Elizabeth Heineman - Ghostbelly

GHOSTBELLY

Elizabeth Heineman

Published in 2014 by the Feminist Press

at the City University of New York

The Graduate Center

365 Fifth Avenue, Suite 5406

New York, NY 10016

feministpress.org

Text copyright 2014 by Elizabeth Heineman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, used, or stored in any information retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the Feminist Press at the City University of New York, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First ebook edition March 2014

First printing March 2014

This project was made possible, in part, by the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Andrew Cuomo and the New York State Legislature.

This project is supported, in part, by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Cover design by Herb Thornby

Text design by Drew Stevens

Ebook design by Ellen Maddy

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Heineman, Elizabeth D., 1962

Ghostbelly / Elizabeth Heineman.

pages cm

Includes bibliographical references and index.

eISBN 978-1-55861-844-9 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-55861-844-2 (alk. paper)

1. Heineman, Elizabeth D., 1962- 2. Stillbirth. 3. InfantsDeath. 4. Loss (Psychology) 5. Bereavement. I. Title.

RG631.H45 2014

618.3'92dc23

2013035187

Contents

For Thor.

Its no substitute for a life.

I believe that people should have control of what information about them is made public. For this reason, I have changed many names in this book, leaving original names only for those who explicitly expressed their comfort with that arrangement.

i

Sites of Memory

It was all so long ago. It was just yesterday. I watch Glenn, the midwife, myself as if through a thick window, out of reach. The screams and moans muffled, the light distorted by the mottled, wavy glass against which I press my face. I pound my fists on the window, shout at them, try to warn them, but they do not hear. My hips are compact inside my shorts, my trunk limber as it leans forward to write. My belly does not remember; only some deep and tight part of my throat does.

I sit on the living room sofa, under the dark window. Glenn and I have finished dinner, and were both looking at our laptops. Glenn is checking email, and Im catching up with post-election episodes of The Daily Show . It is November 11, 2008. Im in labor, but I dont tell Glenn.

We are alone. Adam, sixteen, had been with us for a week and a half, but Julia, his other mother, came back from her travels last night, and now Adam is at her house. Were enjoying the quiet, and from the time Adam left for school that morning, weve shared a sense of relaxed excitement, knowing we are in the final stages of waiting.

My contractions are mild, little bits of tightening, very short, not at all painful. But they are regular. I have a piece of paper next to me, on the arm of the sofa, and on it I write down the times of my contractions. Ill do this for a while and then let Glenn in on the secret. My feet are propped up on a footstool. Glenns feet are stretched across the sofa toward me. Every now and then I rub his feet a little. Then I take my right hand back to note the time of the latest contraction.

I tell Glenn after an hour or so. His face jolts into a smile. I tell him these are just little contractions, but theyre regular; this is definitely labor. He asks if we should call Deirdre, our midwife. Not yet, I say. I havent been paying attention to how long the contractions are, and shell want to know that. Let me time a few of them and then well call her.

Im in the kitchen, pacing. I have put water on for tea and a slice of bread in the toaster. Ill need to have energy for the birth; I should eat now while I can. Ive phoned Julia to let her know Im in labor. As I pace, I read a book. During my early labor with Adam, Id played Tetris on the computer, until the contractions kept ruining my score.

Glenn is running up and down the stairs. Hes setting up the aqua doula.

I eat my toast, I drink my tea, I read my book, I time my contractions. After half an hour, I know how long they are. Twenty-five to thirty seconds. I call Deirdre. Its shortly after 10:37. Thats the time of the last contraction I write down.

I am on the phone with Deirdre. She tells me she is not at home: shes finishing up at Katie and Joes place. They just had a baby girl. I tell her wed had a bet on whose baby would come firstKatie and Joe had been in our birthing class. Well, you lost that one, Deirdre laughs. She tells me shell be over in twenty minutes.

Deirdre kneels at the end of my bed. I am on my back, and shes examining me. Babys got a good heartbeat, she says. Lets look inside.

Deirdre puts on a glove and feels around. Two centimeters dilated, 80 percent effaced, she says. Just like at your checkup yesterday. She withdraws her hand. But take a look at this! She shows me her gloved hand, smeared with dark blood. Thats your bloody show, she says. Things are definitely happening. She snaps off the glove. Its going to be a whileyoure only at two centimeters. No birthday today. But tomorrow, definitely.

Glenn asks if its too early to set up the aqua doula.

No, Deirdre says, go ahead and fill it. The heating element will keep it warm, so itll be ready whenever we are.

Deirdre tells me shes going to go home to get some rest for my delivery. I should call her when the contractions are sixty seconds long, or if my water breaks. She lives two blocks away. Once I call, shell be over in five minutes.

I lie in bed, on my side. I am angry at Glenn, and he is angry at me, though we are both trying not to be angry. Im angry because he is typing emails. He needs to let people at work know that Im in labor and he wont be in for the next couple of days. He types many emails: to his graduate class, the departmental secretary, his chair, his teaching assistant. Ive asked if he cant just let the secretary know, and tell her who else needs to be informed. Thats why hes angry with me. I always have ideas about how he can do things more efficiently.

My contractions are getting stronger. Really, they stopped being mild not long after Deirdre left. Im curled on my side, my back to Glenn, who is perched on the side of the bed. When I have a contraction, I groan and writhe, and Glenn reaches his arm backward to stroke me. When a contraction is over, he gives my arm a squeeze and goes back to typing.

I am trying to nap between contractions. If you begin labor as night falls, you want to get some sleep, so you havent missed a whole night when things get intense. But my contractions are close together, and Im doubtful it will work. Still, a couple of times a contraction jolts me into consciousness, and so I know I must have dozed off.

Glenn snaps his laptop shut. Should he take it downstairs, he asks, or just set it aside up here to stay with me? I tell him to take it downstairs. I dont want him to be tempted to check his email later on if things take a while.