Page 10 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

I wanted Sam to be with me. I was terrified. I’d never been so terrified of anything in my whole life and I wanted him to fix it. He could fix anything. Even as young as we were, Sam could fix anything. But he wasn’t there and it wasn’t fixed.

“The baby has already descended,” the obstetrician announces and pulls on fresh gloves. “This won’t take long.” He seems to be speaking to everyone else in the room, but not Shari at all. This doesn’t feel right. No matter how much I disagree with her choices in life, I can’t with a good conscience stand by while everyone around her treats her only as a human incubator.

The baby is important, perhaps the most important person in this room right now, but deep down, beneath the dirty clothes and dirty face, beneath the drug use and stupid decisions, Shari is still a twenty-three-year-old woman that no doubt has a scared little girl inside her crying out for a hug and reassurance. Twenty-three is not a hell of a lot older than eighteen, and I know I was terrified when I was in this position.

I turn away from everyone else and look down into her blue eyes as they spill over. I squeeze her hand and lean closer in an attempt to steal her attention away from the half dozen people crowding her bottom end.

“I’m sorry for hurting her.”

“It’s alright.” It’s not alright. “She’ll be fine.” She might not be. “She’s just going to be here sooner than we thought.”

“I want you to take her home, Ms. Samantha. I want you to give my baby a safe home.”

No. “No one can take her home for a little while, Shari. She’ll stay here with you and you’ll both be okay.”

“I want you to keep her.”

No. “I’ll help you.”

Shari’s hands squeeze mine and her face clenches as a contraction takes over her body. Her foul-smelling breath pants past chipped and dirty teeth, but her blue eyes look fresh and young like some you might find a five-year-old possess. “I don’t want her. I want you to take her.”

I shake my head again. “Just concentrate on what we’re doing here today. You’ll change your mind once you meet her.”

“No--”

“Are you excited?” I smile as big as I can manage, though I don’t feel it at all. “You’re going to meet your baby today. Your baby girl, Shari. She’s a tiny version of you, are you excited?”

“Not like me.” She shakes her head and cries and begs. “Not like me. Like you. Don’t let her be like me.”

“Alright. Get ready.” The head OB turns back to us. “One more push, Shari. One more, it should be easy. Are you ready?”

“No.”

His cold eyes actually turn soft for half a beat. “Get ready. Push when I tell you. Three… Two…”

Shari squeezes my hand painfully before he even finishes counting, but just like predicted, it was ‘easy,’ and the hive of activity around us turns into overdrive as I catch sight of a tiny, skinny baby that more resembles a hairless cat.

My eyes don’t leave the baby, but Shari’s don’t leave me. “Please take care of her, Ms. Samantha.” Her eyes spill over, but at least her taut body begins to relax as people work around us. Instantly the baby is taken to the opposite side of the room and ninety percent of the medical personnel follow her.

Barbara stays with us, cleaning up near Shari’s legs and softly reassuring us with repetitive words of encouragement.

Like a funeral processional, the group of doctors and nurses create a protective perimeter around the baby’s tiny bed, then they rush her away without a word.

They didn’t announce a healthy baby.

They didn’t confirm if she was a she.

They didn’t ask her name or offer skin-to-skin time with her mother.

They simply discarded Shari like she was inhuman, and not needing her anymore, they left.

“She’s okay,” Barbara announces softly, as though she can read my thoughts. “They’re taking her straight to the NICU. We’ll get you cleaned up, then we’ll see what we can do about going to see her.”

“Will she be okay?”

“So far so good, Mama.”

“When can I see her?”

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