Looking for Jane (26)

The taxi pulls away from the curb as another contraction grips her and she nearly doubles over on the sidewalk. Resigning herself to it, she stumbles to the doors of the hospital. Her globe of a belly precedes her, announcing the title of her shame as her travelling case smacks against her damp thigh.

Two young women in the lobby stare at her through the glass door, their mouths moving. Neither of them comes to help as Evelyn struggles with the door. She keeps her head down, avoiding their eyes.

It’s not that she’s too young, she knows. Plenty of girls her age have babies. It’s that—like the taxi driver said—she’s alone. She’s come to the hospital to give birth with no chaperone or companion at all. No husband, no mother. The conclusion is drawn long before Evelyn has even reached the reception desk.

“Um, excuse me,” Evelyn says to the nurse. She has bright red hair and grey eyes, lips stained around a pinched mouth that loves to gossip. “I, um, I need to…” Her voice drops. “I’m here to have a baby.”

“St. Agnes?” the nurse asks loudly. Her voice echoes into the white space.

“Yes, how did you—?”

The nurse stands and indicates that Evelyn should follow her. “This way, come on.”

Evelyn’s wet shoes squeak on the tile floor as she trails the nurse down the hallway like a waddling duckling. She can feel her face burning hotter with each person she passes, and breathes a sigh of relief when they finally step into the elevator and the doors close, offering a moment of privacy and dignity, however brief. The nurse presses the number 4 and the elevator lurches upward.

“The matron from St. Agnes’s called and told us to expect you,” the nurse finally says.

Evelyn nods and looks up at the floor indicator.

“You’re not the first,” the nurse continues. “And you certainly won’t be the last. Just don’t think too much about it. It’ll be over soon.”

The doors open. Evelyn blinks away the tears that have sprung to her eyes again and tries to keep up with the nurse’s quick pace. They make a right turn, then reach a set of doors with a sign declaring the hallway beyond it the maternity ward. To the left is a waiting area full of chairs. There are two men sitting in them, bleary-eyed under a cloud of thick cigarette smoke. One of them is sleeping, slumped over in his chair. The other has his ankle crossed over the opposite knee, cigarette in one hand, flipping through a newspaper laid out in his lap. Like he’s sitting in the park on a Sunday afternoon with not a care in the world.

The nurse pushes through the doors and Evelyn follows.

“That man back there,” the nurse says, not making eye contact with Evelyn. “Wife is in labour bringing their sixth baby into the world. Told me she only ever wanted three. Poor thing.”

They pass a couple of rooms, and Evelyn catches glimpses of pink bedspreads, yellow curtains, and bouquets of flowers propped up in vases. The nurse leads her down to the last room at the end of the long hallway, and Evelyn’s breath hitches. The tiny room has a sad, institutional air about it. Lank beige drapes hang over the single window, a thin wool blanket covers the narrow bed, and the floor space is limited even further by dozens of brown cardboard boxes stacked four feet high along two of the walls.

“It’s a bit of a squeeze in here, I’m afraid. It doubles as a storeroom for the ward.” The nurse pulls a hospital gown out of a small metal dresser beside the bed, thrusts it into Evelyn’s free hand. “Get changed into that. Settle yourself down in bed and the doctor will come see you when he does his rounds later on.”

Evelyn nods, takes the gown.

“There’s a bathroom across the hall if you need to pee.” The nurse pauses, a flicker of compassion in her heavily lined eyes. “What did you say your name was?”

Evelyn clears her pinched throat. “Evelyn.”

“Evelyn what?”

She’s been denied her own last name for so long now. The question stirs something inside her, a thirst for something true. “Taylor. Evelyn Taylor.”

“All right, Evelyn Taylor, I’ll let the doctor know and we’ll start you a chart.” She turns to leave.

“What happens?” The words burst from Evelyn’s mouth before she can stop them.

The nurse lets out a sigh. “They don’t tell you girls much, do they?”

Evelyn shakes her head. “No. Nothing.”

The nurse shrugs a shoulder. “It’s not really for me to say, but it’s painful. Be prepared for that. And it could be a long night. You girls are usually here for a few days if nothing goes wrong, then you’re discharged back to the home.”

“What do you mean, ‘if nothing goes wrong’?”

“If there are no complications with the birth or the baby. If you start to heal up okay, if there’s no infections.”

Evelyn’s face burns with embarrassment at her own ignorance, but she’s desperate to know what’s coming in the home stretch, the final stage of her ordeal. “What do you mean, ‘heal up’?”

The nurse’s eyes flit to the clock on the wall. Someone’s being paged over the speakers. She meets Evelyn’s eyes. “Honey, having a baby rips you up. All between your legs will be sore. You’ll probably have stitches. And if we have to do a cesarean, you’ll have a big incision.”