The Chair
by Jeniya Mard
Central Michigan University
Jeniya Mard is a writer from Metro-Detroit and believes in the good in everyone and everything. Her writing has appeared in Mistake House Magazine, Marrow Magazine, Sky Island Journal, and others. She is currently a student at Central Michigan University studying English with a concentration in Creative Writing.
January 5th, 2040. My first day at the clinic. I consider it an internship, but Dr. Carrington said I’m more like an emotional support-person. I’m not getting paid and I guess that was a part of the appeal, I’m going to start a diary to see if, by the end of all this non-internship-support-person-shadowing of the doctors and nurses if I develop the trait of bad handwriting. I’ll try to keep it as neat as possible for now.
January 6th. My entire first day was just a walk-around. I got shown the supply closet like six times, I almost wanted to tell Nurse Kelly that she’d already shown it to me, but as the day went on she more or less just waved towards it and said it was the supply closet. She told me the door is usually locked. I didn’t believe that because why would the supply closet be locked? Later when she took lunch I went to go and open the supply closet and it was locked…I thought I heard something in there but I think I just really wanted to see what was inside.
January 17th. I got to see my first patient— or, well I guess I got to sit beside them. All I did was hold their hand or wipe sweat off their forehead if they started turning glossy.
January 19th. A baby was born with its cord wrapped around its neck. I’ve never seen any of the nurses move so fast before— the craziest part was that it was actually wrapped around its neck twice. It was pretty scary but I had to stay calm because the mom was freaking out. I told her everything was going to be okay and luckily for me, it was.
January 27th. I enjoyed my time in the birthing rooms a lot, aside from the screaming, or the smell, or the sheer-death-grip these women had on my hands. Its always nice to step back and watch them smile as their handed their baby covered in blood and mucus. Almost makes me smile. But Dr. Carrington just told me tomorrow I’ll be starting in the exam rooms.
January 28th. The first exam patient I sat beside as Nurse Joanna drew blood from had third-degree burn scars on basically every piece of skin I could see. It was hard not to stare.
January 29th. Another exam patient today, she was pretty bitchy. She was acting like it was free and it is but still her attitude was not cool. She didn’t need much support.
February 3rd. Dr. Carrington packed my schedule. It was super busy and I didn’t even have time to eat my entire lunch, so I had the second half of my chicken sandwich for dinner yesterday. The first exam patient I saw today was nine. I got called into another room to assist with an emotional patient so I didn’t get to hear much about her. I tried not to think about it too much, though. Everyone else I’ve seen has been in their mid twenties to their early thirties so honestly, I just tried to pretend she was just short.
February 5th. That same nine-year-old was back. Her name is Rebekah. Mom did a lot of the talking last time, Nurse Kelly told me she was worried about her period and things like that. I asked her if that was a HIPAA violation and she said yes but she was also wiping away her tears with the napkin she had from take-out from Arby’s. Said the girl was pregnant but didn’t know it, mom didn’t know either. I asked her how she knew. She said “I’ve been doing this long enough. You know.”
February 9th. Rebekah and her mom came back in. Dr. Carrington told me this exam would be different, said that I could sit beside the patient if her mother allowed me too. She did, and I sat on one side of Rebekah while she sat on the other. I probably should’ve been sitting beside the mom though, because when Dr. Carrington said pregnant she collapsed. When she was helped up and given water to pull herself together, I held Rebekah’s hand as Dr. Carrington pushed her chair right in front of her. She said “Do you know what that word means?” and all Rebekah did was nod. She had no expression.
