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  Five days following Monique’s delivery, she still hadn’t seen her baby or her husband. Monique felt sheltered in her pink room. The medication kept coming, and she was relieved to have its numbing effect.

  Eventually, the doctor wanted to cut back on the medication. “Monique needs to get prepared to deal with her baby’s birth defects. Her appointment with the Toronto Orthopaedic Surgeon is in one week. Monique needs to take her baby there.”

  The nurse informed Monique of the doctor’s plan when she delivered her morning breakfast tray without the accompanying pills. “I’ll call your husband to come in today after his shift. In the meantime, the orderly will take you to the nursery to see your baby,” she said. Monique didn’t want to face either.

  Monique chose the wheelchair ride as opposed to walking to see her baby. She started to feel anxious; she felt sweaty, and her body was tensing up.

  A nurse had a quiet back corner ready for Monique with a cushioned rocking chair. The orderly helped her stand and assisted her to the chair. A few minutes later, the nurse returned with her swaddled baby and a warm bottle of formula. This was the second time she held her second child. The baby smelled so good; she made soft cooing noises that would melt any mother’s heart—except Monique’s.

  Monique, besieged with fear, quietly said, “Please don’t let this be. God, please don’t punish me for all of my sins. Dear God, please.” Monique tried to hold it together; her baby needed her. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Mom was right; God didn’t forget my mortal sin. I was foolish to believe all was forgiven when Lily was born. I was such a fool to think purgatory was going to be bypassed.”

  The baby started crying because the chair wasn’t rocking and was unsupported in Monique’s awkward hold. The nurse approached Monique as she tried to get a grip on her racing anxieties and hovered over the mother and child. After the twenty minutes were up, Monique asked to go back to her room.

  Monique was regimented to receive sleeping medication only at night; the doctor was adamant that she be alert and dealing with her circumstance. Three times a day, she was wheeled to the baby, a necessary regiment to prepare Monique to travel with her baby to Toronto.

  The doctor met with Flynn a few days later and explained everything was set up in Toronto for the baby’s admittance to the Sick Children’s Hospital. Monique could stay in the hospital until the day of departure to Toronto.

  Before the doctor left, he said to Flynn, “By the way, what’s this baby’s name? We’ve only been using the last name. I need this information for the admission documents. You have until tomorrow, ok?”

  Later that day, around the supper table at Etta and Owen’s house, Lily was in her highchair, squishing her green peas with her spoon, waiting for her ice cream. While Etta was in the kitchen, Flynn said to Owen, “Dad, Monique and the baby are taking the train to the Toronto hospital on Monday. I need to give the hospital the baby’s name by tomorrow.” Monique hadn’t said a word about her choice for a girl’s name. “We were convinced we were having a boy this time, so I don’t have any idea what it should be. I have to do it, though.”

  Owen drew in on his Export A, pondering the issue. “How about Nia, meaning bright, as in lustre, like the brightest star in the sky. It is a beautiful Welsh name; your mother loves that name. If you had a sister, that would’ve been her name.”

  “I like it. Nia will be her name,” said Flynn, and they went to the kitchen to pour a jigger of rum for each of them.

  Etta had figured out that Monique was not at the Plummer hospital; however, she certainly didn’t anticipate her to be in a psych ward. (Knowing this, she was relieved Monique was not at the Plummer hospital where her friends would get wind of her now crazy daughter-in-law).

  Flynn hadn’t returned to their house on the township line for over two weeks. Owen had correctly predicted the door was left unlocked for the duration of Monique’s hospitalization. The place was in shambles. His task was to pack a suitcase for Monique to go to Toronto. It was Labour Day weekend, still warm. He did his best to find a nightgown, a sweater, a skirt, and a pair of pants. Everything he picked out needed to be washed and ironed. Owen was grateful he didn’t bring Etta along; she would only have more ammunition to hate their daughter-in-law. Flynn went fishing with his buddies. Owen felt that was a good thing; his son needed a break from his sad situation. He set to work in the kitchen and ended in the bathroom. When everything was in order and shiny, he scooped up the soiled clothes and drove home, enjoying long drags on his Export A.

