Bride Doll Read online

  Despite getting the knack of changing diapers, Monique detested feeding time. She propped her baby on her side with a diaper rolled up and tucked tightly against her tiny back. Another diaper was rolled up, positioning the bottle so Lily could suck its contents without being held.

  After a week of day shifts, Flynn had two weeks of graveyard shifts. This was when the mothering and infant care necessity fell apart. After Flynn’s first shift of nights, when he returned to their apartment at 7:30 a.m., he hoped to have Monique smiling with babe in arms, both smelling fresh and oozing contentment. Breakfast would’ve been a bonus (but not necessary). His hope was not the reality of what he encountered. Flynn opened the bedroom door; Monique once again was sound asleep with a pillow over her head. He went to the unsettlingly quiet baby’s room. Relief cast over him as Flynn saw Lily’s chest expanding and her tiny body squirm under a blanket in the disheveled bassinet. He picked up his soaked baby girl and kissed her gently on top of her head to not scratch her with his overnight whisker growth. Flynn uselessly called out for Monique, but there was no response. Once again, but with more intent, he called. Overwhelmed, he wrapped up his daughter and drove to Simpson Avenue.

  Etta predicted her son’s arrival time and had a toasted tomato and bacon sandwich waiting for him. Flynn could smell the familiar heartwarming aroma of bacon; he drew a strained smile and passed the baby to his mother.

  Etta and Owen had purchased a full set of all the baby needs which filled their transformed dining room. Etta had the baby bathtub, fresh baby clothes, and a bassinet already set up, anticipating her son’s requirement for ongoing support. Already, Lily had a significant diaper rash due to lack of frequent diaper changing.

  The new regime evolved to Monique only seeing Lily for the lunchtime feeding. Monique would have the next round of sterilized baby bottles, each filled with the exact amount of formula. Then Owen would take the baby back to Etta until the next day. Baby Lily and mother were perfectly content with that schedule.

  On Flynn’s days off, he and Monique would take the drive along Lake Superior and, on some occasions, stay overnight in Wawa. Monique and Flynn re-established their hot and steamy escapades, and both reaffirmed their love for one another. By mid-October, Monique was pregnant again.

  As Flynn would say, “All hell broke loose!” It was a busy winter with the move to a small wartime house on the Township Line, bought at the significantly reduced rate for a veteran of WWII of twenty dollars a month mortgage. (Many of the months, Flynn would have to ask his parents for the money.) The downside was that it was five miles from Simpson Avenue. Monique was pleased to be further away from Etta’s scorn.

  Adele and Jacque saw their granddaughter for the first time at Christmas dinner at the farm. Adele grinned at the baby and returned to ricing her boiled potatoes while Jacque took his granddaughter and held her dearly in his arms, kissing the top of her little head. He took her out of the chaos of the country kitchen into the quiet living room with Flynn, offering him some of his homemade wine.

  Soon enough, the peaceful holiday mood was transformed by a hostile mother and daughter shouting match. “I tried to warn you, Monique. Those damn Protestants will never accept your Catholicism. To them, you’re nothing more than a DP.”

  Monique knew her mother was right but wouldn’t concede. “They will want Lily to be Anglican, you know!” (Monique hated Etta for secretly having Lily baptized at St. Luke’s two months prior.)

  Despite the heated discussion—although Monique was still fuming—the turkey came out of the wood-burning oven as delectable as ever. All the traditional French side dishes were placed on the family table, including the much-anticipated tourtiere and the butter tarts.

  When Adele finally sat down, she bowed her head, as did the rest, and said, “For all of the Catholics here, let us pray.”

  Before she could utter the next few words of grace, Monique had flung a big heap of riced potatoes, hitting her mother squarely on the forehead. The family fell silent, all glaring at Monique.

  “Flynn, let’s go. Now!” Readily, Flynn scooped the baby up while Monique took the butter tarts.

  Flynn’s relief was two-fold: to have escaped that feud and also to be on his way to his mother’s Christmas turkey and plum pudding rum sauce.

  Monique sobbed the whole way, getting Lily’s white baby bonnet wet with snotty tears.

