Anomaly
by Laurel Sharon
Photo by Laura Ohlman on Unsplash
Imagine the following situation:
You are ten years old and catch sight of your reflection in the window of a fabric store as you and your mother walk by. You are old enough to have a sense of your own body and have compared your body to the bodies of other girls you know. While viewing your reflection you wonder if the tip of your nose is too round, too lumpy, too fat. Perhaps you move your head slightly for a better view. You hope your nose is well-proportioned and you are pretty. Your mother sees you looking at your reflection. “You are as ugly as death,” she says. Although you don’t fully understand death (you have given death some thought—not yours; your mother’s) you do understand you have just been insulted. Which one of the following do you choose?
1. You say nothing, become quietly enraged and later in life have a major depressive disorder.
2. You cry.
3. You vow one day to be a mother and never treat your children the way you were treated.
4. You spit on the ground close to your mother’s feet.
5. None of the above.
Sara chooses #3.
As her life goes on, she feeds a lamb at a children’s zoo, has a Holy Communion, attends prom without a date, graduates from a small and obscure liberal arts college, sells dental supplies (at which she does quite well), and holidays on Mykonos, where she tries not to look at the French girls sunbathing topless.
While busy and engaged, she feels her life will only truly begin when she marries and becomes a mother. She has a vow to keep. To that end she dates:
“You're a critical person without much warmth.”
“Critical?”
“You said sleeping in bed with my sister was ‘unsavory.’”
Sara ends the relationship and creates an affirmation for herself. I am a caring person who will make an outstanding mother and wife, which she fervently believes. She writes the affirmation on a 3” x 5” file card which she carries in her purse.
Unlike most brides, Sara doesn’t care much about the wedding or her mother’s snide remark. “The gown makes you look sallow.”
“It’s white, mom. How can white make you look sallow?”
She doesn’t care much about the honeymoon, although room service is nice and Danny feeds her a soft-boiled egg with a spoon. What she does care about is the pregnancy that ensues. She is ecstatic. Danny is even more ecstatic. “I love you so much,” he says.
Weeks later Sara experiences pain. It has never occurred to either one of them that something could go wrong. She miscarries. They are confused.
When speaking with the doctor, Sara finds herself smiling and laughing, although nothing is funny. She doesn’t understand that she is behaving exactly opposite to how she feels as a way of coping. This is an unconscious process. The doctor responds to her smiles and laughter with smiles and laughter of his own. “Ho, ho, ho,” he says, “the miscarriage is routine. Ho, ho, ho an anomaly with the fetus. Ho, ho, ho, nature’s way.” Danny isn’t smiling or laughing. He demands more of an explanation. “The miscarriage was without complications,” the doctor says, “merely a matter of heavy bleeding.”
“Ho, ho?” says Sara.
“Eight to 20 percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage.”
“Statistics are meaningless to us,” says Danny.
“Yet, statistics are on your wife’s side. She’s only 24 years old. Plenty of time for babies.”
“Time isn’t the issue. The baby is,” Sara says.
“What are you talking about?” says the doctor.
“What are you talking about? says Danny. “When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, my wife always answered, ‘a mother.’”
Sara quickly becomes pregnant again. She miscarries again. This time she has no laughter. “An anomaly with the fetus,” says the doctor.
“We’ve heard that before,” says Danny.
“It’s no less true the second time than the first,” the doctor says.
“Not good enough,” says Danny. “What are the statistics on two miscarriages in a row?”
You are ten years old and catch sight of your reflection in the window of a fabric store as you and your mother walk by. You are old enough to have a sense of your own body and have compared your body to the bodies of other girls you know. While viewing your reflection you wonder if the tip of your nose is too round, too lumpy, too fat. Perhaps you move your head slightly for a better view. You hope your nose is well-proportioned and you are pretty. Your mother sees you looking at your reflection. “You are as ugly as death,” she says. Although you don’t fully understand death (you have given death some thought—not yours; your mother’s) you do understand you have just been insulted. Which one of the following do you choose?
1. You say nothing, become quietly enraged and later in life have a major depressive disorder.
2. You cry.
3. You vow one day to be a mother and never treat your children the way you were treated.
4. You spit on the ground close to your mother’s feet.
5. None of the above.
Sara chooses #3.
