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Chapter Twelve
Grace
In the dark, I had been so sure I knew what to do to get myself out of this mess.By the light of day, things do not look as clear, or feel as certain as they had the night before.
I sit up, trying to shake the sleep off.The further away from sleep I get, the more I begin to doubt myself.I still do not feel entirely like myself, but instead, more like a slowed down version, like when the batteries started to wear out on Toby’s toy train, and it made that god-awful noise, reminding us that it was running on its last legs.
It doesn’t help that I woke up sweating and slightly feverish.I’m not sure if I’m coming down with something or if it’s just this place.
“Oh, my God!”Elizabeth exclaims, her head snapping in my direction.She’d been staring at the ceiling, like she often does, and I hadn’t thought she was paying me any attention, but when I look over, she’s pointing at my shirt.“You’re leaking.”
When I look down, sure enough, there are two large rings around my breasts.The nurses have been giving me something to dry up my milk, though secretly I’ve been manually expressing breast milk here and there—multiple times a day actually—in hopes that my supply won’t be completely gone when I get out of here.Phillip hated taking a bottle, and while I hope that’s changed, I miss feeding him the way I did my other children.They’ve taken so much; I cannot let them take this away from me too.
I cover myself with the blanket.If I have to ask for another shirt, they’ll only up the medication or try something else.What, I don’t know, and that’s what makes it terrifying.If they realize I’m still lactating, it will be game over.And at some point, they will realize.They’ll know I’ve been lying, and they really hate when that happens.
The first day I was here, I begged them to take the milk I’d expressed to the hospital, knowing that it would help, only to be told that wouldn’t be necessary.With the medication they’re administering, my milk is now unsafe.This is not entirely untrue, but then, I do not need their medication.I need to help my child.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
Elizabeth’s nose scrunches up.“Well, something is.”
“I have a baby.”
Her expression changes.“Obviously.”
I turn over to face the wall, tears welling up in my eyes.I want to be anywhere but here.I want my baby.I want to feed my child.I want my chest to stop throbbing.I want the swelling and the redness to subside.I want to empty my breasts in private.
“There’s an extra shirt under my bed if you want it.”
“I’m fine,” I say in between sobs.I don’t mean to cry, but it’s like a dam has broken and I can’t hold the flood back.Everything catches up with me.
“You’re clearly not,” she says quietly.“None of us are.”
Eventually, when I turn over, Elizabeth sweeps a restrained arm in my direction, motioning toward the fresh pair of clothes.“Might as well use it before I pee on it.”
When I don’t respond, she says, “What?You don’t see the irony?”
“Not really.”
She rolls a little and tries to reach the shirt.Her efforts look both pathetic, endearing, and comical all at the same time, until I’m left with no choice but to accept her offering.I take the top and put it on, stuffing the soiled one in my bedsheets.If the dirty laundry goes out together, they won’t notice.Elizabeth shifts her position, watching me.I wipe my face with the back of my hand.“I hate waking up here.”
She looks around at the eggshell walls.“It’s not so bad.”
My laugh comes unexpectedly, but it’s harsh and robotic nonetheless.“I’m glad you think so.”
She smiles.A genuine smile, the kind I’ve noticed she reserves for the staff she likes.“You’re right.It’s stinky and dirty, and I hate the food, but this is a really nice blanket.”
Her words are enough to make me smile too.“It is, isn’t it?”I smooth out the blanket with my hand.“It’s like sleeping on a cloud.”
“I like the pattern.”
“I do too,” I say, staring at the vast gray fabric.“It’s like being outside.”
Her face is soft and open as she watches me.“I prefer being inside.”
“Me too.”