  Chapter 13

  Monique Pregnant Again

  As January rolled around, Monique finally revealed to Flynn that she was pregnant again. Monique had to admit to herself the “Rhythm Method” was not working for this highly-charged sexual pair. Monique would forget to take her morning vaginal temperature, let alone chart it over the month. Intimacy, for them, was the only true way they could right the chaos of their lives. Intensity and density were necessary for both of them, and they found it in their profoundly passionate, organic lovemaking.

  Monique felt total freedom in the arms of her husband. She loved having his whole body covering and protecting hers. She wanted to remain hidden from all the judgements and persecutions beyond their bedroom walls.

  For Flynn, he wanted and needed to arouse his beautiful wife. He loved to see her bloom over and over again.

  Winter turned to spring, and soon it was the end of June and time for the first haying. Jacque made the call to Monique; they hadn’t spoken since that unholy Christmas dinner fiasco. They managed a brief exchange of niceties, where Monique conveyed she was once again pregnant. He didn’t react to the news and simply told her he needed Flynn to help with the haying. As the summer progressed, Monique remembered how much she hated being pregnant.

  It was too hard to lift the now fourteen-month-old Lily, who refused to learn to walk. She told Flynn—in no uncertain terms—that his parents had spoiled their daughter. Lily was proudly carried everywhere or wheeled up and down Simpson Avenue for the neighbours to admire the privileged baby beauty.

  One afternoon while Owen was out with Lily, Etta saw a cute white polar bear on four wheels in the new edition of the Eaton’s catalogue. It was a walker designed for babies advancing to toddlers. (Etta was also silently concerned that Lily had no desire to attempt walking.) Privately, she would scold Owen for “carrying that baby too much.” Etta didn’t want to hear her next door neighbor, Edith, to utter one more time, “My granddaughter started walking at twelve months old.”

  During the last couple of weeks of the pregnancy, Monique didn’t see Lily at all. This was of no mind to Lily, as she knew her grandparents to be her loving parents, and Monique and Flynn were visitors to her little-indulged world of affectionate nurturing.

  With the last trimester of Monique’s second pregnancy, their marital lovemaking had to be adjusted. Flynn loved to kiss the back of his wife’s neck while slowly caressing her. It didn’t take long with the altered posturing to excite all of their erogenous zones. After their usual intense passion simultaneously concluded, they collapsed to their side of the bed, oblivious to the burst of sanguineous fluid in the middle of their love nest.

  It was a few hours before Monique awoke with intense pelvic pain combined with a tightening abdomen. Flynn reached over through his sleepy muse to be suddenly awakened by his wife’s organic moaning.

  “Ok, I’ve got this. Hold tight.”

  Despite this being their second child coming, they were even less prepared than the first. Flynn pulled on his pants, grabbed his soiled tee-shirt from the prior day’s haying, and covered Monique in the bedspread that was beside his farming clothes on the floor. Getting Monique in the car and racing down Highway Seventeen to downtown, he wisely remembered to never bring his wife to the Plummer Hospital again. At General Hospital’s emergency entrance, Flynn laid on the horn. Two hospital orderlies in their white uniforms quickly maneuvered Monique out of the car and into the wheelchair already in motion toward the delivery room.

  Taking a deep breath, Flynn didn’t proceed to the parking lot but turned the car back on Queen Street towar
d Simpson Avenue. Exhausted, he went around to the back door where Etta was already waiting with a look of concern and relief that her son was home.

  It was two in the morning. Flynn did what all sons do in their mother’s kitchen, he opened the fridge door and reached for the left-over chicken and a beer. Etta buttered the bread and layered the chicken generously in between the slices. Ahh. Those finer moments of unadulterated motherly attention rushed over him like a warm sea breeze. Food and ale tempered Flynn’s anxiety, and he headed toward his boyhood bedroom. Etta and Owen acknowledged to each other with a glance about their son’s foul odour and disheveled condition.

  Owen arose, delighted to meet the new day with his Lily. Etta met them in the kitchen while Owen placed Lily in her highchair to play with her toy doll. Etta made cream of wheat while Owen warmed Lily’s bottle.

  Etta, realizing her son was still sleeping, rushed upstairs (knowing that he would sleep through her downstairs calling to him). “Son, wake up. You need to get to the hospital.”

