of the deposit money and rent for their new apartment, has called the police.
New York City doesn’t open its arms to welcome her, but she’s arrived and the adventure of her life is about to unfold. She’s come from Maine with an invitation from Sarah Lawrence College to participate in the graduate writing program.
How one becomes a seeress is what this memoir explores. Stories have been specifically selected to illustrate, from the sublime to the practical, a spiritual journey introduced in each chapter by an atout, the Tarot’s major archetypes. From the Fool, to The World, our human journey with its risk and folly unfolds. There is also an artist here alive to her new world seeking inspiration among artists on the Lower East side, learning the ways and foods of her Chinese neighbors, falling in love.