February 19th. Rebekah and her mom came back today. They’re all I’ve been thinking about. Maybe it’s because I see a lot of myself in Rebekah— I mean, we have the same hair color and she has blue glasses that kind of look like mine from when I was nine. I don’t know…I haven’t been focusing. Nurse Jordan asked me to go and get bed-pads out of the storage closet and it was unlocked this time. I turned the light on and it was really cramped, the shelves bothered me with how much was on them, but the oddest part was that there was a chair in there, right in the middle of the closet. A plain old folding chair. I asked Jordan what it was, and all she said was “It’s the chair.” I asked her what she meant, but before she answered Dr. Carrington called me back over to Rebekah’s room. We put the wet pad under her, and Jordan held her down while I held her hands and her mother hovered over her, cupping her face and trying to distract her. Normally all patients did during pelvic exams was look uncomfortable and sometimes tense their legs. Rebekah screamed so loud it made her mom cry. Her face was really red once it was over and her mother wiped all of the tears and snot away with her sleeve. Once she calmed down, Dr. Carrington scooted her chair closer to her and asked in such a gentle voice, I almost had to lean in to hear her, if she knew who hurt her. Rebekah didn’t answer. Jordan asked me if I wanted to go drinking once our shifts were over.
February 20th. I supported another patient through a pelvic exam today. She was 36-weeks pregnant. She kept rubbing her belly and squeezing my hand, talked to me in a whisper, she asked “Have you had any children?” I said no. She asked “You...do this a lot?” I think I said no. I’m not sure. Sometimes I can’t remember what did all day so when I come home and try writing these…I don’t know. I feel foggy, like there’s someone sitting on my shoulders telling me to forget everything in the fifteen-minute drive home.
March 3rd. I’ve been in the birthing room for a while. This one lady named Patricia had twins today, a boy and a girl. I had to go and get the extra baby hats from the supply closet because the nurse had only grabbed one. The door was locked again, but when I tried opening the door, the handle turned the other way and Jordan stepped out. I asked her why the door was locked, and she said it accidentally locked behind her. She had nothing in her hands.
March 15th. Rebekah came in today, she got weighed. I was in the room when Dr. Carrington asked to see her stomach. She was wearing a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I’m not sure how “can we take a look at your stomach” turned into Rebekah stripping down to her underwear, but Dr. Carrington didn’t stop her from undressing. She had stretch marks on her hips and above her crotch, her chest was swollen and she said that it hurt when Dr. Carrington touched it.
March 30th. I’ve just now decided that I’ll only write in this book after seeing Rebekah. I can’t thinking of anything else in my day that’s worth writing down. She comes in about once or twice a month and every time I see her she looks worse than before. She came in this morning in her pajamas. Her mom said she wasn’t going to school that day…or any other day after that. She said she was going to keep her home because she was more comfortable at home. All I could do was nod as if I understood.
April 18th. Rebekah is eighty pounds. Dr. Carrington said she was in the correct height percentile for her age.
April 30th. Dr. Carrington prescribed Rebekah prenatal vitamins. She asked if they’d taste like her Flintstones Vitamins, but got upset when she was told they were pills. After work I asked Dr. Carrington about termination while we were walking to our cars— if it was a possibility given the circumstances. Dr. Carrington looked at me as if I had given condolences. She was quiet for a second before she said, “We can’t talk about her, it’s a violation.” But then I said, “You’re scared of hurting her?”. I was holding my water bottle with both of my hands and the strap of my purse was digging into my shoulder, and Dr. Carrington’s seemed stared at it— my water bottle, or, at least I think that’s what she was staring at. “She’s already hurting.” She said, her eyes meeting mine, “I don’t want to get arrested.”
May 14th. Rebekah sat on my lap while getting her blood drawn. Her mom stepped out of the room because she got ‘overwhelmed’. I tried to be understanding, but I think she has some nerve. If anything, Rebekah should’ve been the one leaving the room, the one overwhelmed… During my lunch break I sat in the breakroom with Jordan. She was eating mac and cheese while looking over Rebekah’s file, and I had another chicken sandwich while looking at her looking at the file. I wanted to ask her a lot of things, but didn’t.
May 30th. Rebekah is ninety-four pounds. She walks just fine but I watched her stand up off the examination bed and she was slow. The stretch marks have spread to her stomach and look purple. She sat on mom’s lap and held my hand as Jordan applied cream to the marks, Rebekah winced at how cold it was.
