A FBOW excerpt in sequence: “Where’s Mitchell?”

“Come on, Mikey!” But the baby would not pull enough suction to latch onto his mother’s nipple and it slipped from his lips again... And again, in his frustration Michael began to wail and, her eyes becoming watery with the tears of her own frustration, “Mitchie, he won’t...”

The sudden silence startling as...

Michael ‘latched on’ and the sensation of his surprisingly strong suction caused a contraction in her uterus transfusing Marsha with a flux of maternal electricity that surged throughout both, mind and body.

A ring of white foam forming around Michael’s lips and the flesh of his mother’s nipple, “He’s doing it,” Marsha said in soft wonder.

March 23, 1957

The door closed when he returned to the hospital that evening. Opening it a crack, “Hi, Sweetie. Okay for me to come in?”

“Sure!” Contentedly nursing, Michael at her breast again. Looking up as Mitchell came into the room, “What’s that?” nodding her head at the brown paper bag in his hand.

“To celebrate the baby, Uncle Al bought a bunch of lobsters at the market area over on ‘Randolph Street’ and surprised us with dinner tonight. And knowing how much you love lobster, my dad sent a couple’a claws over for you.” Opening the bag, he removed a plastic bag containing two large claws and a nutcracker. “For later, if you get hungry.”

Under normal circumstances, ‘Maine’ lobster was a favourite of Marsha’s, but for the last hour she’d been feeling a sharp pain in her stomach that she attributed to the delivery. The thought and sight of the claws making her slightly nauseous, “Tell your dad and uncle thanks for me. Maybe I’ll get to them later. Put the bag in the drawer, will you, Mitchie.”

“Sure, baby.” Tossing the paper bag in the wastepaper basket, he put the plastic bag in the nightstand alongside the bed. “You getting many calls?” He closed the drawer.

“You ‘kidding?’ Your mother! My mother! Your father! My father! Your aunts! My aunts! Your cousin! My cousin! The phone hasn’t stopped… Uh oh.” Marsha was cut off by the ringing of the phone.

March 24, 1957

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Rosalie. I just don’t feel well.”

“You’ve told the doctor?”

Shining through a miss positioned slat in the blinds, the early morning sun casting a ray of light onto her eyes. Changing positions, Marsha shifted the phone to her other ear. “Sure...” irritable this morning, “...I’m not stupid! I got sick at about two this morning and they called Greenblatt, and a nurse gave me a shot of something that put me to sleep for a while, but when woke up the pain was still there.”

“Have you told Mitchell?”

“Of course! He called when he got up and when I told him he wanted to come right over, but I told him not to because, after all, what can he do? Besides, he’s got to work.”

“How’s about Mikey? Did you feed him this morning?”

“I wanted to, but they didn’t want whatever was in the shot to get into Mikey’s system, so I just gave him a bottle, at least until the pain got worse. Then, at about six, they took him away and gave me another shot.”

“Your mother! Does she know?”

”My ‘mother’? Christ, ‘no’! That’s all I need, is for my mother to charge over here and make ‘everyone’ crazy.”

“How are you feeling right now, Marcie?”

“Terrible, Rosalie!” Holding her stomach, closing her eyes, “Really terrible!”

“Marsha, I’m calling your mother!”

****

“Marsha!” Leaning over the bed, he shook her shoulder. “Marsha.”

Opening her eyes. “Doctor Schaffer?” she said groggily. “What are you doing here?”

“Your mother called and asked if I’d look in on you… So, you and Mitchell had a beautiful little boy, eh?”

“Yeah, Doc.” Attempting to smile. “You had a chance to…ummm, see him yet?” The effort to talk turned to a grimace as she felt the pain even through the third ‘Lidocaine’ shot she’d received.

“No, I wanted to see you first. I’ll stop by the nursery when we’re done here.”

Lifting her hand, he studied the colouring of her fingertips.

“Scoot down on the bed a little lower…. That’s’a girl.”

Having changed from the hospital gown into pajamas the night before, Schaffer lowered the bottom to below her navel.

”You wanted to see me, Doctor?’

Glancing over his shoulder, “Yes, nurse. When I’m through here, take Mrs. Lipensky’s temperature and blood pleasure, please.” Pushing inward on the flabby, pregnancy extended flesh of Marsha’s left side, “Does it hurt here?”

Shaking her head from side to side, “No.”

Prodding the flesh on the right side of her stomach, “Here?”

“Yes, but not too much.”

Pressing just below the breastbone, “And here?”

