Bittersweet

Warning: This story contains themes of childbirth.

Bittersweet

By Amanda Stogsdill

Today's the day! Scrambling out of bed, I rushed to the window. Not a cloud in sight! In my open kitchen with its wide windows, I prepared my Sunrise breakfast—eggs (sunny-side up), orange marmalade toast, and orange juice. Not one to rush, I nibbled; smiling at my good fortune, the eclipse would happen on my day off.

Ring, ring. My peaceful meal was interrupted by that unwelcome sound. "Hello."

"Sorry to ruin your day off but ..." Dr. Wilson's voice was urgent but apologetic, "Can you please come in? We're desperate!"

"Oh, bother!" I sighed, after hanging up. "So much for my relaxing day!"

In the bustling E.R. I worked with my colleague Leslie. Our first patient was a girl with a broken arm. After X-rays, Leslie placed it in a cast. "You can have your class sign it!" She said, attempting to lighten the girl's mood.

"Whatever!" She mumbled.

Next, two paramedics wheeled in a heavily pregnant girl. "Groaning like it’s contractions!" The red-haired one informed us.

"We got this!" Leslie bent down, facing the girl. "What's your name, dear?"

No response. Leslie repeated the question, nothing. Next, to our surprise, she asked again in Spanish, then signed it in ASL. Still, no response.

"Can you speak English?" I asked, "If so, just nod or shake." The girl nodded. Phrasing my questions carefully, I questioned her about the care she'd been receiving. Each answer was a shake or nod.

In the delivery room, her pains were increasing, if her cries were anything to go by. At the girl's vigorous nod, Leslie administered pain relief; I attempted to find out basic details. Even simple questions like "Can you write your name?" or "Do you have a name picked out yet?" were met with silence.

Leslie tried distracting her. "The eclipse is today. I guess you knew that." The girl nodded. "The last one occurred seven years ago. My Mom and I watched from our apartment. Not total darkness, but still beautiful." A strong contraction made our patient groan just then, and she squeezed my hand with all her strength.

"Look." Leslie handed me a photo in a plastic sleeve. It showed the previous eclipse, the sun hidden by shadows. Our patient's reaction was swift—she smiled. A small smile, which proved to me this girl had life in her after all.

"Attention, everyone. Those who wish to may come outside to observe the eclipse!" An eager voice announced over the intercom. Leslie and I exchanged excited glances. "You go." I said, "I'll stay with her."

"You sure? Her baby could come any minute!"

"Yes, go," I insisted, "I can watch it from here."

As Leslie and the rest of the staff went outside, the girl let out a scream of pain as the final contraction seized her. It was only a matter of minutes from the crowning, until the baby's loud piercing cries which made me smile. “A beautiful daughter! She’s got your hair and eyes.” The exhausted mother just closed her eyes, a relieved look on her face.

After the clean-up, I stepped out, giving Mom and baby time alone.

A few staff members remained inside with those patients unable to go out; I was grateful not to be the only one. Returning to the girl's room with baby supplies, I was determined to get some answers. "Ready to tell me your name now?" I kept my voice calm, not wanting to frighten her. She was sitting up, newborn daughter held stiffly in her arms. I was struck by how cool and detached she was, not even smiling at the baby. It was very sad, in here, where there should have been joy, our patient was very much alone.

"I'M Whitney," She mumbled, "I'm nineteen."

"Thank you. May I sit with you?" She nodded reluctantly. After laying the baby items on her bed, I pulled up a chair, and opened a What's Your Baby's Name? book. Whitney's eyes flickered to me for a second, then her eyes returned to the window.

“Here’s a good name, June.” I suggested.

"The eclipse's starting," Whitney gestured, ignoring me. "Look, the sky's almost dark." Setting the book aside, I glanced over; sure enough, shadows almost obscured the bright sun.

Watching the darkness increasing, I felt goosebumps rise up on my arms. "So beautiful!" I breathed, "It's not even total yet."

"The world will keep turning, with or without us. It's just darkness." Whitney spoke to the painting on the wall.