As her life goes on, she feeds a lamb at a children’s zoo, has a Holy Communion, attends prom without a date, graduates from a small and obscure liberal arts college, sells dental supplies (at which she does quite well), and holidays on Mykonos, where she tries not to look at the French girls sunbathing topless.
While busy and engaged, she feels her life will only truly begin when she marries and becomes a mother. She has a vow to keep. To that end she dates:
- Brandon: curly black hair, green eyes and lips a bit too large for his face. She cannot decide if he looks sensual or freakish. Brandon is a modern dancer and wants her to attend his performances. He says the company he dances with is avant-garde which seems to mean he often performs in the nude. As a result, stage lighting is very important to him. The nudity embarrasses her. His lack of circumcision repulses her. Intimacy with him is beyond her. She stops attending his performances. Brandon doesn’t notice. She breaks up with him. He doesn’t notice that either.
- Simon: blue eyes and brown wavy hair. His right eye-tooth protrudes. Sara forgives him the tooth, thinking of her nose. Simon lives an active life. On Monday evenings, he plays softball with colleagues “to be a team player.” On Tuesday nights, he hits golf balls at a driving range “to gain perspective.” On Wednesday nights, he plays basketball “to catch up” with high school buddies. On Friday nights, he goes to his parents’ home for a family dinner, or a birthday dinner or leaves with the clan “for a weekend of ‘just us’ at Okemo Mountain Resort in Vermont.” The suite his parents rent at the resort is small and he shares a bed with one of his sisters. He has two. After Okemo, Sara asks Simon why she isn’t a priority. He tells her the fault is hers.
“You're a critical person without much warmth.”
“Critical?”
“You said sleeping in bed with my sister was ‘unsavory.’”
Sara ends the relationship and creates an affirmation for herself. I am a caring person who will make an outstanding mother and wife, which she fervently believes. She writes the affirmation on a 3” x 5” file card which she carries in her purse.
- Oh. Oh. Danny: Greek nose, muscular but not over-built, and tall. Sara is impressed with how confidently he interacts with the bartender. He orders vodkas with cranberry juice, thinking she’d enjoy something fruity. As they drink, he says, “You’re very pretty,” and notes she has a really cute ass. A second round of drinks and he says, “I love you,” which Sara finds kind of obnoxious. With a third round of drinks, they both have a desperate need to urinate, although no one leaves the table. He says, “Let’s get married and have lots of babies.” He continues to repeat variations of this: “I want to marry you,” “You’re the one,” “…I love babies,” “…best babies ever,” “loads of babies.” By the end of the night, they’re engaged.
Unlike most brides, Sara doesn’t care much about the wedding or her mother’s snide remark. “The gown makes you look sallow.”
“It’s white, mom. How can white make you look sallow?”
She doesn’t care much about the honeymoon, although room service is nice and Danny feeds her a soft-boiled egg with a spoon. What she does care about is the pregnancy that ensues. She is ecstatic. Danny is even more ecstatic. “I love you so much,” he says.
Weeks later Sara experiences pain. It has never occurred to either one of them that something could go wrong. She miscarries. They are confused.
When speaking with the doctor, Sara finds herself smiling and laughing, although nothing is funny. She doesn’t understand that she is behaving exactly opposite to how she feels as a way of coping. This is an unconscious process. The doctor responds to her smiles and laughter with smiles and laughter of his own. “Ho, ho, ho,” he says, “the miscarriage is routine. Ho, ho, ho an anomaly with the fetus. Ho, ho, ho, nature’s way.” Danny isn’t smiling or laughing. He demands more of an explanation. “The miscarriage was without complications,” the doctor says, “merely a matter of heavy bleeding.”
“Ho, ho?” says Sara.
“Eight to 20 percent of known pregnancies end in miscarriage.”
“Statistics are meaningless to us,” says Danny.
“Yet, statistics are on your wife’s side. She’s only 24 years old. Plenty of time for babies.”
“Time isn’t the issue. The baby is,” Sara says.
“What are you talking about?” says the doctor.
“What are you talking about? says Danny. “When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, my wife always answered, ‘a mother.’”
Sara quickly becomes pregnant again. She miscarries again. This time she has no laughter. “An anomaly with the fetus,” says the doctor.