“ ‘Yeah’!” Her body jerking upward, “It hurts a real lot!”

Replacing the pajamas. “Okay, nurse.”

Going to the foot of the bed as the nurse placed a thermometer into Marsha’s mouth and the pressure cuff about her arm, Schaffer studied her chart.

“Doctor.”

Handing the file over, Schaffer watched as the nurse made her entries.

Taking the file back, contemplating the data…

Temperature’s high, he thought, but that could be due to three shots of Lidocaine. Blood pressure’s low though, and her white count, when they took the last blood test—looking at his watch—almost two hours ago, was significantly elevated. Further thinking, She gave birth about twenty-four hours ago and her organs could still be displaced, but she does have an acute abdomen… Could be gallbladder or a hot appendix.

Forcing a smile, “Marsha, I’ll be right back.”

“Doc...” fearful, but not expecting an adverse answer, “...is anything wrong?”

Considering a moment. “Can you reach Mitchell?”

Alarmed, “I’m not sure. He’s at work, but most probably out making calls.” Becoming frightened. “Why should I have to call him ‘now’?”

“Marsha, you mother’s out in the hall waiting for me.” Going to the door, “I’ll be right back.”

“Doctor Schaffer...” spoken sternly, “... I am ‘not’ a child anymore! I’m a married woman with my ‘own’ child and if there’s a problem you talk to ‘me’, ‘not’ my mother! What’s ‘wrong’?”

Benjamin Schaffer had been the family doctor and attending physician when Marsha was born and—remembering the heated discussion in 1936 regarding Rhea’s adamant wish to abort Marsha—Schaffer knew she had been an unwanted child and, indeed, still did think of her as a child.

“Okay, you’re right.” Trying not to alarm her too much. “I’m having you prepped for immediate surgery and suggest you get on the phone and try to reach your husband.”

“ ‘Surgery’!” Definitely alarmed. “What kind of surgery?”

“I’m not sure. Because you had a baby yesterday, your internal organs might not be quite in their right place. So I’m not exactly sure ‘what for’.”

Going to the bed, taking her hand. “Marsha, I’ve know you all your life… Hell, I knew you ‘before’ you were born and I’m ‘not’ going to let anything happen to you! But I’ve gotto get hold of a surgeon and we don’t have time to talk now.” Handing her the phone, “Find your husband. Don’t worry, every thing’ll be okay.”

****

“Walter Lewis Studio.”

“Is Mitchell there? I’ve ‘got’ to talk to Mitchell!”

Recognising the voice and tone of urgency. “Marsha, what’s wrong? The baby… Is the baby…”

“No, Mikey’s fine! It’s me! Something’s wrong with me and they’re getting me ready for an operation, and I’ve ‘got’ to talk to Mitchell, ‘now’!”

“He’s out and I don’t know where.” Glancing at her watch: ‘10:32’. “But he usually checks in at about eleven.”

A nurse carrying a tray with a syringe and an orderly pushing a gurney entered the room.

“They’re here! ‘Please’ find my husband!”

Looking helplessly at the phone as it went dead in her hand. “ ‘Walt’!” Myra yelled. “ ‘Where’s Mitchell’?”

****

Walking alongside the gurney, Rhea entered the elevator with her daughter as it left Maternity on the third floor bound for Surgery on the seventh.

“Mother...” drowsy and slightly incoherent from the shot. Taking hold of her mother’s hand, “...when Mitchell gets here, tell him I love him and every thing’ll be okay.”

Her rings having been taped to her fingers with adhesive tape, the only other piece of jewelry Marsha wore was a gold baby locket with a small diamond given to her by her grandmother when she was an infant.

Looking at her, noticing the locket, “Marsha, lift your head.”

“My head?” Her eyes half closed, “Why, Mother?”

“I want to take your locket off.”

Marsha wearily lifted her head.

Removing the chain and locket, Rhea dropped it into her purse. “If anything should happen to you up there...” nodding her head upward, “...I’m ‘sure’ you’d want your cousin to have this.”

Frowning, the nurse and orderly glanced at each other.

The elevator door gliding open, “What do you mean, if ‘anything’ happens to me, Mother?” The gurney was pushed through. “I’m coming back! I ‘am’coming back, aren’t I?” As she was wheeled into the brightly lit operating room, Marsha’s last coherent thought was: Who’ll take care of my baby?

****

“ ‘Exploratory Laporatory’!” Doctor ‘Ezra Silverman’, the masked and gowned surgeon told the hastily assembled scrub team.

