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Chapter no 15 – Unsolicited Advice

Lessons in Chemistry

โ€œYour life is about to change.โ€ โ€œExcuse me?โ€

โ€œYour life. Itโ€™s about to change.โ€ A woman just ahead of Elizabeth in line at the bank had turned to point at Elizabethโ€™s stomach. Her face was grim.

โ€œChange?โ€ Elizabeth said innocently as she cast her eye down upon her round form as if noticing it for the first time. โ€œWhatever do you mean?โ€

It was the seventh time that week someone felt compelled to inform her that her life was about to change and she was sick of it. Sheโ€™d lost her job, her research, bladder control, a clear view of her toes, restful sleep, normal skin, a pain-free back, not to mention all the little assorted freedoms everyone else who is not pregnant takes for grantedโ€”like being able to fit behind a steering wheel. The only thing sheโ€™d gained? Weight.

โ€œIโ€™ve been meaning to get this checked,โ€ she said, laying a hand on her stomach. โ€œWhat do you think it could be? Not a tumor, I hope.โ€

For a split second, the womanโ€™s eyes widened in shock, then instantly narrowed. โ€œNo one likes a smart-aleck, missy,โ€ she gruffed.

โ€œYou think youโ€™re tired now,โ€ a wiry-haired woman commented an hour later as Elizabeth yawned in a grocery store checkout line, shaking her head as if Elizabeth were already showing signs of personal weakness. โ€œJust you wait.โ€ Then she launched into a dramatic description of the terrible twos, the tiresome threes, the filthy fours, and the fearsome fives, barely taking a breath before piling into the angsty adolescents, the pimply pubescents, and

especially, especially, oh lord, the troubled teens, noting always that boys were harder than girls, or girls were harder than boys, and on and on and on until her groceries were bagged and loaded and she was forced to get back into her faux-wood-paneled station wagon and return home to her own personal set of ingrates.

โ€œYouโ€™re carrying high,โ€ the man at the gas station observed. โ€œDefinitely a boy.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re carrying high,โ€ the librarian commented. โ€œDefinitely a girl.โ€

โ€œGod has given you a gift,โ€ said a priest whoโ€™d noticed Elizabeth standing alone in front of an odd gravestone at the cemetery later that same week. โ€œGlory be to God!โ€

โ€œIt wasnโ€™t God,โ€ Elizabeth said, pointing at a new tombstone. โ€œIt was Calvin.โ€

She waited until he walked away, then bent down and ran her finger over the complex engraving.

Calvin Evans 1927โ€“1955

 

 

โ€œTo make up for what happened,โ€ cemetery management had told her, โ€œweโ€™ll not only provide a new tombstone, weโ€™ll also make sure it includes

the whole quote this time.โ€ But Elizabeth had decided against a second round with Marcus Aurelius, opting instead for a chemical response that resulted in happiness. No one else recognized it, but after what sheโ€™d been through, no one questioned it either.

โ€œIโ€™m finally going to see someone about this, Calvin,โ€ she said, pointing to her bump. โ€œDr. Mason, the rower, the one who let me row in the menโ€™s eight. Remember?โ€ She stared at the inscription as if awaiting a reply.

โ€”

Twenty-five minutes later, as she pressed a button in a narrow elevator, her only companion a fat man in a straw hat, she braced herself for more unsolicited advice. And sure enough, he reached out his hand and placed it on her belly as if she were a hands-on exhibit at the Natural History Museum. โ€œI bet eating for two is fun,โ€ he admonished, patting her, โ€œbut remember: one of them is just a baby!โ€

โ€œRemove your hand,โ€ she said, โ€œor live to regret it.โ€

โ€œBada bada bada!โ€ he sang, thumping her stomach like a bongo drum.

โ€œBada badaย boom,โ€ she rejoined, swinging her handbag directly into his crotch, the impact of which was compounded by a heavy stone mortar sheโ€™d picked up earlier that day from Chemical Supply. The man gasped, then doubled over in pain. The doors slid open.

โ€œHave a bad day,โ€ she said. She stomped down the hallway, encountering a seven-foot-tall stork wearing bifocals and a baseball hat. In its beak hung two bundles: one pink, one blue.

โ€œElizabeth Zott,โ€ she said, moving past the stork to the receptionist. โ€œFor Dr. Mason.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re late,โ€ the receptionist said icily.

โ€œIโ€™m five minutes early,โ€ Elizabeth corrected, checking her watch.

โ€œThereโ€™s paperwork,โ€ the woman informed her, handing over a clipboard. Husbandโ€™s place of work. Husbandโ€™s telephone number. Husbandโ€™s insurance. Husbandโ€™s age. Husbandโ€™s bank account number.

โ€œWhoโ€™s having the baby here?โ€ she asked.