June 6th. Rebekah told me her feet her when they walk and that she feels like the girl who chewed all that gum in Willy Wonka. Sometimes her hands were on her stomach, but for the most part they were down at her sides as Dr. Carrington went through the normal procedure of checking her nose, her eyes, and asking her how she feels. And I went about my normal procedure of holding her hand while mom sat on the other side of her patting her thigh.
June 23rd. Rebekah weighed in at 101 pounds today for her five-month check in. Her mom smelt more like smoke than the last visit. Denise (her mom— I just realized I never said her name before) asked if they could have a few more diapers, said she was getting tired of changing Rebekah’s bedsheets every morning. Dr. Carrington told her bladder leaks were normal, but Rebekah told me she was having nightmares.
July 4th. Rebekah came in earlier than usual, Denise said they were going to a 4th of July party at her sister’s house.
July 17th. I sat by Jordan again during my break. I didn’t plan on but I went outside during my break to get my hair ties from my car but I saw her sitting on the curb of the parking lot. We didn’t talk, but we sat together. I couldn’t stop thinking about Rebekah. Jordan wiped her eyes a few times, so I think she was thinking about her too.
August 6th. Rebekah was really relaxed today. I think part of it was because she was distracted— her 10th birthday was the third and she got a new iPad. She didn’t even notice Dr. Carrington put the gel on her stomach for the ultrasound, or maybe she just didn’t react, but she was very passionate about her FarmTopia game, she showed me everything; cows, pigs, and how she was able to get the max amount of coins if she spammed the ‘hatch’ button on the chicken coop. I could heard Denise and Dr. Carrington talking and I probably should have been listening, but Rebekah had all of my attention. I still can’t believe pigs are forty-seven coins but bulls are fifty-nine and make less money from breeding. I told her she should get Fruit Ninja.
August 28th. Rebekah hasn’t been to the clinic in a few days. Dr. Carrington told me she had a videoconference with her mom. Apparently, her mom had a cold, but Rebekah didn’t. I didn’t even know you could get a cold in August.
September 13th. Today would’ve been Rebekah’s first day of fifth grade, but because of the pregnancy, Denise told us she was going to be homeschooled, at least until they can figure out the recovery time. She also said the adoptive parents were coming by for dinner later. Said they were a nice interfertile couple who had been trying for the better half of ten years. Then she got upset.
September 30th. I met said interfertile couple today. Jan and her husband Ewan. Dr. Carrington invited them into the clinic to go over the birthing procedure. It made me a bit uncomfortable, but I was distant from their, uh, I guess tour. They looked nice, the wife had really bright eyes and the husband looked like he should be modeling from the neck-up. Dr. Carrington showed them every room and, from where I was standing in the storage room (I went in there to grab thermometers), the back of my legs pressing to the side of the folding chair, I heard Dr. Carrington asked how Denise reached out to them, given the situation. I don’t remember exactly what the wife said because I dropped the thermometers when I heard it, but I think she said she was used to be her teacher, or she knew her teacher, or something like that…
October 15th. Rebekah was excited about Halloween. She told me she wanted to be Cinderella, but the costumes her mom ordered from Amazon couldn’t fit over her stomach, so she was going to dress up as a zombie-princess-cheerleader. I told her that was the cooler choice, anyway.
October 31st. Rebekah wasn’t very happy about coming in on Halloween, but Dr. Carrington said she was sure to schedule her appointment early in the day so she’d have plenty of time to go home and put her costume on before dark. We weighed her, and when she pulled up her shirt for Dr. Carrington to see her stomach, I frowned at how deep the stretchmarks on her hips looked. They almost looked like they hurt, they practically ran up to her bellybutton. It looked like the cream wasn’t helping. Her appointment was longer than usual, and Rebekah was busy tending to her farm as Dr. Carrington explained the plan for delivery…whenever it was coming. The expected due date was the 18th of November, but given the situation, she said everything was up in the air.