  The word “hospital” stung his brain, and he jumped out of bed.

  Etta had already laid out some fresh clothes. A few minutes later, she had a plate of bacon and eggs ready for him to hoover down with freshly percolated coffee. Once in the car, Flynn was deeply relieved his mother didn’t ask him what hospital Monique was in.

  Chapter 14

  Baby Number Two

  On arrival to the maternity ward, the head nurse greeted Flynn with a scowl. “Where have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you. Monique had a difficult delivery, and your baby girl has defects.”

  All he heard was “defects” and collapsed to his knees as if both Achilles tendons had been slashed. Huge tears immediately flowed down his unshaven face.

  Two nurses helped Flynn to his feet. “We had to sedate Monique early on in the delivery. She doesn’t know about the baby yet. We had to get the baby out with forceps, and Monique tore badly in the process.”

  Flynn only heard some of the words but made no sense of any of the information. The nurses led him to the nursery, where he saw a beautiful bundle of blonde-haired, sleeping joy. He only saw peaceful perfection until the doctor beckoned him to come into the nursery. Once gowned, a nurse handed Flynn his baby girl.

  The infant naturally snuggled into his soothing hold. After a moment of greeting, the doctor took the baby to the examining table and unwrapped the swaddled baby, exposing her perfect little hands and hugely deformed feet. “Your baby has club feet. This is the worst case I’ve ever seen. It does not happen often; medical belief is that it’s caused by extreme uterine pressure.”

  Flynn’s mind immediately went to their tumultuous lovemaking with intense thrusting each time. Already grief-stricken, he heard the doctor say he had made a referral to Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto for an orthopaedic surgeon to assess and likely amputate both feet.

  “These matters need to be dealt with quickly to lessen the burden caused by delaying the inevitable,” the doctor firmly stated. The baby was rewrapped and peacefully placed back in the bassinet.

  It was nine in the morning, and Monique was having her breakfast in bed. Monique recalled that this was the best part of delivering a baby; the small creature comforts following labour.

  Because their baby was born with a deformity, the head nurse decided it was best not to upset the other mothers, so Monique was given a private room.

  Flynn cautiously entered her room. “Hi,” he said quietly. Monique was more interested in her warm toast with strawberry jam. “How are you feeling? I know this wasn’t easy for you.”

  Monique continued casually sipping her tea. Nursing school taught her she needed to rebuild her strength, and she had a whole ten days to do it. She finally noticed the thick padding between her legs and the ooze accumulating behind her sacrum. Still numb from the Demerol, Monique didn’t realize the extent of her vaginal tearing or that she had delivered anything but a perfect baby, hopefully a boy.

  Flynn sat down in the chair beside her and rubbed her legs gently as he pressed his forehead into the bed so Monique wouldn’t see his grievous face.

  Monique dozed off to the rhythm of his hands moving up and down her legs. All she needed was her husband’s attentive touch to feel her world was protected again.

  Around eleven in the morning, the doctor entered the room with the head nurse, who was holding the baby. “Flynn, I’m sure you’ve informed Monique by now. Your appointment at Sick Kids in Toronto is scheduled for two weeks from today. I expect Monique will be away with your baby girl for a month. Please make your plans accordingly.” With that, he left the room while the head nurse placed the baby in Monique’s arms.

  Monique’s absent gaze reaffirmed that she was still drugged and had no idea of what was going on. All she said was, “Is lunch here yet?”

  Flynn failed miserably at trying to stifle his anguish as he took the baby from his otherwise occupied and heavily medicated wife. His heart swelled with immense love and devotion when he was holding his new baby girl, just like he’d felt holding Lily for the first time. However, this time, all those feelings were mixed with panic; he had absolutely no idea how to navigate the impending doom of her deformities.

  Monique didn’t regain her faculties until the next day and was alert when the nurse wheeled the baby in for her morning bottle feed. “Good morning, Sunshine. Here’s your baby girl.”

  Another girl. Oh well, no boy for Flynn, she thought while taking the babe and the warm bottle from the nurse. Somewhat ashamed, she realized she hadn’t asked anything about the baby yet, but all she saw was another little angel. This baby was so blonde compared to Lily, who was dark-haired. Monique continued her investigation to typically count all fingers and toes.