“We’ve heard that before,” says Danny.
“It’s no less true the second time than the first,” the doctor says.
“Not good enough,” says Danny. “What are the statistics on two miscarriages in a row?”
|
“You said statistics were meaningless to you.” No response. “Two percent.” Silence. “Look, this is as frustrating for me as it is for you. Support your wife. Love your wife. That’s the best medicine. She’ll become pregnant again. P.S. All this toxic emotion is not helpful.” The doctor secretly regrets his decision to specialize in reproductive medicine. Why in God’s name didn’t I stick with radiology?
“It’s my fault,” says Sara during the car ride back home. “How do we know it’s not mine?” says Danny reaching for her hand. |
"When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, my wife always answered, 'a mother'." |
~
Sara and Danny agree to be judicious with the frequency they have sex, seeking to fortify Danny’s sperm for the important ovulatory moments. They want a pregnancy fast. There is no pregnancy. Sara tries reverse psychology and tells herself she could be happy without children trying to fool her ovaries into thinking she really doesn’t care. When still no pregnancy occurs, she submits to a battery of tests to evaluate her ovulatory hormones and pituitary hormones and ovarian reserve—blood draws and ultrasounds of her uterus from every angle and a hysterosalpingogram.
“What’s that?” asks Sara.
“Dye is injected into your uterus to see if your fallopian tubes are blocked.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It shouldn’t.”
When she cries out in pain the nurse says, “Oh, it’s not so bad. Stop acting like a baby.” Sara wonders if the remark is stupid or cruel.
No anomalies are found.
The doctor is stumped. “Any chance of syphilis?” he asks.
Sara and Danny decide to try alternative medicine. Sara has weekly acupuncture sessions, ingests Chinese herbs and tries hypnotherapy, guided visualization and meditation groups. Enlightenment is a potential by-product. Danny, who is an atheist, decides to pray. “Just in case I’m wrong.”
Sara becomes pregnant. She and Danny are ecstatic. “I love you so much,” he says.
During the first trimester, she craves orange soda and Danny buys cases which he stacks in the garage. When he pours her a glass, she is shocked by the bold color. “It’s so orange,” she says. During the second trimester her belly grows, and Danny buys her almond scented massage oil to protect her skin from stretch marks. At night, he is frightened when she jumps out of bed and makes a sound like a yodel while rubbing her calves. “Leg cramps,” she says. The next day he says, “Problem solved,” in the same tone as if he’d said, “Eureka” after telling her he bought a series of pre-natal massages at a local spa. They cope with fears about the pregnancy by keeping themselves occupied. Sara thinks about dental supplies—Novocain, toothpaste, drill bits. She sings to herself. She begins to embroider, rigorously cross-stitching endless number of pillows embossed with familiar sayings, “Love Me Love My Dog,” “Your Guess is as Good as Mine,” and “Who Put You in Charge?” Danny whistles. Sara’s body grows and she feels off balance and unwieldy. They both silently note she is past the point in previous pregnancies when she miscarried but say nothing, feeling to mention this fact out loud would bring bad luck. Danny buys her an ergonomic chair for pregnant women that he puts in the backyard. When the weather is nice, she sits in the sun. He looks at her and thinks She is radiant. Sara stockpiles toys for their baby—white teddy bears of the softest plush, a musical lamb, a banana baby rattle, and for when the baby is older, stacking blocks and trains of only real wood, even an iPad loaded with educational games. Danny whistles. During the third trimester in the seventh month Sara no longer feels the baby move. “He’s dead inside me,” she says. She is right. The umbilical cord has wrapped around the baby’s neck and deprived him of oxygen.
“An anomaly,” the doctor says after the ultrasound. Nobody is laughing.
Sara can wait several weeks for labor to begin naturally or be induced. If she waits, I can pretend the baby is still alive. She cannot pretend he is alive. He sits like a stone in her belly. Danny stays with her throughout labor, holding her hand, although he turns his face away. He is not sure why he does this. Does he not want to see her grief, or does he not want her to see his? He feels like he is locked in a very tiny closet alone. Sara doesn’t notice.
“What’s that?” asks Sara.
“Dye is injected into your uterus to see if your fallopian tubes are blocked.”
