Fragile Beginnings (eBook)

A vaulted ceiling rises five stories over the lobby of the Brigham and Women's Hospital, its skylights illuminating the entrance to one of Harvard Medical School's flagship institutions. Approximately twenty-five times every day, a small but joyous parade descends from one of the postpartum floors and crosses the two hundred feet of polished tile that stretches from the maternity wing to the hospital entrance.

First comes an orderly pushing a wheelchair bearing a new mother who holds her swaddled newborn in her arms. Next comes another aide driving a cart piled high with flowers, cards, assorted baby gifts, and the usual infant paraphernalia: diapers, formula, a blanket, pacifiers. Last comes the beaming father, suitcase in hand, carrying whatever doesn't fit on the cart.

The procession pauses just before the revolving doors, and the father is dispatched to the parking garage. Soon the car pulls up, and the group moves out to the driveway, the new mother is lovingly strapped into the passenger seat and the baby carefully buckled into a car seat behind her. Quickly, luggage, gifts, and flowers are loaded, and the family drives away.

This is the way childbearing is supposed to happen. Twice before, Kelly had ridden that wheelchair holding a healthy newborn. Understandably, she thought that having a child was a relatively uncomplicated affair: a couple tries to get pregnant and eventually succeeds. Nine months later, a healthy baby is born, and after a few days' recuperation, they go home together.

But after Larissa was born, Kelly rode the wheelchair across the lobby alone.

January 10

Kelly steered her Ford Explorer through the slow curve as Storrow Drive swung under the Boston University Bridge and entered the stretch of highway that she liked best in the morning. Next to her, the Charles River widened, and up ahead, the sun bounced off the skyscrapers and shimmered across the ice. Behind her, three-yearold Hannah, her younger child, was cheerfully holding up her end of a conversation.

'We have turtles, Mommy. We have turtles in a box, Mommy. It's my turn to feed the turtles, Mommy.'

'What do you feed the turtles, Hanni?'

'Food, Mommy.'

'What do turtles eat, Hanni?'

'They eat turtle food, Mommy.'

'Of course they do, Hanni. I'll bet you are very good at feeding the turtles.'

Before long, they arrived at Hannah's nursery school. Parking places were in short supply, so Kelly parked in the shopping plaza across the street. She had a long mental to-do list, and as she got Hannah out of the car, she added one more item--pick up some milk at the Stop & Shop before she left so she could get her ticket validated and exit for free.

'Hold my hand, love.' They carefully crossed two lanes of Cambridge Street, squeezing into the space on the median strip between two snowbanks. There was a break in the traffic and they dashed across to the other side.

Kelly had come to enjoy the daily trip into Boston. The buildings, the traffic, and the streets lined with restaurants, dry cleaners, and coffee shops gave her a dose of urban living that she sometimes missed amid the setback suburban homes in her neighborhood with clipped lawns now covered by un-mussed snow.

Wrapped in layers against the January weather, they made their way to Hannah's classroom. At first, Hannah clung to Kelly's leg and pushed her face into Kelly's coat.

'Hello, Priscilla.' Kelly greeted one of Hannah's favorite teachers warmly. 'You have another boring day planned for the children? A whole lot of sitting around?'

'That's what we'll do today,' Priscilla said,...