  A blood-curdling moaning escalated to a grievous trembling in her core. She screamed internally, My mother was right! God has marred my baby! Monique was inconsolably wailing. “My baby is deformed. My baby is deformed.”

  The maternity ward immediately went into lockdown. All the doors to the patients’ rooms were closed tight. No one was allowed on the floor except the summoned doctor, who quickly filled a syringe with Haldol. Two large orderlies assisted the doctor in rolling Monique onto her side, exposing her buttock. The doctor administered the injection and gently rolled her back while the nurse quietly tried to reassure Monique that it would be ok, and she should rest. Monique took heed to the rest suggestion and sunk into a paralytic repose.

  “Did no one prepare Monique before she saw the baby’s feet? Did her husband not tell her?” The doctor asked in a reprehensible voice.

  Vacant looks back to the doctor was all the information he required. His look lightened as he said, “This would be hard for anyone to bear; no one is to blame here.” As he said these words, he knew if anyone was to be incriminated, it should rest upon himself. He remembered Monique from her nursing career and knew under her stiffly starched uniform was a fragile woman. “Call her husband and ask him not to come in today. I don’t want anyone to disturb her.” The doctor left the room without another word.

  Dutifully, the nurse called Flynn at his mother’s number. “Monique has had a bad reaction to seeing the baby’s deformities. The doctor has medicated her and asked that no one disturb her. Please do not come in until tomorrow.”

  Flynn could feel his chest and throat tighten as he responded, “Ok” and hung up the phone.

  Etta could see something dreadful was happening. “Is the baby ok? Is Monique dying?” Silently and without remorse, she hoped for the latter.

  Flynn sensed he had to man-up for this ordeal, but he couldn’t muster any innate strength to face this catastrophe. He bent over and unashamedly cried in absolute despair.

  Etta shuttered with fear as she called Owen at work, stressing he come home at once.

  Owen had never had a call from home at work before. Without hesitation, he proceeded homeward. The beauty of the day did not reflect the impending storm.

  When Etta met him in the d
oorway, her look of despair confirmed something horrible had happened to his family. Baby Lily was crying in her crib. Neither Flynn nor Etta had the wherewithal to pick her up and reassure her that all was well. Owen quickly responded by priority. First, Lily was retrieved in his arms, artificially mustering a smile and hello to his precious granddaughter. Next, he sought out Flynn in his room, where he found his son facedown on the bed. “Son, tell me what’s wrong. Your mother is frantic. I sent her for a nap”.

  After a long pause, Flynn raised his head, rolled to sit up, and looked his dad in the eyes. “Dad, our baby is deformed. She has a severe case of club feet, and the doctor is recommending amputations. Monique isn’t handling it well; they have shot her full of sedatives. Dad, I don’t know what to do.” Flynn’s desperation was apparent on his face and in his shaky voice.

  Still holding Lily close to his chest, Owen said with calm resolve, “Son, this is terrible news. I can’t believe it either. Whatever happens, your mother and I are here for you no matter what.”

  Flynn wholeheartedly believed his father; however, the pain in his chest wasn’t relieved. Still sitting on the side of the bed, Flynn bent over and buried his face in his hands to try and conceal the tears.

  Owen sat beside him and, with his free arm, reached around to hug his son.

  Chapter 15

  Monique and Psychiatry

  Monique awoke the following morning to discover she wasn’t in a regular hospital bed but a standard twin bed in a light pink-colored room. She noticed the lack of antiseptic smell, and then it hit her: she must be in the psychiatric ward. Sure enough, when the nurse brought in her breakfast, she confirmed Monique’s assumption. The nurse relayed that Monique suffered a “nervous breakdown” and needed to stay in the psychiatric ward for awhile. The nurse left out the part where Monique was an utter disturbance to the otherwise happy place of the maternity ward. Even the baby was moved to the dark hallway outside the nursery, away from the “perfectly normal” babies. Rumours were already spreading, and Monique’s newborn was being referred to as “that deformed baby, the one that has to have her legs cut off.”