  Etta had supper ready for her husband’s return, and Lily sat in her highchair, delighted with her mashed potatoes and a big lump of butter melting on the top. “Owen, you look exhausted. What took you so long?” she asked. “I made pork chops for you with chopped cabbage and your favourite cucumber salad.” That sounded like music to Owen’s ears.

  The following morning, Owen handed his son the suitcase of impeccably cleaned, folded, and packed clothing for Monique plus an envelope with $100 dollars in it. “Son, give this to Monique; I want her to have some spending money.”

  Flynn was grateful as he took the case and the cash. They nodded, and off Flynn went to pick up his wife and new his baby girl. He made a quick stop at the corner store to buy a chocolate cherry blossom before going to the hospital. He knew this would put a smile on his wife’s face.

  With the baby in her arms, Monique was already at the front door of the hospital waiting for him. She looked so pretty standing there despite the ordeal they’d been through. While getting ready, Monique found her red lipstick in her purse, and as per usual, she applied the lip colour. Once again, she could see and feel her face transform to her seemingly confident, beautiful self with a knockout smile. Monique was happy to be finally leaving the hospital. The breakfast in bed routine was getting old, as was the already memorized, repeating menus. She wouldn’t miss the Wednesday night stew with the overcooked, tasteless peas.

  Flynn mustered a smile from somewhere deep within himself. He exited the car to greet his wife with a kiss on her cheek before helping her and the baby into the vehicle.

  Still holding the baby, Monique eased into the familiar passenger seat. She was grateful to have a brief feeling of normalcy in the comfort of their car. Flynn extended his arm to reach over her shoulders and hugged her as he drove to the train station.

  When they arrived, it was already time to board the train. On the platform, Flynn kissed Monique, then kissed the top of his baby’s head and said, “Be brave, my little Nia.”

  That was the first time Monique had heard her daughter’s name. It didn’t distress her that she didn’t have any input into the choice of her baby’s name. The soft and loving sound of Flynn’s voice saying “my little Nia” was all she needed to know about the choice of her second daughter’s name.

  Flynn remembered to pull from his pocket the envelope from his dad and the cherry blossom chocolate treat. Monique was delighted with both. As they got to the steps of the train, he hugged her one more time. Monique was ready to hear his declaration of “I love you.” Instead, he emphatically stated, “No amputations.”

  Chapter 16

  Monique in Toronto

  Monique always loved the passenger train, and this ride was even more special because she had a sleeper cabin. One hour into the trip, the steward came by with beverages, and she ordered a rum and Coke. “Ahhh,” she murmured as the liquid went down so neatly. Her thoughts went to Flynn and how she already missed him. She thought of Lily briefly, about how beautiful she was. She also felt relieved that her short stay in the psych ward afforded her time to be out of the fray of the “deformity” upheaval. Monique started thinking about this horrid “Act of God” but quickly redirected her focus back to her delightful libation.

  Like her mother, baby Nia loved the motion of the train and slept peacefully in the cabin’s baby hammock. The Catholic Women’s League was notified of Monique’s situation while she was in the hospital and how she had to travel with a
newborn to Sick Kids Hospital. They gifted a beautiful travel bag of rose-scented hand cream, practical postpartum white underpants and pads, and a long, pink nightgown with matching slippers. For the baby, they provided some hand-knit booties. Monique immediately knew her daughter’s little hairpin turned ankles and feet would regrettably never don them. However, she was certain her bright little star would wear the matching sweater and bonnet, delicately interwoven with white ribbons.

  When the steward came by again, Monique asked if he could warm the baby’s bottle and bring her another cocktail. A short while later, dinner arrived. Monique was hungry and welcomed the roast beef with gravy, boiled potatoes, and green beans, followed by a slice of warm apple pie. A few hours later, as she savoured the cherry blossom Flynn had given her, she realized she hadn’t felt this degree of well-being for a very long time. The rumble of the train rocked mother and baby fast asleep.

