Protect and Defend Read Free Page B

if Mary Ann wished to know, they could tell her the baby’s sex. Her mother, tight-lippedand alert, held her hand: there were times when it felt to Mary Ann that this was her mother’s pregnancy.
    For a while, the whole thing had seemed like it was happening to someone else, or maybe in a dream. Her first time, in the back seat of Tony’s car; crying from the pain of it; feeling abandoned after Tony, with a hurried kiss, dropped her at the corner; resenting the lie she told her parents about seeing a movie with a friend. In her room, she had undressed, studying her body in the mirror. Then she turned out the lights. Alone in bed, she felt confused again, yet proud that a boy so much older and more popular had wanted her. She went to sleep wishing that Tony were next to her.
    He never called again. It was like the secret grew within her until it became a baby, and her mother found her vomiting in the bathroom. This time she could not lie.
    Her mother took her to the doctor.
    Afterward they sat in the living room. Her father, too contained and gentle to rebuke her, explained what they would do: Mary Ann would continue at Saint Ignatius; her mother and father would support her and the baby; with enough resolve and sacrifice the three of them could assure that Mary Ann went to college. Her mother remained silent and stricken. For her parents, Tony’s role was done: shamed, Mary Ann tried to imagine that Tony—filled with pride, or perhaps remorse—would come for her.
    But Tony would not see her. A few girlfriends were kinder. And it was her mother—whose long silences at the dinner table had been more painful than words—who helped to decorate the guest room for a baby, and who shared Mary Ann’s wonder at the stir of life inside her. With each checkup, her mother had become more animated—until the sonogram.
    Quiet, the technician stared at it. When her mother stood to see the baby’s image on the screen, the woman switched it off.
    “What is it?” her mother asked.
    The technician remained calm. “Dr. McNally will talk to you,” she answered, “as soon as he reviews the pictures.”
    For the next forty minutes, her mother made forced chatter while Mary Ann wondered what the technician had seen growing inside her. Then a nurse led them to Dr. McNally’s office.
    The doctor sat at his desk. Fifteen years before, he had delivered Mary Ann; today his avuncular face, a map of Ireland, was troubled. “Can I speak to your mother?” he asked.
    This frightened Mary Ann still further. “Why?” she said stubbornly. “It’s
my
baby.”
    McNally gave her mother a glance, then spoke to Mary Ann. “There’s a problem, you see. Your baby’s hydrocephalic.”
    In the silence, Mary Ann saw her mother’s eyes briefly shut. Margaret Tierney placed an arm on Mary Ann’s shoulder.
    “In layman’s terms,” McNally continued gently, “his head is swollen with water. Often, unfortunately, it doesn’t manifest until several months into the pregnancy.” He looked from Mary Ann to her mother. “Mary Ann is twenty weeks pregnant— within a week or two of viability, on average. Nothing is certain. But the condition tends to impede development of the brain.”
    Her mother blanched. “‘Tends’?” she repeated.
    McNally faced her. “There’s a slim chance the brain will develop normally. But the condition obscures it: we can’t tell from a sonogram what cerebral development is occurring.” He paused, his reluctance palpable. “In all likelihood, the baby will die soon after birth. But I’m afraid it’s a matter of wait and see.”
    To Mary Ann, it was like she could not move or speak, yet could hear everything around her. As she fought back tears, her mother moved still closer. “But she’s barely fifteen. A head that size …”
    “Trust in us. We can perform a classical cesarean section, for Mary Ann’s protection.”
    To Mary Ann, his words seemed to arrive slowly, as if from a great distance. She felt her