"I know. I think it's still pretty cool. It's like we're small, and the sky is this big, giant blanket covered in stars. When an eclipse happens, it's as if the sky covers everything." She looked at me like I had two heads. We watched silently for several minutes. Her expression was unreadable.

"How about Venus?" I suggested, returning to the book.

"No. Too old." Whitney answered, eyes on the linoleum floor.

"Apollonia? It means "Belonging to Apollo" who was a Greek God." She shook her head emphatically, still refusing to look at me. "There's Olwen. She was a Welsh goddess who gave flowers in spring." Silence. I listed off several more sun-type girl's names, including Aine and Aurora, explaining their meanings.

"Can't you find normal names?" Whitney interrupted.

"There's always Dawn or Sunny!" I replied teasingly, knowing this would get a reaction.

I wasn't disappointed. "Too bright!" Whitney whipped around, scrunching up her face. "Keep going. How about Keisha or Mary? I don't know." She sighed, shoulders rising and falling. Once more, her gaze returned to the window.

By now, the sky was completely dark. "Well," I thumbed through the book, "There's Abagail, Carlie, Summer, Grace, or Lucy." Still no reaction. I was starting to suspect the worst, but decided to hold off asking her.

"I like Cassie." Whitney's words were muffled, her head in her hands. "Just leave me alone now."

Leslie and the others streamed in, the hospital came alive with excited chatter. "So, how was it?" I inquired.

"Incredible!" Leslie beamed. She proceeded to fill us in: "We all gathered on the lawn. Dr. Wilson passed around Moon Pies and Sunny D." (Whitney smiled). "As the darkness increased, there were murmurs of excitement, many of us held cameras. Those wearing glasses peered upwards, hoping to glimpse the moon when it obscured the sun. Once the sky was completely dark, there was silence—from the birds, us, everywhere in fact. Like I said, it was an incredibly beautiful sight, the dazzling moon hovering in the sky."

"Who cares!" Whitney was still unfazed, "The sky's normal now. We're here. God didn't strike us."

"We know, but just experiencing it was amazing." Leslie explained patiently. Changing the subject, she asked, "What's her name?"

"Cassie," Whitney repeated, still without the emotion of a new mother, "That's her name. Are you happy now?"

Nodding, I took a deep breath; I couldn't delay asking this question any longer. "Is there anyone we can call?"

"Yeah. Someone who can take Cassie." She sniffed angrily, "I don't want her."

Leslie appeared shocked; however, my suspicions were confirmed by Whitney's words. Heart sinking, I turned to her. "You're sure this is what you want?"

She nodded sadly. "No family." She said simply.

"We can call a social worker," Leslie explained, "Who can provide you with resources to support you both."

"No, she won't. Cassie'll just go into care! They never listen to us." Whitney stated bitterly.

I knew she had a point, but I had to explain fully. "That may not happen! Do you really not want her?"

"Not sure. I don't have family, house, or a job. I'm staying with a friend. How can I take care of a baby?" She was weeping now, tears streaming down her face into her long hair, soaking her hospital gown. After a minute, she continued, "Cassie will be adopted fast, everyone loves babies!" Saying this, she glanced at the sleeping Cassie with a small tender smile.

"The social worker can talk things through. May we get her?" Leslie asked. Whitney nodded slowly, as if not believing this could possibly work.

Walking to the social worker's office, my spirits rose. With the right support, perhaps Cassie wouldn't be another unwanted child in foster care. Maybe this family could live together after all. They deserved that chance!

Back home, I called my mother. "Did you see it?" Were the first words out of her mouth, "It was cloudy here, so not much sun. Was your patio the perfect spot? Plenty of light and everything?" She paused for breath.

Swallowing, I replied, "No Mom. I mean, I had to work. I had a totally different experience." Slowly, I told her a little about my day. After exchanging more eclipse news, we ended by saying "I love you."

Stepping out on to my moon-drenched patio, I felt calm, peaceful. I may never know what would become of Whitney and Cassie, only that I'd been in their lives for a brief moment. On Earth, that's how everything is. Here one moment, then gone, like the sunrises and sunsets. Who knows what tomorrow will bring!

The End