“Does it hurt?”
“It shouldn’t.”
When she cries out in pain the nurse says, “Oh, it’s not so bad. Stop acting like a baby.” Sara wonders if the remark is stupid or cruel.
No anomalies are found.
The doctor is stumped. “Any chance of syphilis?” he asks.
Sara and Danny decide to try alternative medicine. Sara has weekly acupuncture sessions, ingests Chinese herbs and tries hypnotherapy, guided visualization and meditation groups. Enlightenment is a potential by-product. Danny, who is an atheist, decides to pray. “Just in case I’m wrong.”
Sara becomes pregnant. She and Danny are ecstatic. “I love you so much,” he says.
During the first trimester, she craves orange soda and Danny buys cases which he stacks in the garage. When he pours her a glass, she is shocked by the bold color. “It’s so orange,” she says. During the second trimester her belly grows, and Danny buys her almond scented massage oil to protect her skin from stretch marks. At night, he is frightened when she jumps out of bed and makes a sound like a yodel while rubbing her calves. “Leg cramps,” she says. The next day he says, “Problem solved,” in the same tone as if he’d said, “Eureka” after telling her he bought a series of pre-natal massages at a local spa. They cope with fears about the pregnancy by keeping themselves occupied. Sara thinks about dental supplies—Novocain, toothpaste, drill bits. She sings to herself. She begins to embroider, rigorously cross-stitching endless number of pillows embossed with familiar sayings, “Love Me Love My Dog,” “Your Guess is as Good as Mine,” and “Who Put You in Charge?” Danny whistles. Sara’s body grows and she feels off balance and unwieldy. They both silently note she is past the point in previous pregnancies when she miscarried but say nothing, feeling to mention this fact out loud would bring bad luck. Danny buys her an ergonomic chair for pregnant women that he puts in the backyard. When the weather is nice, she sits in the sun. He looks at her and thinks She is radiant. Sara stockpiles toys for their baby—white teddy bears of the softest plush, a musical lamb, a banana baby rattle, and for when the baby is older, stacking blocks and trains of only real wood, even an iPad loaded with educational games. Danny whistles. During the third trimester in the seventh month Sara no longer feels the baby move. “He’s dead inside me,” she says. She is right. The umbilical cord has wrapped around the baby’s neck and deprived him of oxygen.
“An anomaly,” the doctor says after the ultrasound. Nobody is laughing.
Sara can wait several weeks for labor to begin naturally or be induced. If she waits, I can pretend the baby is still alive. She cannot pretend he is alive. He sits like a stone in her belly. Danny stays with her throughout labor, holding her hand, although he turns his face away. He is not sure why he does this. Does he not want to see her grief, or does he not want her to see his? He feels like he is locked in a very tiny closet alone. Sara doesn’t notice.
"Does he not want to see her grief, or does he not want her to see his?" |
The baby is born. She asks the nurse, “What does he look like?” unsure of what to expect.
“He’s perfect,” the nurse says. |
Sara asks to hold the baby. “Look, Danny,” she says “He’s not an anomaly. He is perfect.” She does not see his red skin and purple lips.
Danny keeps his face turned away. Not only does he feel like he is inside a very tiny closet alone, he needs to stay there. The closet keeps him safe. Sara kisses the baby on the forehead gently. The nurse cuts a piece of the baby’s hair so she can have a keepsake. Danny will eventually purchase a locket for Sara to keep the hair in. Danny does not purchase the locket on Amazon. The locket is made by an artisan and engraved in a French rococo style. This, however, is in the future. They name the baby Jacob after Danny’s great grandfather on his mother’s side. They had planned on calling him Jake.
While Sara recovers, which means wailing in the hospital chapel until voiceless and being carried out on a stretcher sedated, Danny signs the death certificate and arranges for the cremation. Danny takes the toys Sara had purchased and gives them away to the Salvation Army. When he leaves the store, he lets the door slam.
The doctor suggests a Pregnancy Loss Support Group. “I never want to see you again,” Sara replies.
Danny keeps the banana baby rattle, as a keepsake of his own.
