Page 17 of Counting Backwards

“I just have a few things I wanted to cover today,” I said, regretting the businesslike tone to my voice. I felt a pull to act friendlier toward Isobel, like a girlfriend would. Maybe because we were so close in age, or perhaps because she seemed like someone I might know outside of the detention facility. I wanted to offer her a hug and ask how she was holding up. I wished I could put funds intoher commissary account and ask if she needed anything from the outside, but all the paperwork I’d been given by Legal Aid made it very clear that lawyers were supposed to maintain arm’s-length relationships with their clients, never becoming overly familiar. My objective was to represent Isobel as effectively as possible, so I forced myself to remain professional.

Before the meeting, I had prepared a list of follow-up questions pertaining to Isobel’s initial arrest and her transfer from the New York City Field Office to the current facility. If we could demonstrate any irregularities in the earlier parts of the detainment, that would bolster other arguments as to why Isobel was entitled to a cancellation of the removal order. Even more important, though, was the question of whether Isobel’s constitutional right to equal protection had been violated during her time in custody. But first, I needed to know something else entirely.

“Before we get too deep into procedural details,” I started slowly, “I wanted to ask you something about a comment you made last time we were together.” I noticed myself fidgeting with the pen in my hand, twirling it between my thumb and forefinger. At least I’d remembered not to bring my monogrammed pens this time. I placed the pen down on my notepad. “You’re not obligated to talk to me about this, and it won’t impact your immigration status in any way, but I’d like to hear a little more about your hysterectomy.”

Isobel’s head cocked to the side in question.

“My hysterectomy?” she repeated. “Why?”

“Well...” I was suddenly reluctant to confess my concerns, wondering if both Gram and I had just been wildly off base in our suspicion. But then I thought of my great-grandfather again. “I just want to make sure you’ve been receiving appropriate care while in custody.”

“Yeah, okay,” Isobel said with a shrug.

We were both silent for a beat as I waited for her to say more, but she only raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Well,” I started, reminding myself not to put words into my client’s mouth, not to create my own narrative. “Do you remember what the doctor said about why you needed surgery?”

Isobel lifted her hand, tilting it back and forth in the air as if to say her memories were only so-so. “I mean, I’d just had a little cramping and some spotting or whatever. My cousin in Queens, she told me once about her period getting weird as she got older and how her doctor gave her some hormone medicine that fixed her up good. I didn’t expect anyone to start talking about surgery to me. I can’t really tell you every last detail of what they said, just that they convinced me it was the best thing for my health. I couldn’t get, like, a second opinion or anything, so I figured I’d better just do it and take care of myself.”

“Is it possible the doctor told you before the surgery that you would be having your uterus removed?”

She shook her head as her lips twisted.

“No, definitely not,” she said. “That’s something I’d remember. When I woke up, it was all over, and they never said anything about my uterus. The only thing they bothered to tell me before I went under was to count backwards from ten.”

Her words hit me with a jolt, triggering a memory I couldn’t quite grasp. I shook away the feeling so I could stay focused on Isobel.

“You’re absolutely certain?” I asked. “There was nothing else?”

“Look,” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “I’m not an idiot. I may not have a college education or whatever, but I know where babies grow. If Choudry or that nurse said anything about taking a piece out of me that I wanted to keep, I would’ve objected. If I’d understood beforehand that there was even a chance the doctor could decide to remove my whole uterus, I would’ve waited to seeif the cramping and whatnot would get better on its own.” Her gaze shifted to the empty wall behind me, her focus intent, as if she were watching a movie of her memories on that wall. Through the silence, I could hear the ticking of the clock mounted in the corner of the room. A door clanged shut somewhere down the hall.

Finally, she shook her head. “Like I told you,” she said, “when I woke up from the anesthesia, it was done.” She lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, her eyes finally coming back to mine. “What could I do?”

“Did you talk to anyone about it?” I asked.

“Well, I mean, that nurse you were just talking to. Her name’s Fern. She helped take care of me while I was recovering. It was pretty brutal for a few days there. They just sent me back to my cell all bandaged up. Fern brought me Tylenol at least, though it didn’t help much. Aside from her, I just talked to Denise, one of the other inmates. She’s about my age and can’t have kids anymore either.”

“But the procedure was necessary for your health?” I said, willing that much to be true because the alternative was still unthinkable.

“I mean, that’s what the doctor said. I had cysts or something.”

“Did you sign anything before the surgery?”

“Sign anything?” She thought for a minute. “Maybe?” She shrugged again.

When I heard the question in her voice, my heart sank. She should have been informed, clearly and explicitly, about not only the reasons for the procedure, but also the risks of possible side effects and complications. Especially regarding something as permanent as the removal of her reproductive organs. One hardly needed to be a board-certified physician to know that much.

“Would you be willing to give me permission to ask for a copy of your medical records? Just to make sure everything they did wasmedically necessary. We could have another doctor take a look at the records. A second opinion after the fact.”

“I can’t pay for that,” she said as she shook her head. “And it won’t do any good anyhow. It’s not like they can put the uterus back in now.”

“No, no cost to you. Not a penny.” I didn’t know how much the firm would allow me to spend on this case, but this was something I needed to pursue, even if I paid out of my own pocket.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said again. “I don’t mind you trying, but good luck getting anything. Everything takes forever in this place.”

She was probably right, but I would at least file the request. Maybe the records would show that the doctor had actually saved Isobel’s life but had done a bad job of explaining things afterward. Whatever I found, it wouldn’t change Isobel’s future or the feats of which her body was no longer capable.

“What about your friend?” I asked. “You said her name is Denise?”