Cracks in the Sidewalk(9)

“Five,” he said, then stared at the clock, shifting his weight.

The next visit was a repeat.

“What do you want from me?” he growled when she asked him to stay longer. “You think I should babysit you and the kids, is that it?”

“If you’re busy, Mom will bring them,” Elizabeth argued. “She’ll pick them up on her way to the hospital. You won’t have to pay Maria for babysitting, and I’ll get to spend time with the kids.”

“Get off my case,” Jeffrey snapped. “I got problems enough trying to make a living.”



The baby was due in late September, but in early August Elizabeth developed a strange weakness on her left side. On Monday her arm felt so heavy she could barely lift it to reach for her book. Two days later she tried to stand, but her left leg trembled then buckled.

“It’s all this weight,” she told the aide helping her.

But several nurses had also written “an increase in forgetfulness” on her chart.

“This is not something we can ignore,” Doctor Sorenson warned. “I’m concerned this could be the onset of paralysis.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Paralysis? Why? That has nothing to do with—”

“It could.” Doctor Sorenson’s scowl deepened. “We need the CT scan as quickly as possible.”

“But you said—”

Doctor Sorenson shook her head. “I know what I said, but we can’t afford to wait any longer. We’re out of time. You’ll have to have a cesarean.”

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with water. “It’s too soon for Christian,” she said, cradling her stomach.

With all the tests she’d known early on this baby was a boy, and she named him Christian. A name chosen because it signified strength and righteousness, both of which this baby would need. For almost three months now she’d talked to her son and called him by name. He was no longer a fetus or a baby, he was Christian, her third child, the one for whom she could give her life.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

“I understand your concern,” Doctor Sorenson said, “but the most recent ultrasound indicates the baby is fully developed. Twenty-nine weeks is early but not early enough to be considered high-risk. The probability is you’ll deliver a healthy baby.”

A look of gravity spread across the doctor’s face. “You’ve got a serious neurological problem going on here, and we need a CT scan to know what’s causing it. We have to pinpoint the source and do it quickly.”

“Let’s just wait another two weeks, I’m okay—”

“Elizabeth,” Doctor Sorenson interrupted, “you are not okay. This situation is more serious than you seem to realize. They’ve measured over five gallons of fluid expulsion in the past twenty-four hours, you’re unable to use your left hand, and the memory lapses have become increasingly frequent. Those are not normal symptoms. Something is wrong, and I can’t find it without a CT scan.

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer—we are out of options. You can’t wait any longer!”

“But—”

“No buts. Waiting endangers your life and the baby’s. If something happens to you, there’s no guarantee we can save the baby. If we take him now, he’ll be a preemie but developed enough for survival.”

Elizabeth tearfully agreed, and the cesarean was scheduled for the following day. Christian, the third child of Elizabeth and Jeffrey, would be born on Thursday, August ninth.

After the doctor left Elizabeth telephoned Jeffrey at the store. “Do you think you could come to the hospital tomorrow?”

“On a Thursday?” he groaned. “You know the store’s open late. Thursdays I’m always open late.”

“I know that, but—”

“I can’t, I’m working twelve hours.”

“Can’t you get someone to mind the place for one day?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, annoyed, “and what am I supposed to pay them with, Cheerios? Forget it! Tomorrow’s a late night, and there’s no way I’m dragging my ass over to the hospital!”

“I thought you might want to be here for the birth of our son,” she said icily.

“He’s not due until September twenty-first,” JT answered, “or is that something else you’ve forgotten?”

“I know exactly when he was supposed to be born, but Doctor Sorenson said I have to have a cesarean tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think you could trouble yourself to be here?”

“I’ll be there,” JT said in a milder voice. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yes. They’re taking him early because of me.”

“You?” His voice registered concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

For an instant he sounded like the old Jeffrey, like the man who slipped a two-karat diamond ring onto her finger and promised to cherish her forever. “Doctor Sorenson said she needs the CT scan right away. My symptoms are worse, and she wants to find out why.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll be there.”

Elizabeth hung up the telephone, leaned back, and closed her eyes thinking about Jeffrey’s voice and that fleeting moment when he was still the man she married.