Page 10 of Longing for Liberty
“There’s a…” She cleared her throat. “Backlog for those types of procedures. I’m afraid we can’t schedule it at this time.”
“A backlog? Look, another pregnancy couldkillher.” Jeremy rarely raised his voice. “Isn’t three kids enough? I want my wife alive!”
The male nurse cleared his throat and spoke now. “It’s not guaranteed that she would die. Just pray for God’s will to be done. He’ll say when you have enough children.”
The unamused laugh Jeremy let out actually gave me chills. “I’d like to speak to the doctor alone.”
“Sorry, that’s not possible.” The nurse did not sound sorry. It’s policy. A nurse must be present at all times to document everything appropriately.”
I’d watched the muscle in Jeremy’s jaw flex as he chomped down whatever retort was on his lips, and I squeezed his hand, silently begging him not to argue. There had been too many rumors lately of people being arrested for ridiculous things. It’s like the government was over-correcting in its effort to keep everyone safe after the terror attacks during the previous administration.
The look Jeremy flashed me was full of ire, but not for me. I knew that look. It’s the one he wore before every boxing match back in the day. He wanted to punch the nurse in the face. I squeezed his hand again, trying to convey just as much in my own look.
In the past six months, people who spoke out about the new laws were being fined for acts of anti-patriotism, and some were taken away to who-knew-where, never to return. Two weeks ago, our neighbors two doors down had hung the American flag upside down—the sign of distress—and within twenty-four hours they, and their flag, were gone.
No, I didn’t want to get pregnant again, but we could be careful. I knew my body. My cycles. It would mean not having as much sex as normal, which would suck, but we had other ways of taking care of each other. If we only did it on non-fertile days, and he consistently pulled out, I might never get pregnant again. Still, the thought of going through this in the future had made me reach for the puke bin.
Eight days later, when the baby’s heart rate and blood pressure plummeted in the middle of the night, that same doctor performed an emergency cesarean section with two female nurses present. Afterward, she had taken my hand and looked down at me, squeezing my palm as she said, “I’m so sorry to tell you this.” I felt her shaking, and saw that laden look in her wide eyes again. “While I was doing the inspection of your reproductive system, I noticed you had dangerous cysts growing on your ovaries. I had to remove the cysts, but they were too large to save your ovaries. You…won’t be able to have more children. I’m so, so sorry.” She glanced heavily at Jeremy, then back at me.
Jeremy, who’d been squeezing my other hand, let out a giant breath and said, “Thank you. We understand.”
“Yes,” I said, my chin already starting to quiver. “Thank you.”
We held tiny Asher on my chest as they stitched me up, and I had cried softly at first, then harder, then hysterically. Because I knew.
There were never any cysts.
FOUR
STATE NEWS: LOTTERY PRIZE IS THE HIGHEST EVER!
The bus passed several neighborhoods,all lined with patrolling State Force, all with stockades outside their entrances. When we stopped at the young family apartments to let people off, I noticed a man in the stockades with a bloodied face. His hands hanging limply through the holes also looked crusted with crimson and misshapen, maybe broken. A fight? He hadn’t been there that morning. I quickly looked away as others stared at him, and the bus lurched forward again.
At my stop, I stepped off with the other workers and stood on the sidewalk, staring at the squat lines of single-story row homes smashed together to accommodate the worker families who were lucky enough to have jobs serving the government officials. Our neighborhood was mostly couples with no children: either newlyweds starting out or those empty-nesters beyond childbearing years who were not quite old enough for the retirement communities.
Nobody was in our stockades, thankfully.
“Move along,” a State forceman said, jolting me to go.
I felt myself crashing from the high anxiety of the day. Every time I thought of Amos Fitzhugh’s eyes on me, and remembered I’d have to face him five days a week, my body sizzled and flushed all over again, filling me with the panicked need to run and hide. My breathing was ragged as I trudged down the sidewalk, vaguely hearing others greet me, and robotically raising a hand and the corner of my lips to be polite in return. I got to our stoop and quickly slipped inside.
“Hey, Lib, there you are.” Jeremy moved into the hall from the tiny kitchen, slinging a hand towel over his shoulder and smelling like spaghetti sauce. His familiar smile and single, deep dimple made my wall of numbness accidentally crumble, and the air sputter in my lungs. His smile fell as he took in my face. I moved silently into his arms, and all of the fear I’d been holding back that day shuddered through my body. I tried not to cry, but a pathetic whimper escaped when I tried to breathe.
“I’ve got you,” Jeremy whispered into my hair. I held him tightly, noticing how much thinner he was. He’d always had a boxer’s lean physique, but lack of adequate protein had robbed him of some of his muscle and all of his fat, which hadn’t been much to begin with. He was still strong though, and he stood tall.
I forced myself to pull back and give him a watery smile, even though my chest felt like it was being pressed in by the hand of a cruel giant. And maybe it was. Because I’d now be working in the inner sanctum of one of the three biggest giants of all.
Jeremy walked me over to the table, and we sat facing one another, knees touching. It was warm and stagnant in the apartment. I looked over at the wall AC unit. It was set to 72, which was as low as we were allowed to set it, but the air that blew out was definitely not 72.
“What’s going on?” he asked lightly. We both knew to be careful when we spoke, even at home.
When we moved into these accommodations four years ago, we were fairly certain there weren’t cameras because the government could not afford to make cameras for every housing unit; however, audio bugs were a possibility. Though we’d scoured the apartment a million times and never found anything, we were still too paranoid to talk about anything of importance inside. So, I would keep to the facts.
“I started a new job today.” His eyes were wide as he sat still, watching me, waiting. “I’ll be the maid helper for Secretary Fitzhugh.”
Jeremy’s already wide eyes widened further, this time with a flash of terror. “Fitzhugh…wow. That’s…” His face took on several expressions in a row, landing on possessiveness that softened into worry.
“Such an honor,” I said for him.