“ ‘Holy cow’!” Razor in hand in preparation of shaving Marsha’s lower abdomen and pubis. “What’s with this?” The nurse looked at Marsha’s already shaved pubis and lower abdomen.

In attendance, masked and gowned, Doctor Manny Greenblatt said, “She gave birth yesterday.”

Glancing at Greenblatt, the nurse swabbed Marsha’s abdomen with antiseptic.

“This soon after delivering it could be gallbladder...” Doctor Silverman said. “...But…” considering a moment, making an incision on the right quadrant. “…let’s shoot for the appendix.”

“ ‘Jesus Christ’ !”

Just as Marsha’s appendix ruptured.

****

“ ‘Thank, God’! Where are you?”

“On the south side.” Catching the urgency in his mother’s voice, “ ‘What’s wrong’?”

****

“It was her appendix...” Doctor Schaffer said, “...and luckily we caught it just in time.”

“My daughter’s okay?”

“Yes. Everything went fine. You’ll be able to see her in ‘Recovery’ in about two hours… Couldn’t reach Mitchell, eh?”

“ ‘No’! The bastard never showed up!”

Knowing Rhea most of her life, Schaffer was no longer shocked or surprised by her sometimes irrational attitude.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Rhea. Marsha said he’d be out working and that maybe there’d be no way to reach him. If you know where, why don’t you call to see if he even knows about this yet.”

“Yeah, Doc, I was just getting ready to call again.”

“Okay, someone will let you know when you can see your daughter.” Turning away, “Oh, by the way...” Schaffer turned back, “...we’ve a little problem: Marsha’s got to stay here, on the surgery floor and won’t be allowed back on ‘Maternity, so we’ll have an aide move her belongings up here. And because she’s off maternity, technically she’s considered to be contaminated and if she comes into contact with her baby, he’ll be considered contaminated, too, so the only way she’ll be able to be with, uh, Michael, is if we have him moved to ‘Paediatrics’. But Marsha isn’t going to be in any shape to handle him— ‘especially’ to nurse him for a couple of days anyway, so I’d recommend you leave the baby where he is for now. And to be honest, I’d rather Michael stay in maternity where he’s in a more sterile atmosphere.”

“She’s not going to like that ‘at all’ but I’ll let Marsha make that decision when she’s up to it. And, oh yes, Doc, I still want my daughter in a private room.”

“She’s going to be in Recovery for a couple of hours, so you’ve plenty of time to head over to ‘Admitting’ to authorise it.”

****

At 1:47 PM, hospital aide ‘Blanch Reed’ was instructed to move the belongings of the previous occupant of room 323 on Maternity, to 714 on Surgery.

Coming into the unoccupied room, Blanch wrinkled her nose as she smelled an unfamiliar scent and at the same time the start of the familiar odour of decay. Standing in the centre of the room sniffing the air she shrugged her shoulders, then humming ‘Bloody Mary’, a song from the play ‘South Pacific’, going to the closet, the aide removed the previous occupant’s clothing—the clothing Marsha had worn to the hospital when she’d been admitted six days earlier.

Leaving the maternity blouse and slacks on the wire hanger, Blanch hung it on the cart’s handle. She put the three floral arrangements that Marsha had received on the lower shelf of the cart. Blanch then put the green, imitation lizard overnight case—that Mitchell had brought to the hospital on his second visit—onto the bed and opened it. Inside were Marsha’s underpants, bra and socks. As she put the former occupant’s other belongings into the case—a paperback book, hairbrush, comb, toothbrush and toothpaste. Stopping humming, she once again sniffed the air.

With the previous occupant’s belongings on the cart, starting to the door she remembered she hadn’t checked the drawer of the nightstand. Leaving the cart in the doorway, going back Blanch opened the drawer.

Blanch Reed had lived on Chicago’s south side all of her thirty-eight years and her taste in food had always run to the unimaginative food popular with people of the Negroe race: ham-hocks, yams, cornbread, turnip greens—the foodstuffs that in later years would be termed as ‘soul food’.

Now, however…

“Whew!” Assailed by the odour. Lifting the plastic bag by a corner and holding it at arm’s length, “Lord-a-mercy, if that don’t beat all!” Her eyes widening, staring at the lobster claws as, moving her arm stiffly to the right, Blanch let it drop into the wastepaper can.

Passing the nurses’ station, “You-all better be callin’ a janitor an’ get the trash out’a three-twenty-three real soon!” Blanch said to a nurse while motioning over her shoulder with her thumb. “Lady at used’ta be in there like to eat real big, stinky bugs!”

