Through Your Hands

Sarah dimmed the yellow lights until the room was almost completely dark. Grasping the nurse’s hand, Joy stood up. Still in her borrowed blue jean jumper and pink t-shirt, one of the few outfits she could fit into, she heaved her legs onto the table. The white paper crinkled as Sarah helped her lie down. Another woman appeared. Joy noticed her pointy red fingernails, perfectly painted, and thought how she had never been able to keep hers either long or lacquered for more than a few minutes. As she snapped her mint-gum, Joy studied her face for signs of kindness. Sarah introduced the technician as Linda, one of the best. Joy wondered how many ultrasounds this woman did a day. She began turning dials on the machine; Sarah placed a warm blanket over her for modesty. The instant heat was comforting. A few minutes later, the door opened and Dr. Bartlett walked in, followed by Gregg and an unfamiliar doctor. Her husband took her hand, an uncharacteristic display of public affection. And without any more words, Linda got to work, unbuttoning Joy’s overalls and pulling up her shirt, covering her with a white paper gown. All the while, she kept talking, explaining what she was doing. After Linda had squeezed some cold green gel on her abdomen, she began to wave her wand up and down. Joy turned to try to glimpse the screen, but someone had pivoted it away from her. Later, she would recall the silence blending with the humming of the machine. Above her, the blobs of light glowed in the otherwise blackness. She attempted to focus on her husband’s face, seeking comfort in his familiarity. But she could see confusion and fear shining in his eyes. So, Joy waited through the quiet. A few minutes later, Linda nodded to the doctor. She squeezed more warmed gel on Joy’s abdomen. Dr. Bartlett took the wand and pressed it harder against Joy’s skin, over and again. Flashes of her first ultrasound came back to her, the wet heat strange. She remembered the technician saying, “Listen to your baby’s heartbeat.” And then she had pointed out the four perfectly formed chambers of the miniature heart. To Joy’s eyes, they had looked crumbly, wavering, like purple jellyfish floating in the ocean. But she appreciated the particularity they must represent to a scientist. These people had been trained for years to spot a thinning membrane, a missing wall, or an irregular beat. Her child’s heart had been booming along on that gray day, like a train chugging along. He was a good size for his age. For Valentine’s Day, just a few weeks earlier, Gregg had drawn a doodle of a tadpole on the card he had given her and signed it from “Bean, the hungry kid.” She had taped it next to the first picture. On this May evening, no one in the ultrasound room spoke. After some while, Dr. Bartlett nodded and handed the wand to Linda who turned off the machine. Sarah smoothed a warm blanket over Joy, who was now shivering. It had seemed like forever that they had been passing that wand over her belly, yet she did not want them to stop. She did not know, nor did she care what time it was. The room had no windows. Dr. Bartlett walked to the head of the bed and took her hand before he began speaking. “Joy, we couldn’t find a heartbeat today.” She watched the news cross over her husband’s face. “Is it possible the baby’s shifted in some way that the heartbeat cannot be detected?” Gregg asked. “I don’t think so. We tried every angle and we couldn’t get a trace.” He paused, “I am so sorry.”