Mindbend

EPILOGUE

Jennifer was exhausted. Despite all of the childbirth classes she’d attended, she’d not been prepared for the real thing. Giving birth was both better and worse than she’d expected. No amount of reading or hearing about other women’s experiences could have readied her for this unique and passionate event.

The pain of labor had been intense yet strangely thrilling, but as the hours had gone by, she had felt progressively drained. She wondered if she would find the strength. Then the pain came more often and for longer periods until finally, from somewhere deep in her being, came a new burst of energy. She felt an irresistible urge, half voluntary, half involuntary, to push and bear down. A crescendo of pressure made her feel she was stretched to her limit, yet still she pushed and held her breath.

Suddenly, there was an almost sensuous release, accompanied by a gush of fluid and the thrilling squeal of a newborn infant exercising its vocal cords for the first time.

Opening her eyes, Jennifer gripped Adam’s hand with what little strength she had remaining. Looking up into his face, she could see that his attention was directed down between her outstretched legs. With a terrible feeling of dread, she watched him. No test had been able to dispel the worry she had about the health and well-being of the child within her. Doctors at University Hospital had repeated the amniocentesis and had reported that the baby was normal, but with all that had happened, Jennifer had had trouble believing it.

She watched Adam to see what glimpse of disaster would register on his face. She wanted to know how their child was from him, not from seeing for herself. As she expected, he didn’t smile and didn’t blink. After what seemed too long a time, he lowered his eyes to meet hers, cradling her head with his hands as he did so. He spoke softly, sensitive to her feelings. First he told her he loved her!

Jennifer’s heart seemed to stop. She held her breath, although the physical pain had ceased, and waited for the inevitable, dreaded news. In her heart she had known all along. She shouldn’t have listened to anyone, she told herself. She’d had a bad feeling ever since the mixup at the Julian lab, never mind that it had been done on purpose.

Adam wetted his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “We have a beautiful, healthy boy, Jennifer. Luckily, he looks like you.”

It took a moment for Adam’s words to sink in. When she finally comprehended, tears of happiness and thanksgiving welled in her eyes. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She swallowed. Then she reached up and pulled Adam down and hugged his head as hard as she could. His laugh gave voice to the joy and relief in her heart. All she could think to do was thank God.

Adam collected himself, smoothed out his surgical scrub suit, and stepped from the delivery area into University Hospital’s obstetrical waiting room. One glance was enough. It was hard to believe, but the message he’d gotten during the last stages of Jennifer’s labor had been correct. Sitting among a group of expectant fathers was his own, Dr. David Schonberg.

Dr. Schonberg met his son as soon as he entered the room.

“Hello, Adam,” he said in his usual cool manner.

“Hello, father,” said Adam.

Dr. Schonberg adjusted his glasses higher on his nose. “What’s it like being back in medical school?”

“Just fine,” said Adam. “I’m so glad to be back. I’ve hardly minded the catch-up work.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Dr. Schonberg. “How’s Jennifer?”

Adam stared at his father. It was the first time the man had ever called Jennifer by name.

“She’s just fine,” answered Adam.

“And what about the baby?”

“The baby’s a healthy, beautiful boy,” said Adam.

To Adam’s utter astonishment he saw something he’d never seen before: tears in his father’s eyes. Before the shock could register, his father’s arms were around him, hugging him. Another first. Adam hugged back. Tears formed in Adam’s eyes as well, and the two men stood there, holding each other for so long that some of the soon-to-be fathers began to stare.

Finally, a somewhat embarrassed Dr. Schonberg pushed Adam back, but lovingly held onto his arms. Each looked at the other’s tears, then both laughed.

“I wasn’t crying,” said Dr. Schonberg.

“Neither was I,” said Adam.

“You know what I think?” said Dr. Schonberg.

“What?” asked Adam.

“I think we’re both lousy liars.”

“I think I’d have to agree.”