He returns to the hospital to retrieve his wife. She looks small in the wheelchair as the nurse rolls her to the electric door. With the baby gone, she is less than half the size she was going in. Everything has been taken out of her. When they arrive home, Danny opens the car door on Sara’s side, helps her out and puts his hand around her waist, shielding her from the neighbors’ views. With her empty arms, Sara feels ashamed. She did not deliver, yet she did deliver, and the contradiction confuses her and makes her feel tearful and weak. For months she cannot walk. Danny carries her. She cannot eat. Danny feeds her. She cannot wash. Danny cleans her. “She is like a baby,” he tells the doctor. Sara slowly recovers.
Danny keeps his face turned away. Not only does he feel like he is inside a very tiny closet alone, he needs to stay there. The closet keeps him safe. Sara kisses the baby on the forehead gently. The nurse cuts a piece of the baby’s hair so she can have a keepsake. Danny will eventually purchase a locket for Sara to keep the hair in. Danny does not purchase the locket on Amazon. The locket is made by an artisan and engraved in a French rococo style. This, however, is in the future. They name the baby Jacob after Danny’s great grandfather on his mother’s side. They had planned on calling him Jake.
While Sara recovers, which means wailing in the hospital chapel until voiceless and being carried out on a stretcher sedated, Danny signs the death certificate and arranges for the cremation. Danny takes the toys Sara had purchased and gives them away to the Salvation Army. When he leaves the store, he lets the door slam.
The doctor suggests a Pregnancy Loss Support Group. “I never want to see you again,” Sara replies.
Danny keeps the banana baby rattle, as a keepsake of his own.
He returns to the hospital to retrieve his wife. She looks small in the wheelchair as the nurse rolls her to the electric door. With the baby gone, she is less than half the size she was going in. Everything has been taken out of her. When they arrive home, Danny opens the car door on Sara’s side, helps her out and puts his hand around her waist, shielding her from the neighbors’ views. With her empty arms, Sara feels ashamed. She did not deliver, yet she did deliver, and the contradiction confuses her and makes her feel tearful and weak. For months she cannot walk. Danny carries her. She cannot eat. Danny feeds her. She cannot wash. Danny cleans her. “She is like a baby,” he tells the doctor. Sara slowly recovers.
|
At first, the neighbors don’t ask any questions and offer only polite smiles or bland conversation about the weather, or gardening tips, or a change of date for recyclable pick-up. Someone mentions problems with their well water, but someone else silences them with an intense stare. Eventually, however, the questions begin. As Sara stands in her driveway, about to step into her car a neighbor appears and asks, “What went wrong?”
|
"She did not deliver, yet she did deliver, and the contradiction confuses her and makes her feel tearful and weak." |
Another neighbor joins them—not wanting to miss anything—and then another. Sara feels surrounded. She is surrounded.
“Are you going to sue the doctor?”
“Do you plan on trying again?”
Sara doesn’t know what to say. She is shy, not particularly street smart, with a naivete that despite her recent trauma, lingers around her like a pleasant perfume, even though she vacationed on an island where the women sunbathed topless. Most simply, though, she is a young woman shattered by grief. She doesn’t answer any of the questions until she is asked, “Did you have it buried or cremated?”
“That ‘It’,” she says with a sudden fury, “was my son.”
For a moment there is silence. Somebody’s stomach growls.
“Same thing happened to my cousin.”
“Someone told me about someone who had the same thing happen to her.”
“Definitely.”
“Take one of my kids. I’m sick of them.”
There is laughter—and no more questions.
None of the women speak to Sara again. They find her grief too messy, too intense, possibly contagious to risk any further conversation. If they see her walking down the street, they walk to the other side or avert their eyes or busy themselves with a dog’s leash. They even avoid walking past her home. One woman, Evie, feels shame. She is Sara’s friend and did nothing while Sara was questioned. “It was like she was being fired at with a machine gun,” she tells her husband. She vows to be a better friend.
A year later, Sara is not pregnant. She and Danny find a new fertility doctor who recommends IVF treatments. She and Danny tell each other that IVF is “great” because each time, before the fetus is implanted, it is tested for anomalies. “We’re done with those,” Sara says trying to sound upbeat yet coming across as near hysterical. Sara miscarries each time. When the eighth IVF treatment fails, the doctor recommends they stop.
“No,” says Sara, feeling like the victim of a holdup about to die.
