AFTER TITANIC
Chapter Eleven
Rose paced back and forth in the
waiting room of the hospital. Tears stung her eyes and her heart was pounding.
Then, she could bear it no longer. Rose marched up to the reception desk and
slammed her hands upon it. "I want to see my baby!" she screeched.
"Ma’am, we’re doing all we
can," said the lady at the desk.
"I want you to do
better!" Rose could not control her anger. "I want to see her!"
"There’s nothing I can do,
ma’am," said the lady. "Rules are rules."
Rose collapsed on the floor and
cried. The day before, Abby began to cough. Rose didn’t think it was much, but
then the baby started to vomit. She was red with fever and had stopped crying.
This was not a good thing. She was weak. Abby was sick--very sick. Immediately,
Rose ran outside with the three-month-old infant in her arms. She screamed for
a cab and went as fast as she could to the nearest hospital. There, Rose’s poor
little baby was diagnosed with whooping cough.
The baby’s mother had been pacing
the waiting room for hours. She could not take it anymore. She would die if
something happened to Abigail. She would just die. "Jack," she
whispered. "Please. You sent me Abby. You can make her better. Please
don’t take her away from me. I need her." But still, fretful hours passed
with no good news to cheer her. Rose knew that her last resort was God. She
didn’t actually believe in God. Not strongly, anyway, but she believed in the
possibility of one. And so she sat on her knees and prayed for hours. But still
she heard nothing. Perhaps she could bargain with God. She said, "If you
will save Abby, I will do anything you want. I will help all others. I will
devote my life to you. Anything you want. Just please save my daughter.
Take...take me instead." That was a sacrifice Rose was willing to make.
Rose knew that Abby’s condition
might be fatal. And if she lost her daughter, she would have lost everything.
Because Abby was everything to Rose. Everything Rose did was for her daughter.
Rose had done nothing to deserve this, and surely, neither had Abby. Finally, a
doctor approached her. "Please let this be good news," Rose said to
him, shaking.
"Your daughter is very, very
sick," said the doctor. Rose buried her face in her hands, dreading what
might be coming next. "She could die. We are trying our hardest,
but--"
"Try harder!" Rose
interrupted. "Don’t you understand? That is the only family I have to
speak of, and she deserves to live! She can’t die! She can’t!" The doctor
just bowed his head. "Bastard," Rose said. "Take me to see
her." The doctor started to protest. "Now!" she screamed.
The doctor led her into a plain
white room. There, in a tiny little crib with low bars on the side, Abby slept.
"She’s sleeping…is that a good sign?" Rose asked.
"Maybe…I mean, she’s
unconscious. But at least she’s peaceful."
"Stop that," Rose said.
"Stop with this rubbish. You are giving up, aren’t you? If you dare tell
me that there is nothing you can do, I will rip your head off—don’t think I
won’t!"
"We will try harder…if that’s
possible," he relented, with true sincerity in his voice. Rose looked at
her baby. Her face was flushed pink and she coughed in her sleep. Rose could
bear it no longer. She began to cry terribly again. Rose had always been a
terrible existentialist, with so little faith in the world. After the doctor
left and Rose was alone with her child, she whispered to God, "If you will
just save my little baby, I will have faith in you. That is all I can give you.
But if you have to take one of us, then take me. Please, just take me." It
was amazing, almost unfathomable how much love Rose had for her child. She had
loved Jack just as much, but she loved Abby differently. And she could not
stand to lose both of them.
The doctor peeked through the
door and asked to discuss some things with Rose concerning Abigail’s health.
She was told of the treatments that would be given, but they were expensive.
"I don’t care what they cost," Rose said. She went to the desk to
make out a check. She filled in the amount and signed it but neglected to date
it. "What’s today?" she asked the reception lady.
"April fifteenth," the
lady responded. Rose’s face was suddenly drained of all its color. She looked
horror-stricken.
"No!" she cried.
"It can’t be!" And then Rose began to cry once more. She wailed
harder than she had before. Was this all just a terrible coincidence, or was it
a sign? The nurses didn’t know what to do with her.
"Perhaps you should go home
and get some proper rest. It will do you good…" one suggested.
"No!" Rose shrieked.
"I won’t leave her!"
"Well, I’m sure we could
find you a vacant room to sleep in tonight," ventured another.
"Can I sleep in my baby’s
room?" Rose asked, wiping her tears away with her sleeve.
"Oh, no," said the
nurse. "It’s far too dangerous. We won’t have you getting sick too!"
"Well…all right." Rose
relented. "Where should I go?" A nurse led her to an empty room on
the next floor up and left her alone there. The private rooms were reserved for
patients too sick to be around others. Abby had her own room, which really was
not a good thing. Rose was grateful for one of her own. She did not want to be
around anymore sick people today. She changed out of the blue dress she had
been wearing since that morning into a hospital gown and lay down in the bed, waiting
for sleep to come. When it finally arrived, she had a vision of Jack. He was
surrounded by white light and was wearing a white shirt and white pants. She
looked very handsome. But in his arms he held an infant with red-gold hair,
also garbed in white. The two lived together as angels. "No!" Rose
screamed as she sat bolt upright in her bed. She was bathed in sweat and tears
were streaming down her cheeks. Her baby was not going to die! She would not
accept that. Rose slipped out of bed and tiptoed downstairs and walked to
Abby’s room. She stood outside it and looked at the baby through a window in
the door. My God, she looks so sick! She has to get better! Rose could
stand to look at the flushed babe no longer and went back to her room for an
uneasy night’s sleep.
Rose could hardly believe that
Jack had been dead a year. Months prior, when April was drawing nearer, she
wondered a lot about how she would react to the anniversary of her lover’s
death. But she hadn’t really been paying attention to the dates in the last
week or so, and she had just forgotten. One year ago, she had experienced the
worst day of her life, up until now. Not to say this day was necessarily worse,
but it was just as bad.