March 26, 1957

“I’ve got to ‘go’, Mother.” Tiredly moving her legs over the edge of the bed, holding her side with one hand and the edge of the bed with the other, Marsha attempted to lift her body off the upward angled hospital bed.

Rising from her chair, Marsha’s aunt Sadie motioned to help but, “Here, I’ll do it.” Rhea a bit quicker, taking her daughter’s hand, “You want me to help you onto the toilet?”

She’d had mixed feeling regarding ‘no more bedpan’ and having to get off the bed to use the toilet and, yes, she would love the help and when Mitchell was here earlier today he did help her onto and off the toilet with, oddly, not too much embarrassment, but her mother? “No, Mother, thank you.”

Actually relieved that she had been relieved of that duty too, glancing at her sister, Rhea sat again.

In the washroom: Attempting to lower her backside onto the seat, Marsha couldn’t tell which hurt worse, the appendectomy or the episiotomy. Whereas she could hold her side supporting the longer than usual ‘exploratory’ appendix incision, she could not very well hold the area between her vagina and rectum— at least not in company while walking to and from the washroom.

Finished...

Shuffling back to bed, sitting on the edge and turning her body to the side she tried to lay back, but the appendix incision hurt so, putting a hand under her knee she lifted her left leg onto the mattress, but now both incisions hurt.

“Do you need help?”

“No, Mother. I’d have to do it myself if you weren’t here, so I might as well get used to doing it.”

Putting her arms behind her back, feeling as though her body weighed a ton Marsha laboriously shifted onto the mattress, and in so doing looked at the sheet between her thighs… and fainted.

**** 

“Marsha!”

Attempting to move the hand aside…

“ ‘Marsha’!”

Moving her head from side to side, attempting to move the hand to escape the burning odor of ammonia.

“Marsha, open your eyes!”

Opening her eyes, taking a moment to focus...

“Oh, ‘God’!” Remembering. “So much blood!”

“It’s okay, Marsha. We gave you a shot and the bleeding’s stopped.”

“All that blood… Doctor Greenblatt, I thought I was dying.”

“It’s okay now, Marsha. You had a ‘uterine haemorrhage’ brought on by having an appendectomy so soon after delivering.”

“Hi, honey.”

Looking to the other side of the bed. “Hi, Mitchie.”

From elsewhere in the room. “Hi, sweet-heart.”

Hearing her father’s voice. Lifting her head Marsha looked about the room that was crowded with her mother, father, cousin, both aunts and Rosalie, and by the look on all their faces, Marsha knew they were deeply concerned about her.

Frowning...“There are no visitation restrictions for a private room.” ...Greenblatt said. “Would you like me to send them away?”

“Oh, God!” Still groggy, she began to cry because now Marsha ‘knew’ she was going to die.

March 31, 1957

The ‘Brith Milah’; the ‘Bris’; the ‘Circumcision’

On the eighth day in the life of Michael Lipensky, ‘Rabbi Murray Kay’, the ‘Mohel’ —a physician who is trained and authorised to perform the ritual circumcision—intoned, “Brukheem ha-ba-eem b’sheym Adonai.”

Standing alongside his grandson, whispering, Morris Barrish translated: “ ‘Blessed are you who come in the name of God’.”

Enthralled by the fluorescent light on the ceiling above his head, Michael Lipensky lay naked atop a blanket on the table in the nurses’ lounge adjoining the Weiss Memorial Hospital nursery.

Besides the ‘Mohel’, there were the ten men that formed the ‘minyan’: Walter, Morris, Mitchell and his uncle Al Marcus. From Marsha’s side there was Eli, Eli’s brother William Goldman and Marsha’s other uncles, Harry and Stanley.

“The rite of circumcision has been enjoined upon us as a sign of our covenant with God,” Rabbi Kay said in English as, dipping a strip of sterile gauze into a goblet of kosher sacramental wine, he placed it between Michael’s lips.

Tasting the sweet wine, Michael greedily gummed and drew on the saturated gauze— the few drops of alcohol immediately numbing him…

Kay placed a small, stainless steel clamp onto the baby’s penis between the foreskin and glans, shut it tight, then…

Mitchell, along with most of the men, closed their eyes, as…

…With one precise cut, the Mohel removed the foreskin.

“ ‘Mazel tov’!”

Only then did Mitchell open his eyes.

“ ‘Mazel tov’!”

The next FBOW excerpt in sequence: “ The Long Ribbon”