โ€œRoom five,โ€ the receptionist said. โ€œDown the hallway, second door on the left. Disrobe. Put on the gown. Finish the paperwork.โ€

โ€œRoom five,โ€ Elizabeth repeated, clipboard in hand. โ€œJust one question: Why the stork?โ€

โ€œExcuse me?โ€

โ€œYour stork. Why, in an obstetricianโ€™s office? Itโ€™s almost as if youโ€™re promoting the competition.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s meant to be charming,โ€ the receptionist said. โ€œRoom five.โ€

โ€œAnd since every patient of yours is one hundred percent aware that a stork isnโ€™t going to spare them the pain of labor,โ€ she continued, โ€œwhy perpetuate the myth at all?โ€

โ€œDr. Mason,โ€ the receptionist said, as a man in a white coat approached. โ€œThis is your four oโ€™clock. Sheโ€™s late. I tried to send her to room five.โ€

โ€œNot late,โ€ Elizabeth Zott corrected. โ€œOn time.โ€ She turned to the doctor. โ€œDr. Mason, you probably donโ€™t remember meโ€”โ€

โ€œCalvin Evansโ€™s wife,โ€ he said, drawing back in surprise. โ€œOr no, I apologize,โ€ he said, dropping his voice, โ€œhis widow.โ€ Then he paused, as if trying to decide what to say next. โ€œIโ€™m so very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Evans,โ€ he said, covering her hands with his and giving them a few shakes as if mixing a small cocktail. โ€œYour husband was a good man. A good man and a good rower.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s Elizabeth Zott,โ€ Elizabeth said. โ€œCalvin and I werenโ€™t married.โ€ She paused, awaiting the receptionistโ€™s tsk and Masonโ€™s dismissal, but instead the doctor clicked a pen and tapped it into his breast pocket, then took her by the elbow and led her down the hallway. โ€œYou and Evans rowed in my eight a few timesโ€”do you remember? About seven months ago. Good rows, too. But then you never came back. Why was that?โ€

She looked at him, surprised.

โ€œOh, forgive me,โ€ Dr. Mason said in a rush. โ€œIโ€™m so sorry. Of course. Evans. Evans died. I apologize.โ€ Shaking his head in embarrassment, he pushed open the door to room 5. โ€œPlease. Come in.โ€ He pointed to a chair. โ€œAnd are you still rowing? No, what am I saying, of course not, not in your

condition.โ€ He took her hands and turned them over. โ€œBut this is unusual. You still have the calluses.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m erging.โ€ โ€œGood god.โ€

โ€œIs that bad? Calvin built an erg.โ€

โ€œWhy?โ€

โ€œHe just did. Itโ€™s all right, isnโ€™t it?โ€

โ€œWell, yes,โ€ he said, โ€œcertainly. Itโ€™s just that Iโ€™ve never heard of anyone erging on purpose. Especially not a pregnant woman. Although now that I think about it, erging is good preparation for childbirth. In terms of suffering, I mean. Actually, both pain and suffering.โ€ But then he realized pain and suffering had probably been a constant in her life since Evans died and he turned away to hide his latest gaffe. โ€œShall we take a quick look under the hood?โ€ he said gently, gesturing to the table. Then he closed the door and waited behind a screen while she put on a dressing gown.

โ€”

The examination was quick but thorough, punctuated with inquiries about heartburn and bloating. Was sleep difficult? Did the baby move at certain times? If so, for how long? And finally the big question: Why had she waited so long to come in? She was well into her last trimester.

โ€œWork,โ€ she told him. But that was a lie. The real reason was because sheโ€™d quietly hoped the pregnancy would take care of itself. End as these things sometimes do. In the 1950s, abortion was out of the question. Coincidentally, so was having a baby out of wedlock.

โ€œYouโ€™re also a scientist, is that right?โ€ he asked from the other end of her body.

โ€œYes.โ€

โ€œAnd Hastings kept you on. They must be more progressive than I thought.โ€

โ€œThey didnโ€™t,โ€ she said. โ€œIโ€™m freelancing.โ€

โ€œA freelance scientist. Iโ€™ve never heard of such a thing. How does that work?โ€

She sighed. โ€œNot very well.โ€

Registering the tone in her voice, he finished up quickly, tapping her belly here and there as if she were a cantaloupe.

โ€œEverything looks shipshape,โ€ he said as he stripped off his gloves. And when she didnโ€™t smile or say anything in return, he said in a low voice, โ€œFor the baby at least. Iโ€™m sure this has been enormously difficult for you.โ€

It was the first time someone had acknowledged her situation, and the shock of it caught in her throat. She felt a cache of tears threatening escape just behind her eyes.