“With our last egg retrieval, we were only able to get one good embryo.”
“We only need one. Just one.”
“Sara…” says Danny walking the line of staying emotionally in control—and what had Sara called him—“cold-blooded…callous…a jerkass?”
“Just one. I’m begging you for just one. One baby.” She looks at the doctor, and then at Danny. When there is no response, she looks up trying to find God in the soundproof ceiling panels.
“I can’t give you a baby,” says the doctor sounding genuinely sad.
“Why? Why?”
“With everything we know about fertility, there’s still so much we don’t know.”
“You’re saying nothing. What does that even mean?”
“It means I don’t know why I can’t give you a baby. But I can’t.”
“I’ll sue you. We’ll get another doctor. We’ll go to Mexico.”
“No,” says Danny.
“You’re not saying anything either.”
“I’m saying, ‘No.’”
“What do you mean, “No?”
“We’re done. I’m done,” says Danny.
“No, Danny. No.”
“The doctor’s right. We need to stop. I can be happy without a baby in our lives, can’t you?” Briefly he thinks about adoption again but knows better than to bring it up.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out the affirmation she has continued to carry and rips the 3” x 5” tattered file card, in half. I am a caring person who will make an outstanding mother and wife.
“Happy now?” she says to Danny.
That night in bed, Danny tries to hold his wife. She lies there like a dead thing. Danny thinks about the genuine and caring girl shocked by topless bathing he had met years ago; the girl who had wanted a child so much and wonders if she can still want and if she can, will she want him. He waits. Sara offers to divorce him so he can have children with someone else.
“Oh,” he says.
Yet he waits years for her to say, “I want you,” busying himself with picking up dry cleaning, washing her car and having the interior detailed and shopping for outerwear. When he can’t wait any longer, suffocated almost to the point of extinction by her baby grief, he moves out of their bedroom into the guestroom.
“Are you going to sue the doctor?”
“Do you plan on trying again?”
Sara doesn’t know what to say. She is shy, not particularly street smart, with a naivete that despite her recent trauma, lingers around her like a pleasant perfume, even though she vacationed on an island where the women sunbathed topless. Most simply, though, she is a young woman shattered by grief. She doesn’t answer any of the questions until she is asked, “Did you have it buried or cremated?”
“That ‘It’,” she says with a sudden fury, “was my son.”
For a moment there is silence. Somebody’s stomach growls.
“Same thing happened to my cousin.”
“Someone told me about someone who had the same thing happen to her.”
“Definitely.”
“Take one of my kids. I’m sick of them.”
There is laughter—and no more questions.
None of the women speak to Sara again. They find her grief too messy, too intense, possibly contagious to risk any further conversation. If they see her walking down the street, they walk to the other side or avert their eyes or busy themselves with a dog’s leash. They even avoid walking past her home. One woman, Evie, feels shame. She is Sara’s friend and did nothing while Sara was questioned. “It was like she was being fired at with a machine gun,” she tells her husband. She vows to be a better friend.
A year later, Sara is not pregnant. She and Danny find a new fertility doctor who recommends IVF treatments. She and Danny tell each other that IVF is “great” because each time, before the fetus is implanted, it is tested for anomalies. “We’re done with those,” Sara says trying to sound upbeat yet coming across as near hysterical. Sara miscarries each time. When the eighth IVF treatment fails, the doctor recommends they stop.
“No,” says Sara, feeling like the victim of a holdup about to die.
“With our last egg retrieval, we were only able to get one good embryo.”
“We only need one. Just one.”
“Sara…” says Danny walking the line of staying emotionally in control—and what had Sara called him—“cold-blooded…callous…a jerkass?”
“Just one. I’m begging you for just one. One baby.” She looks at the doctor, and then at Danny. When there is no response, she looks up trying to find God in the soundproof ceiling panels.
“I can’t give you a baby,” says the doctor sounding genuinely sad.
“Why? Why?”
“With everything we know about fertility, there’s still so much we don’t know.”
“You’re saying nothing. What does that even mean?”
“It means I don’t know why I can’t give you a baby. But I can’t.”
“I’ll sue you. We’ll get another doctor. We’ll go to Mexico.”
“No,” says Danny.
“You’re not saying anything either.”
