“I’m Dr. Linden.” He looked at the chart in his hand. “You’re Mrs. Parker.”
Jennifer nodded.
The doctor touched her arm and said soothingly, “Sit down.” He went to the sink and filled a paper cup with water. “Drink this.”
Jennifer obeyed. Dr. Linden sat in a chair, watching her until the trembling had subsided.
“So. You want to have an abortion.”
“Yes.”
“Have you discussed this with your husband, Mrs. Parker?”
“Yes. We—we both want it.”
He studied her. “You appear to be in good health.”
“I feel—I feel fine.”
“Is it an economic problem?”
“No,” Jennifer said sharply. Why was he bothering her with questions? “We—we just can’t have the baby.”
Dr. Linden took out a pipe. “This bother you?”
“No.”
Dr. Linden lit the pipe and said, “Nasty habit.” He leaned back and blew out a puff of smoke.
“Could we get this over with?” Jennifer asked.
Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She felt that at any moment she was going to scream.
Dr. Linden took another long, slow puff from his pipe. “I think we should talk for a few minutes.”
By an enormous effort of will, Jennifer controlled her agitation. “All right.”
“The thing about abortions,” Dr. Linden said, “is that they’re so final. You can change your mind now, but you can’t change it after the baby’s gone.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
He nodded and took another slow puff of the pipe. “That’s good.”
The sweet smell of the tobacco was making Jennifer nauseous. She wished he would put away his pipe. “Doctor Linden—”
He rose to his feet reluctantly and said, “All right, young lady, let’s have a look at you.”
Jennifer lay back on the examining table, her feet in the cold metal stirrups. She felt his fingers probing inside her body. They were gentle, and skilled, and she felt no embarrassment, only an ineffable sense of loss, a deep sorrow. Unbidden visions came into her mind of her young son, because she knew with certainty it would have been a boy, running and playing and laughing. Growing up in the image of his father.
Dr. Linden had finished his examination. “You can get dressed now, Mrs. Parker. You may stay here overnight, if you like, and we’ll perform the operation in the morning.”
“No!” Jennifer’s voice was sharper than she had intended. “I’d like it done now, please.”
Dr. Linden was studying her again, a quizzical expression on his face.
“I have two patients ahead of you. I’ll have the nurse come in and get a lab work-up and then put you in your room. We’ll go ahead with surgery in about four hours. All right?”
Jennifer whispered, “All right.”
She lay on the narrow hospital bed, her eyes closed, waiting for Dr. Linden to return. There was an old-fashioned clock on the wall and its ticking seemed to fill the room. The ticktock became words: Young Adam, Young Adam, Young Adam, our son, our son, our son.
Jennifer could not shut the vision of the baby out of her mind. At this moment it was inside her body, comfortable and warm and alive, protected against the world in its amniotic womb. She wondered whether it had any primeval fear of what was about to happen to it. She wondered whether it would feel pain when the knife killed it. She put her hands over her ears to shut out the ticking of the clock. She found she was beginning to breathe hard, and her body was covered with perspiration. She heard a sound and opened her eyes.
Dr. Linden was standing over her, a look of concern on his face. “Are you all right, Mrs. Parker?”
“Yes,” Jennifer whispered. “I just want it finished.”
Dr. Linden nodded. “That’s what we’re going to do.” He took a syringe from the table next to her bed and moved toward her.
“What’s in that?”
“Demerol and Phenergan to relax you. Well be going into the operating room in a few minutes.” He gave Jennifer the injection. “I take it that this is your first abortion?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me explain the procedure to you. It’s painless and relatively simple. In the operating room you’ll be given nitrous oxide, a general anesthesia, and oxygen by mask. When you’re unconscious, a speculum will be inserted into the vagina, so that we can see what we’re doing. We will then begin dilating the cervix with a series of metal dilators, in increasing sizes, and scraping out the uterus with a curette. Any questions so far?”
“No.”
A warm, sleepy feeling was stealing over her. She could feel her tension vanishing as though by magic, and the walls of the room began to blur. She wanted to ask the doctor something, but she could not remember what it was…something about the baby…it no longer seemed important. The important thing was that she was doing what she had to do. It would all be over in a few minutes, and she could start her life again.
She found herself drifting off into a wonderful, dreamy state…she was aware of people coming into the room, lifting her onto a metal table with wheels…she could feel the coldness of the metal on her back through her thin hospital gown. She was being rolled down the hallway and she started to count the lights overhead. It seemed important to get the number right, but she was not sure why. She was being wheeled into a white, antiseptic operating room and Jennifer thought, This is where my baby is going to die. Don’t worry, little Adam. I won’t let them hurt you. And without meaning to, she began to cry.