โ€œIโ€™m sorry,โ€ he said gently, studying her face the way a meteorologist might watch a storm develop. โ€œPlease know you can talk to me. Rower to rower. Itโ€™s all confidential.โ€

She looked away. She didnโ€™t really know him. Worse, she wasnโ€™t sure, despite his assurances, that her feelings were allowable. Sheโ€™d come to believe she was the only woman on earth whoโ€™d planned to remain childless. โ€œIf Iโ€™m being perfectly honest,โ€ she finally said, her voice heavy with guilt, โ€œI donโ€™t think I can do this. I was not planning on being a mother.โ€

โ€œNot every woman wants to be a mother,โ€ he agreed, surprising her. โ€œMore to the point, not every woman should be.โ€ He grimaced as if thinking of someone in particular. โ€œStill, Iโ€™m surprised by how many women sign up for motherhood considering how difficult pregnancy can be

โ€”morning sickness, stretch marks, death. Again, youโ€™re fine,โ€ he added quickly, taking in her horrified face. โ€œItโ€™s just that we tend to treat pregnancy as the most common condition in the worldโ€”as ordinary as stubbing a toeโ€”when the truth is, itโ€™s like getting hit by a truck. Although obviously a truck causes less damage.โ€ He cleared his throat, then made a note in her file. โ€œWhat I mean to say is, the exercise is helping. Although Iโ€™m not sure how you erg properly at this stage. Pulling into the sternum would be problematic. What aboutย The Jack LaLanne Show? Ever watch him?โ€

At the mention of Jack LaLanneโ€™s name, Elizabethโ€™s face fell. โ€œNot a fan,โ€ he said. โ€œNo problem. Just the erg, then.โ€

โ€œI only kept on with it,โ€ she offered in a low voice, โ€œbecause it exhausts me to the point where I can sometimes sleep. But also because I thought it might, wellโ€”โ€

โ€œI understand,โ€ he said, cutting her off and looking both ways as if making sure no one else could hear. โ€œLook, Iโ€™m not one of those people who believe a woman should have toโ€”โ€ He stopped abruptly. โ€œNor do I believe thatโ€”โ€ He stopped again. โ€œA single womanโ€ฆa widowโ€ฆitโ€™sโ€ฆ Never mind,โ€ he said as he reached for her file. โ€œBut the truth is, that erg probably made you stronger; made the baby stronger for that matter. More blood to the brain, better circulation. Have you noticed it has a calming effect on the baby? Probably all that back and forth.โ€

She shrugged.

โ€œHow far are you erging?โ€ โ€œTen thousand meters.โ€ย โ€œEvery day?โ€

โ€œSometimes more.โ€

โ€œMother of god,โ€ he whistled. โ€œIโ€™ve always thought pregnant women developed an extra capacity for suffering, but ten thousand meters? Sometimesย more? Thatโ€™sโ€”thatโ€™sโ€”actually, I donโ€™t know what that is.โ€ He looked at her with concern. โ€œDo you have someone to lean on? A friend or relativeโ€”your motherโ€”someone like that? Infants are hard work.โ€

She hesitated. It was embarrassing to admit that she had no one. Sheโ€™d only gone to see Dr. Mason because Calvin had always insisted rowers enjoyed some sort of special bond.

โ€œAnyone?โ€ he repeated. โ€œI have a dog.โ€

โ€œI like it,โ€ Mason said. โ€œA dog can be tremendously helpful. Protective, empathetic, intelligent. What kind of dogโ€”he, she?โ€

โ€œHeโ€”โ€

โ€œWait, I think I remember your dog. Three Oโ€™clock, something like that? Ugly as sin?โ€

โ€œHeโ€™sโ€”โ€

โ€œA dog and an erg,โ€ he said, making a note in her file. โ€œOkay.

Excellent.โ€

He clicked his pen again, then set her file aside. โ€œNow, as soon as youโ€™re ableโ€”letโ€™s say in a yearโ€” I want to see you back at the boathouse. My boatโ€™s been looking for the right two seat and something tells me youโ€™re it. Youโ€™ll have to arrange for a sitter, though. No babies in the boat. We have plenty of those as it is.โ€

Elizabeth reached for her jacket. โ€œThatโ€™s very kind, Dr. Mason,โ€ she said, assuming he was only trying to be nice, โ€œbut according to you Iโ€™m about to get hit by a truck.โ€

โ€œAn accident from which youโ€™ll recover,โ€ he corrected. โ€œLook, I have an impeccable memory when it comes to rows, and I very much remember ours. They were good. Very good.โ€

โ€œBecause of Calvin.โ€

Dr. Mason looked surprised. โ€œNo, Miss Zott. Not just because of Evans. It takes all eight to row well.ย Allย eight. Anyway, back to the business at hand. Iโ€™m starting to feel a bit better about your situation. I know youโ€™ve been through quite a shock with Evansโ€™s passing, and then this,โ€ he added, pointing to her belly. โ€œBut things will be fine. Maybe even better than fine. A dog, an erg, two seat. Excellent.โ€

Then he took both of her hands in his and gave them a cheerful squeeze, and although his words hadnโ€™t made complete sense, compared to everything else sheโ€™d heard up to that point, they were the first that finally made some.

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