Page 68 of Counting Backwards

Oh,nowhe was enlightened? Now, after I’d spent the last day negotiating with God, promising I’d give up everything else that mattered to me if the baby could just make it safely to term?

The day before, I had attempted to run a conference call to discuss reducing my responsibilities just partially, and only temporarily. But I’d felt myself getting ramped up about every topic raised. Even as I struggled to pull back, I knew this case wasn’t something I could do at half tilt. Either I was all in or I was hiding under my covers. There didn’t seem to be a workable in-between. Unfortunately, Vance seemed unable to grasp the nuance.

“Jess, look. If you want your position back at Dillney, I think at this point, you kind of have to get back to work. There’s nothing to stop you from getting on your laptop or making phone calls from bed.”

“Yes, there is.” I squeezed my eyes shut in irritation. “I’m not in the right headspace to make decisions that will affect other people’s lives. How am I supposed to solve anyone else’s problems when I’m such a mess?”

Vance looked away from me, turning his gaze toward the room’s wall of windows and running a hand across the back of his neck. He massaged his own shoulder for a moment, like he needed to rub away the tension I was causing him. Then he looked back at me.

“I don’t mean to be callous here. I know this is an incredibly hard time. But the reality is, any decisions you make now can have long-term impacts.”

I felt myself sag even more deeply into the pillows behind me. Maybe he was right, but in that moment, I simply didn’t care.

He stood and started to change out of his work clothes. As he walked toward his bureau, he spoke over his shoulder.

“By the way, did you ever talk to Gram about Carrie Buck?”

I had spoken to Gram about the bed rest, but I’d hurried off the phone. I was panicked about the baby and didn’t want to talk about anything else yet. Since then, I’d been intentionally avoiding my phone, trying to pass the hours watching old movies instead. I could handle Michael J. Fox traveling through time, but I couldn’t face anything out in the world, not yet.

“I’m so tired,” I said instead, which was ridiculous since I had done precisely nothing all day. “I have to go to sleep.” I rolled over and closed my eyes.

The next morning, Vance was back in the same spot at the side of the bed, staring down at me. I’d been watching him get dressed as he prepared to head back out like it was any normal day.

“It’s fine,” I told him, after he’d announced he needed to stay at the office a little late that night.

Having him home while I languished in bed didn’t do me any good anyway. It just left me feeling guilty that I was disappointing him in yet another way. My faulty anatomy, the bad luck that followed everything I touched. I could breathe better when he wasn’t there.

He stood beside the bed awkwardly for a few more moments, as if he wanted to say more. Finally, he leaned down to kiss the side of my head and left.

Before I knew it, I felt a hand gently shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see Tate standing above me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, flipping onto my back.

She was wearing a chic white blazer and a full face of makeup. But of course she was. She was still out in the world, living her life and doing exciting things like everyone else. Looking at Tate all dolled up, I felt like she and I were inhabiting different planets.

“I got the key from the doorman.”

Vance had given the doorman a list of approved visitors so I wouldn’t have to get out of bed when they showed up.

“I need to show you something,” she said.

She reached into the tufted orange tote bag that was hanging from her shoulder and pulled out her iPad. As she typed in a search on the screen, she plunked down on the edge of the bed with a graceless thud, as if there wasn’t a physically and emotionally fragile woman hiding inside it. She pushed at my leg under the covers, wordlessly demanding more space for herself. If I’d had more energy, I would have told her to get out, that she was misreading the room and I didn’t want to see whatever it was she wanted to show.

“Here.” She shoved the screen toward my face.

It was an article from theNew York Times. I almost pushed the device back toward her, but then my eye caught the headline: “Advocacy Groups Allege Immigrants Subjected to Unwanted Gynecologic Procedures in Federal Facility.”

“What is this?” I asked, even though I already knew. Clearly theTimeshad picked up the news about the complaint, just as we’d all hoped. I didn’t look up at Tate but kept reading.

A coalition of immigrants’ rights groups has filed a complaint in the US District Court of New Jersey alleging that female immigrants held at the Hydeford Detention Facility have been subject to significant, invasive, and unnecessary gynecological procedures without their consent. In particular, the complaint alleges a high rate of unwarranted hysterectomies performed on detained women. Several of the women joining the complaint have chosen to remain anonymous, citing a fearof retaliation by immigration authorities. The procedures at issue have been completed at one particular medical facility. That clinic has not responded to request for comment.

The director of ICE disputes the allegations that detained women are being “used for experimental medical purposes” or that there has been any infringement on the right to reproductive autonomy of minority groups. The agency did not respond to requests for information on the number of hysterectomies, tubal ligations, or other sterilizing procedures that were performed.

The article then went on to list the other allegations included in the complaint about poor medical oversight, rough treatment of the detained women, and inadequate precautions regarding COVID-19.

That the article had been published was fantastic news. Really fantastic. If the team wanted to win the case, and to make institutional reforms going forward, we needed people to know what was happening and to feel outraged about it.

“Okay, thanks for showing me.” I averted my eyes from the screen and handed the iPad back to Tate. A week ago, I would have jumped for joy, seeing how the article had focused on all the right bullet points. But now I just wanted Tate to leave.