“I’m saying, ‘No.’”
“What do you mean, “No?”
“We’re done. I’m done,” says Danny.
“No, Danny. No.”
“The doctor’s right. We need to stop. I can be happy without a baby in our lives, can’t you?” Briefly he thinks about adoption again but knows better than to bring it up.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out the affirmation she has continued to carry and rips the 3” x 5” tattered file card, in half. I am a caring person who will make an outstanding mother and wife.
“Happy now?” she says to Danny.
That night in bed, Danny tries to hold his wife. She lies there like a dead thing. Danny thinks about the genuine and caring girl shocked by topless bathing he had met years ago; the girl who had wanted a child so much and wonders if she can still want and if she can, will she want him. He waits. Sara offers to divorce him so he can have children with someone else.
“Oh,” he says.
Yet he waits years for her to say, “I want you,” busying himself with picking up dry cleaning, washing her car and having the interior detailed and shopping for outerwear. When he can’t wait any longer, suffocated almost to the point of extinction by her baby grief, he moves out of their bedroom into the guestroom.
Imagine the following situation. You’re a woman who has tried for years to have a baby and failed. Which of the following do you choose?
1. Your attitude towards life moves from cynical to bitter.
2. You blame yourself, which gives you the illusion of control when in fact you have none.
3. You register complaints with the AMA against the fertility doctors.
4. You create a vision board.
5. None of the above.
Sara chooses #5.
Danny urges her to see a psychotherapist after seeing her reread an article on babies being stolen from hospitals. She does and explains the miscarriages, the stillbirth, the failed IVF treatments and the passage of time.
“There are other ways to give birth,” the therapist says.
She never goes back.
“He’s an idiot,” she tells Danny.
Soon after her appointment, Sara loses interest in selling dental supplies, considering them low-brow and common. She decides to “reinvent” herself and becomes interested in all things fashion. She familiarizes herself with designer labels, the “in” color for each new year, sneers at any substitute for real leather. She buys expensive, form fitting clothing, has her hair balayaged, and chastises the mothers of the neighborhood inside her head as she notes their bad haircuts, yoga pants, oversized shirts they say are retro but are only awful, and bras that lie limp on their chests offering no support. She recommits herself to a professional life and decides to focus on interior design with a specific expertise in high end lamps. Her business card reads, “Let There Be Light!” She thinks her choice of slogan timeless and classy. She stops talking about babies. Danny is hopeful. He does not know the pieces from the torn-up file card are tucked into a hidden compartment in her purse.
1. Your attitude towards life moves from cynical to bitter.
2. You blame yourself, which gives you the illusion of control when in fact you have none.
3. You register complaints with the AMA against the fertility doctors.
4. You create a vision board.
5. None of the above.
Sara chooses #5.
Danny urges her to see a psychotherapist after seeing her reread an article on babies being stolen from hospitals. She does and explains the miscarriages, the stillbirth, the failed IVF treatments and the passage of time.
“There are other ways to give birth,” the therapist says.
She never goes back.
“He’s an idiot,” she tells Danny.
Soon after her appointment, Sara loses interest in selling dental supplies, considering them low-brow and common. She decides to “reinvent” herself and becomes interested in all things fashion. She familiarizes herself with designer labels, the “in” color for each new year, sneers at any substitute for real leather. She buys expensive, form fitting clothing, has her hair balayaged, and chastises the mothers of the neighborhood inside her head as she notes their bad haircuts, yoga pants, oversized shirts they say are retro but are only awful, and bras that lie limp on their chests offering no support. She recommits herself to a professional life and decides to focus on interior design with a specific expertise in high end lamps. Her business card reads, “Let There Be Light!” She thinks her choice of slogan timeless and classy. She stops talking about babies. Danny is hopeful. He does not know the pieces from the torn-up file card are tucked into a hidden compartment in her purse.
"Her business card reads, 'Let There Be Light!' She thinks her choice of slogan timeless and classy. She stops talking about babies." |
Sara is invited to a neighborhood luncheon to celebrate the full moon and “the goddess within us all.” She frames the event to Danny as ‘delightful and esoteric.’ Upon arrival she discovers it to be the motherlode of motherhood. Almost deliberately obtuse on any other topic, the women only discuss their children. “Dylan eats food that is exclusively white.” “Skylar is four and has a tutor for art.” “Zak has ADHD. School is so hard for him.”