  Monique awoke suddenly with the steward shouting in the hallway. “Toronto, Union Station. Toronto, Union Station.” Monique took her time getting herself and the baby ready. She knew it would be a short taxi ride to the hospital.

  As she stepped off the train with her baby, the porter was ready to load her luggage onto his dolly to assist her to the taxi area on Front Street. Inside the lobby, Monique allowed herself a lingering moment to absorb the grandeur of the Royal York Hotel across from the train station. She’d been there a few times with her nursing girlfriends for some wild weekends of sipping gin martinis in the Library Lounge. Ah, the attention they did attract!

  Monique’s mood remained upbeat while she took her time in the station’s ladies’ room to put on the skirt with the new long sheer stockings Owen had packed for her. Like always, she made sure the seams were perfectly centred down the back of her sleek, long legs. Her signature red lipstick always magically elevated her demeanour. Nia slept nearby while her mother allowed herself some brief moments of indulgence.

  The children’s hospital was awaiting the arrival of that Northern Ontario baby girl who possibly had the worst case of club feet the hospital had ever seen. Monique took a deep breath of relief when the admitting nurse put her baby in what looked like an elevated oversized metal cage on wheels. It hadn’t been a full twenty-four hours yet, and she appreciated the brief sense of freedom.

  The attending orthopaedic surgeon asked two of his colleagues to join him during the assessment and decision process to evaluate their limited treatment options. The evaluation would take until Thursday. Wow, two whole days in Toronto to be fancy-free, she thought to herself.

  Monique, being a registered nurse herself, was welcomed at the nursing residence on Gerard Street. As a professional courtesy, the downtown hospitals always kept a room for visiting nurses requiring accommodation. This was just what she needed and wanted; the city life in the final days of summer with her carefree capsule of time, her red lipstick, and the envelope inside her purse with the one-hundred dollars.

  Her first luxury was to go to the movies to see “Sabrina” with Audrey Hepburn (who she secretly likened to herself) and Humphrey Bogart. Delighted to be seeing this movie, she splurged on a cherry Coke and some buttered popcorn. Monique lost herself in the mesmerizing romantic comedy. Later that evening, it wasn’t hard for her to fall asleep in the crisp, white sheets made up with perfect nurses’ corners.

  Monique spent the following day shopping. Simpson’s Department Store had their new line of fall fashions displayed in the storefront windows, beckoning her in; Eaton’s Department Store had the same effect on this pretend movie starlet. By the end of the day, she’d purchased a new red car coat, black leather gloves, and the perfect red chiffon turban to emulate the Hepburn look. Flynn would surely say, “Monique, you’re a knockout!”

  Monique returned to the residence for a light dinner and rest. She had plans for the evening and had no aversion to being unescorted; in fact, she preferred it that way. Living a little on the edge was easily retrieved from her previous life escapades. She took the streetcar to the Royal York Hotel and did what every drop-dead gorgeous woman does; she allowed the doorman to open the door for her to make her movie star entrance. Monique continued her solo parade to the Library Lounge. It was a Wednesday night and, just as she predicted, full of suited-up businessmen.

  Before she was even settled in her seat at the bar, a man was at her side, assisting her out of her coat. “What’s the lady drinking tonight?” he said as if he was from a Humphrey Bogart movie.

  She replied in a confident low voice, “Gin Martini, straight up with a twist .”

  “Cigarette?” the gentleman asked.

  Flawlessly she inhaled, as she had seen many times in the movies. There was little conversation between the two at the bar. Both were enjoying the ambiance, the allure of the moment, and the alcohol. Upon finishing her drink, she nodded to the gentleman with a “Thanks for the drink” and sashayed to the powder room. Ahhh, it was exactly how she remembered the loo to be with its huge, gold framed mirror. Her reflection was truly beaming as she touched up her classic red lips. After blotting her lips on a tissue, she returned to her testosterone-loaded audience.