November 6th. It’s taken me a few days to write this out. I’m not disturbed but…I just haven’t been feeling well lately. Rebekah went into labor Halloween night, which was about a week ago. Denise called Dr. Carrington and Dr. Carrington called the rest of us; we ‘opened’ the clinic at around eleven-thirty that night because that was the plan, whenever it was time, we’d all be at the clinic before Denise and Rebekah got there, prepped and ready. I got there around eleven-fifteen and helped Jordan sterilize the birthing room and Dr. Carrington was pacing the hall on the phone; the way her voice changed to a higher pitch when talking to Rebekah almost made me frown. I guess I didn’t know what to frown at until they arrived because once they showed us I could swear that my heart was just sitting in my stomach.
Denise said Rebekah refused to take her makeup off from trick-or-treating, but she got her to change into pajamas before bed so her face was an awful mixture of grey and black paint smearing beneath her tears and the redness of her face. I didn’t get close to her until Denise laid her down on the bed; I grabbed her hand and I could feel her nails digging into my palm. I asked Jordan for a wet wipe and I started wiping the makeup off— and Rebekah was too uncomfortable to notice. I tried my best to get all of the makeup from around her eyes, but once I tried wiping anywhere near there she arched her back and started screaming. The entire bed shook her she started slamming her legs against it (Jordan and another nurse had tried getting her pants off). It took a few minutes but after Denise started saying things like “you’re alright” and “you’ll be alright, baby” then Jordan was able to get her pants off.
Denise climbed into the bed with Rebekah and was able to slide her pajama top off as I handed her a gown. I tried my best not to look at Rebekah once her mom got on the bed, but every time her voice cracked and she’d burst out in a heavy cry, I couldn’t not look. Dr. Carrington told me to sit beside the beside, and although Denise was holding Rebekah between her own legs and embracing her from the back, I rubbed her arm gently; I thought maybe that could help in some way. Her screaming got louder with every minute that passed, and through the screaming I think Dr. Carrington said something about an epidural, something about it not being an option, and I think Denise got frustrated about that— or maybe she was just mad that her daughter was in so much pain, maybe both. Every time Jordan or Dr. Carrington would lift the gown to check dilation, Denise’s arms would tense and she’d hold Rebekah tighter each time, and I could barely hear her shushing over Rebekah’s screaming, so I doubt Rebekah heard anything.
It took a few hours for her to get completely dilated, and Denise didn’t never moved from the bed. She was holding Rebekah the entire time and I think that really helped…both her and Rebekah. Once she was around eight centimeters, Dr. Carrington sent me to go and unlock the front door because the adoptive parents finally showed up. I probably should have made a better face when I opened the door, but listening to the husband utter about how cold it was outside and the wife talk about how early this all was…I don’t know, I want to keep my job but in the moment I really wanted to hit her. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t think so. What I do know, though, is that once I got back into Rebekah’s room (I can’t remember if the parents followed me inside at that moment or if they waited, but it doesn’t matter), because when I walked in Jordan and Dr. Carrington already propped Rebekah’s legs onto stirrups (the back of Rebekah’s head pressing against her moms chest so hard it almost made her lay down).
I sat next to the bed again and held onto the side of Rebekah’s arm and rubbed it gently. The next few minutes were some of the worst of my life. Dr. Carrington told Rebekah to start pushing, and the cries that left that little girl makes my chest tighten up, even now. I don’t remember anything else Dr. Carrington said or what Denise was saying to Rebekah to calm her down, but I remember the screaming. It was awful…her skin was clammy and no matter where I touched on her arm, she was covered in sweat. I hadn’t even notice the oxygen tube until my elbow bumped into it (with how short her breaths were, I wasn’t even really sure if the oxygen was even doing anything). It felt like it went on forever— the screaming. I didn’t necessarily zone out, but I can’t remember what I was looking at. I remember squeezing Rebekah’s arm and saying, “It’s okay, it’s almost over, breathe.” over and over like I was programed to say it, as if that would help the situation. I do remember the moment the baby was out— Rebekah’s basically collapsed back against her mom and I could have sworn the tension in the air and the breath I didn’t know I had been holding was released instantly at the sound of crying— more crying. I didn’t watch what Jordan and Dr. Carrington did with the baby because once Rebekah collapsed back I turned to face her fully, a frown hanging over her as I briefly made eye contact with Denise. She looked horrified. Her eyes looked like they were going to fall inward in her head, and mouth hung open for a second before leaning forward and burying her face against her daughter’s head.