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A month after the luncheon, Sara invites Evie to her home. She serves crab cakes for lunch on bone china plates with small sterling-silver forks. A 100% beeswax candle, with a cotton wick burns, filling the house with a honey scent and releasing negative ions that lift pollutants from the air. Sara offers chilled white wine and her expertise on common lighting problems found in the home. Evie is appreciative. Sara points out her new leather sectional and matching leather chair and then tells Evie to look at the mantle above the fireplace. Evie sees photographs: Sara looking glum and Danny smiling in front of a hot air balloon, Danny in the backyard, wearing a party hat embossed with the number ’50,’ smiling at Wendy, their Labrador retriever, Danny smiling at a small child (a niece?) with Sara looking at Danny. “Do you see it?” says Sara. Evie doesn’t see it. “You see it don’t you? Don’t you?” Evie continues to look. “It’s a picture… of my son.” Evie sees it, the framed sonogram.
“Yes, I see it, of course.” she says.
Sara picks the framed sonogram up. “This is my son, Jacob Aaron Miller. We call him Jake. He’s a beautiful boy isn’t he?”
Imagine the following situation. Your best friend knows you have tried for years to have children and failed. That you are entering menopause and have become increasingly depressed. You show her a framed sonogram from fifteen years ago describing it as a picture of your stillborn son. Which of the following does she choose?
1. She tells you that you are crazy and gets the hell out of your house as fast as she can.
2. She doesn’t say anything but thinks you are crazy.
3. She wonders if there’s anything else to eat besides the crab cakes.
4. She feels empathic towards your childlessness and menopause (she’s having some hot sweats herself).
5. None of the above.
She chooses #4.
“Beautiful,” Evie says to Sara. “He’s a beautiful boy.”
“Beautiful,” says Sara smiling at the picture, “and he’s perfect.
“Perfect,” says Evie.
“I want to throw a luncheon, the biggest the neighborhood has ever seen, where I can show off my child—and do all the talking. Not a word or a cackle, even a moan. I want silence, complete and absolute from all the guests and then I’ll say, ‘I gave birth to a stillborn baby. His name was Jake. I held him in my arms and called him, ‘my precious boy.’ I was his mother.’”
“You are his mother.”
“I am a mother,” says Sara.
“Perfect,” says Evie. “Perfect.
“Yes, I see it, of course.” she says.
Sara picks the framed sonogram up. “This is my son, Jacob Aaron Miller. We call him Jake. He’s a beautiful boy isn’t he?”
Imagine the following situation. Your best friend knows you have tried for years to have children and failed. That you are entering menopause and have become increasingly depressed. You show her a framed sonogram from fifteen years ago describing it as a picture of your stillborn son. Which of the following does she choose?
1. She tells you that you are crazy and gets the hell out of your house as fast as she can.
2. She doesn’t say anything but thinks you are crazy.
3. She wonders if there’s anything else to eat besides the crab cakes.
4. She feels empathic towards your childlessness and menopause (she’s having some hot sweats herself).
5. None of the above.
She chooses #4.
“Beautiful,” Evie says to Sara. “He’s a beautiful boy.”
“Beautiful,” says Sara smiling at the picture, “and he’s perfect.
“Perfect,” says Evie.
“I want to throw a luncheon, the biggest the neighborhood has ever seen, where I can show off my child—and do all the talking. Not a word or a cackle, even a moan. I want silence, complete and absolute from all the guests and then I’ll say, ‘I gave birth to a stillborn baby. His name was Jake. I held him in my arms and called him, ‘my precious boy.’ I was his mother.’”
“You are his mother.”
“I am a mother,” says Sara.
“Perfect,” says Evie. “Perfect.
Laurel Sharon has been awarded Honorary Mention in Writer's Digest 2023 Fiction Contest and was a finalist in the Marguerite McGlinn Fiction Contest. She has been published in the Madison Review, Portrait of New England, and other literary magazines. Laurel has a Certificate in Creative Writing from Fairfield University.
A 2025 Pushcart Prize nominee, Laurel's story can be found in Issue 28 of Glassworks.