  Another gentleman was waiting for her to return to the lounge. He confidently took her hand, leading her to his table. With her seductive nod, the gentleman lifted his hand with two fingers. The bartender repeated Monique’s drink as she knew he would. Again, there were a limited amount of niceties. After the drink, Monique arose; this time, she headed for the front door motioning to the doorman to summon her a cab. It had been a perfect evening of affirming her readily-retrievable, seductive self. She needed that escapade of an evening to balance what she knew she had to face the next morning.

  The following morning, she arrived promptly at nine for the meeting with the surgical team. In preparation, she put on her clinical nurse persona. To survive this necessity, it was the only way she knew how to be strong enough. The head surgeon started by saying, “Your doctor in the Sault was right when he referred your daughter here. This is a very severe case of Congenital Talipes Equinovarus, otherwise known as club feet. I haven’t seen a case so severe.” He paused for a moment before proceeding.“I’ve consulted with my colleagues here as well as a New York paediatric orthopaedic surgeon, and our treatment options are very limited.” The word “limited’ felt like a bullet in the gut. The surgeon continued, “If we do nothing, your child will likely never walk, given that her feet are turned in so badly that she would be walking on the outside of her ankle bones. We see this in third world countries, and the quality of life for these kids is painfully grim in all aspects. We could try multiple surgeries followed by multiple long-term serial casting, trying to elongate the already underdeveloped group of tendons and muscles. Quite likely, we’ll arrive at the same place of non-function, not to mention an extremely painful pair of little feet. The other option is to quickly and efficiently deal with this matter with amputations.”

  Monique heard that unavoidable word again—amputations—and knew that Flynn would absolutely not accept cutting off his daughter’s feet. In her very clinical stature and voice, she stated, “There will be no amputations. We opt for the surgeries and casting. Yes, we realize there are no guarantees.”

  “Ok, Mrs. Kross, we’ll proceed with the surgical and casting option,” the doctor replied and left.

  Monique’s brief façade of strength melted in a puddle as she rushed to leave the hospital, not even stopping by to see her baby.

  She returned to the nurses’ residence, headed straight for her dorm room, and cried. She was deeply facing the truth she’d tried for days to avoid and cried deeper into the pillow to muffle her overwhelming sorrow. Monique watched the clock and waited until four p.m. when she knew Flynn would be finished his day shift and be back at his mother’s place. She dialled the number, and Etta answered the phone. Monique could hear Lily giggling in the background. “Hello, is Flynn there?”

  Etta instantly shouted, “Son, telephone.”

  Flynn was exp
ecting this call. “Monique,” he said into the receiver.

  “Yes,” was all she said, followed by a long, painful silence. Finally, she blurted out, “I said no to the idea of amputations.”

  “Good,” he said in his stoic voice. He then crumbled with the following question, “What’s next?”

  Monique retold the surgeon and parent conversation regarding the options. They fearfully tried to pull it together despite only being connected by the telephone.

  “How long before the surgeries?” Flynn finally asked.

  “I don’t know,” Monique helplessly replied. Both realized the conversation was over by their mutually stunned and numb feelings.

  Monique returned to the hospital the next day, this time seeing her infant. The orthopaedic ward nurse handed her the baby and a bottle and pointed to the rocking chair.

  The nurse watched the pair and noted that the baby was undoubtedly beautiful, but there was an absence of joy and only fear in the mother’s acknowledgement.

  Monique decided not to unwrap Nia’s blanket. She wanted to allow herself and her baby a few uninterrupted moments of a peaceful attempt at mother and child bonding.

  “The doctor will see you now,” the nurse said after several minutes.

  Monique, still holding her baby, walked down the hall to meet the doctor. She felt cold and clinical, like she did in her days as an OR nurse, not as a scared mother worried about the pending surgeries for her infant.

  “Good morning,” the doctor said in greeting. “I’m making plans for the surgeries. We’ll need to get started while all the tissues are still supple. There’s going to be a lot of preparation work, like X-rays, measurements, and acquiring some additional precision surgical instruments. I expect we can do the first surgery one foot at a time, starting in ten days. The baby will need to stay here for the next few months.”