The Perfect Child(66)

I glared at him. He didn’t understand what I was going through. Breastfeeding was the one thing making Cole’s crying bearable. I loved lying with him as he coiled his body around mine and staring at his tiny clasped fingers. In those moments, it didn’t matter that he cried all night long, and it made my utter exhaustion worthwhile. Feeding him a bottle wasn’t going to be the same experience. It just wasn’t. I didn’t care what anyone said.

“Here, why don’t you give him to me?” Christopher scooped him from me and took the bottle with his other hand. “And you go to sleep. You’ve been up for almost forty-eight hours. You’ve got to be exhausted.”

I stumbled back into our bedroom, my eyes burning with exhaustion. I curled underneath our comforter but couldn’t get warm. My entire body ached. I alternated between feeling like I was freezing to being so hot I felt sunburned.

“Christopher.” It hurt to speak. “Christopher.”

He rushed into the room, bouncing Cole on his chest in one of the baby wraps we’d gotten from our shower.

“I feel really awful. Can you take my temperature?”

He looked back and forth between the baby and me. “What do I do with him?”

“Take him with you.”

“I can’t take him with me and get the thermometer.” He looked overwhelmed at the task.

“Are you serious? Give him to me, then.”

The handoff startled Cole, and he started shrieking. His screams pierced my brain. Christopher just stood there, not knowing what to do.

I motioned toward the door. “Go!”

I was too weak to get out of bed and in too much pain to hold Cole. I laid him on his back next to me. He screamed and writhed like he was being tortured. I could tell by how worked up he was already that it was going to be a bad crying episode and last for hours. I covered my ears and sobbed.

Christopher returned with the thermometer and stuck it under my tongue. He picked up Cole, but it didn’t make any difference. Sometimes he cried even harder when Christopher picked him up. He said it didn’t bother him, but it did. The thermometer beeped, and I looked down.

103.4. I hadn’t had a fever that high since I was a child. No wonder I felt so terrible.

“You need to go to urgent care.” Worry lined his forehead. “Your fever shouldn’t be that high. Not on antibiotics and Tylenol.” His voice sounded like he was speaking at the end of a tunnel. “You’re not driving yourself either, so don’t even think about it.”

I couldn’t think. It hurt too much. I just wanted to go to sleep.

It wasn’t long before Allison shook me awake.

“Come on, hon. I’m taking you to urgent care,” she said, leaning down by the side of the bed, her face in front of mine.

I nodded. She slowly peeled the covers off and helped me to my feet. I sat on the side of the bed while she rummaged through my closet for a pair of shoes I could slip on easily. Cole’s screams reverberated from down the hallway.

“Why doesn’t he ever stop crying?” The room spun. I gripped the side of the bed.

“He will. Sometimes it just takes time for them to get used to being born.” She came out holding a pair of old tennis shoes and plopped them on the floor for me. We hobbled into the hallway.

“Chris!” she called out.

“Yeah?”

“I’m taking Hannah now. I’ll text you when I know anything.”

“All right. Love you, Hannah.”

I didn’t have the energy to respond. Allison helped me to the car, and I fell back to sleep as soon as I sat down. I nodded in and out while we waited to see a doctor. Finally, it was our turn, and we shuffled down the hallway. Allison helped me into the room and went to shut the door.

“I’m okay,” I said.

She looked at me, baffled.

“Just wait for me in the waiting room. I’m okay from here,” I said again, desperately trying to keep it together. She edged her way out and shut the door behind her. I gasped and stumbled to the table. I couldn’t let her see what Janie had done. I slid out of my shirt and into the gown and lay back on the table, suddenly feeling nauseous. Putting my hands on my stomach, I took deep breaths.

I didn’t have to wait long for the doctor. His name tag swerved in front of me: Dr. Flynn. He tried to touch my right breast, and I yelped as soon as his finger made contact. “I’m sorry—it just hurts so bad,” I cried.

He looked at both of them. “You have a nasty infection surrounding your wound, and it also looks like you have mastitis in both breasts.”

“It’s so painful; I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to stop breastfeeding. I’ve got to put you on a strong dose of antibiotics, and they’re not safe for the baby. I’m afraid if we don’t aggressively treat this, you’re going to become septic.”

I cried the entire way back to the house.

“Don’t let me forget to call Greg and let him know I’m staying over to take care of you tonight,” Allison said as she helped me out of the car.

I shook my head. She looked surprised. Any other time, I would’ve gladly accepted her help, but the doctor had instructed me to shower in order to massage the milk out. She’d insist on helping me, and I couldn’t let her see my breasts. Not that I was embarrassed for her to see them—she’d helped me fit my first bra—but she couldn’t see what Janie had done to me. I hadn’t told her. I hadn’t told anyone. I was too ashamed.