I decided it would be best to leave them alone (well not entirely because Dr. Carrington, Jordan, and the parents were all still in the room), but I couldn’t sit beside them anymore. The moment I stood up I felt my knees lock, and my eyes immediately went to Rebekah’s lower body as she trembled under the gown. It made my hands feel numb and a pit form in my stomach. I turned to face the door and seeing that the parents had moved further into the room, I practically ran out. There was a sudden weak feeling in my knees, one that spread from my legs up to my hips and then my hands— I almost felt like I could breathe because I could barely see (I guess I started tearing up but I didn’t notice until I touched my face and I was crying). The hall was a blur, the bright yellow light above me and the distant black window reflecting every inch of my body in the darkness of the night made my knees feel weak again. My entire body felt as if it were going to collapse— as if I had been cut into dozens of little pieces and one wrong move would send me crashing.
Rebekah’s whimpering was so loud, I couldn’t help but ball up and teeth to clench— I know I probably shouldn’t be upset, but how can I not be? I tried walking down the hall to distance myself from the noise, from her, but every step I took I felt as if there was a speaker sitting on my shoulders, the sound blaring in my ears and causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand as I struggled with myself not to rip said hair out as my hands sat on my neck. I tried to tell myself that she’d be okay now, now that it was ‘over’, but I knew it wasn’t over. All of the weight, the marks, the trauma, the pain she wouldn’t tell us because she couldn’t remember or said she couldn’t remember— I tried to pretend like now, now that the thing that had been growing inside of her was in the arms of someone else, that maybe she’d be okay. But every time I got to a silent part in my thoughts where all I could do was breathe and look up at the ceiling, the distant crying made me cringe. I couldn’t handle it anymore— I had to find somewhere where I could be alone, and the only door within arm’s reach was the supply closet. I shut the door immediately and took a breath. I felt selfish— I was the one upset, me, the person who didn’t just push out a baby when I shouldn’t have. Part of me was angry with myself for being upset, for not doing more, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I stood in the supply closet for a while, my hands on my chest and eyes stuck on the lightbulb as I tried to pull myself together. There was a weight on my shoulders, not one of guilt but of horror. My mind couldn’t wrap itself around what happened— how it got to this point and that poor little girl… I could feel my knees buckling again, and before I could press my back to the wall and sit on the floor, I saw the chair. Immediately I sat down, my breath falling from my chest as I leaned forward, head in my hands. My heart was so heavy…I cried harder in that chair than I had in my entire life.
Interview with the Author
1. What inspired you to write this piece? What was your thought process throughout?
In my workshop class, we spent a week on diary forms, and I didn't know what to write about, so I just sat down and started writing the first thing that came to my mind, which just so happened to be a women's clinic. I will admit, however, the piece built upon itself as I wrote it; I had no intention of it ending the way it did, but I'm glad it grew into what it did; the message it did.
2. What do you hope readers will take away from your piece? What effects do you want the piece to have on the person, community, or society?
If anything, I want people to feel a poignant sense of humanity, of reality. With the current political climate, there is a fear hanging above women and girls about our futures and the rights to our bodies, and perhaps this piece turned into one of my biggest fears; children being forced to have children.
3. What is your favorite piece of fiction (short story, novel, flash fiction, etc.) that you’ve ever read? Why?
One of my favorite novels is Plague Dogs by Richard Adams. I can only admire the way Adams was able to capture genuine emotions from the perspective of animals, traumatized animals at that.
4. If you plan on continuing to write, what are some goals/plans you may have for your future?
If I could pick my dream job this very second, I would say a full-time author— novels, novellas, short story collections, poetry collections, the whole shebang. To be able to do what I love every day would be a dream come true, but for now, I plan on learning as much as I can, for as long as I can.