jobob
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
A Story Without Me 16: Love Found and Lost and Found
Notes and Disclaimer: This is fiction. B is based on Bono. This is an alternate universe where B isn't Bono but is an awful lot like Bono. Once again, I must say: I've never met Bono. Even though I was in front of him and five people from the front of the stage when I was in the ellipse in Detroit. (hee hee) Yes, there really is a Library Hotel in New York. Its rooms are numbered and themed according to the Dewey Decimal System. Of course I want to stay there someday. This chapter has angst, but no extended scene. On with our show:
One Midwestern American woman. One Irish rock band. Four cities, six concerts. Meetings with Plebans. Two hotel rooms. One lost car. Fast Cars. The new iPod. An afternoon in the GA line. A night in the ellipse. All part of my "Tour of the Vertigo Tour." Click "View Journal" under my avatar and location and read it all.
Your first weeks of married life were wonderful. Blissful.
After your wedding night, you didn't stay home for long. On Thursday night, you flew to New York and checked into The Library Hotel. You and B acted just like tourists until Sunday. You saw Times Square, took in a Broadway show, wandered through an art gallery, dined at delis and at fine restaurants. On Friday, B insisted on buying you breakfast at McDonald's and taking you to sip your orange juice outside of Tiffany's -- and then he took you inside Tiffany's to buy you diamond earrings for another wedding present. And you took photos of each other standing in front of the lions outside of the New York Public Library.
You also spent some time in The Library Hotel's "Erotic Literature Room," doing what honeymooners do.
On your first night home, B actually shouted "Honey, I'm home!" as he walked though the door when he came from work. Just like a sitcom husband. And feeling just like June Cleaver in "Leave It To Beaver," you rushed to the door with a goofy smile, your wedding present pearls round your neck, and said to your new spouse: "How was your day, dear?"
Then the two of you collapsed in laughter.
"Dear God, did we just become a sitcom?" you asked B. "Seriously, though, B, how was your day at work?"
"The oddest thing happened," B tells you. "Today at the coffee machine, Johnson was telling us a joke her little girl told her about spoons. It sounded like something Adam posted on Spoonman.com ... "
You listen to B's story, but you're really focusing on his lips. While remembering what they had done to you in bed that morning.
Since your wedding night and honeymoon, whenever you're together, sparks keep flying between the two of you. All it takes is a look, a glance, a touch, a wink. And then you're either making out on the living room sofa, kissing in the car at a stoplight, taking each other's clothes off on the living room floor, or heading to the bedroom.
Maybe sex in marriage eventually gets as boring, routine, and infrequent as people say it does.
But for now, you're on your honeymoon. And you and B are two very happy honeymooners. Who still eat, sleep, and go to work.
****
Things started to change around your house during your first full week as man and wife.
Little things at first. Things which let you know B was here, with you, for good. A bag of Starbucks Ethopian coffee on the kitchen counter. Bottles of The Body Shop Honey moisturizing shampoo and conditioner -- made with honey from Zambia -- in your shower. A man's razor in the medicine cabinet. Men's suits and jeans in half of the closet. Men's clothes in half of the dresser. The Message translation of The Bible on the nightstand. B controling the television remote (even though he says he hates American television) whenever you sit down to watch some TV or DVDs together at night. An electric guitar in the closet. Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm, which you bought for B instead of Chap Stix as a little joke. And B's car in your driveway every night.
Then, on Saturday, B, his friends, your friends, and a few movers, began to move his things in. Cardboard boxes of his clothes and things in the bedroom and basement. His old living room furniture in the basement. You decided to let him take over the basement for a room of his own, a place for him to spend time alone, have his 'mates' over, watch sports and BBC America, work, read and write. You've already nicknamed it "The B Hive."
****
On the second Sunday afternoon after your wedding, on the day which you had planned for your engagement party, you and B had a post-wedding reception at one of your favorite restaurants. You invited your friends and family. B invited his co-workers and people from church. Emily and Dave provided the music. B's minister performed a ceremony to bless your union. You wore your wedding dress (who said you'd never wear it again?) and B wore another dark suit.
The party, your first together, was a success. People loved the food, the favor (copies of your and B's favorite wedding day photo of the two of you), and Emily and Dave's music. Everyone loved watching the wedding DVD play on the televisions you had set up so people could see your civil ceremony/actual wedding.
And, of course, you cut another wedding cake together for dessert. With a chocolate layer this time for the two of you to share.
B was the perfect host. He had this uncanny sense of knowing what is going on between people during a party -- who's having a good time, who needs to stop being a wallflower and join the party, which couples are fighting, who needs a drink, and who needs to be cut off.
"How do you read people so well at parties?" you asked B on your way home.
"It's a skill I picked up from my time on stage," he told you. "When you're in front of a screaming, excited audience, you learn how to read their vibes."
*****
Monday morning after your party, about 9:30. You and B are in your doctor's office. You're supposed to have your ultrasound and hear your baby's heartbeat today -- and you'll find out if you're having a boy or a girl. And then you've agreeed that now that you're married and the danger's passed, you'll finally start telling everyone you're having a baby. You're on the ultrasound table, B beside you holding your hand. You're both excited.
The technician applies the gel and begins sliding the probe over you. But she doesn't show the ultrasound screen to you or to B.
Why? Don't they usually do that right away? And where's the sound of the baby's heartbeat?
The technician whispers something to the nurse, who leaves the room.
"Is there something wrong? Why aren't you showing us the screen?" you ask. Your heart is in your throat. You grip B's hand tighter.
"I've asked the nurse to have the doctor come in," she tells you. She continues to rub the probe over you.
Your doctor comes in the room and looks at the ultrasound screen for a minute, then speaks.
"Mrs. Hewson. Mr. Hewson. We have a problem. We're not detecting the baby's heartbeat."
They immediately sent you to the hospital for further testing.
The technicians at the hospital didn't find a heartbeat or fetal movement on their equipment, either.
Your baby had died sometime in the week before your visit. Your doctor isn't sure how it happened. You're told you need surgery -- "Surgery?" both you and B say -- to end the pregnancy. You and B sign the consent forms, then you're wheeled off to the operating room.
*****
You wake up, groggy, in a private hospital room. B's at your side. You see a vase of flowers on the nightstand. You can't quite see the card without your glasses or contacts, but the flowers have to be from him. His sunglasses are off. There are tears in his eyes. He's trying, and failing, to smile, when he sees you.
"Hello, love."
"B? What ... what happened?"
"Love, I'm so sorry. The baby ... the baby ... "
"Do they know what happened?"
"They don't know anything. They told me it was a girl. I know you wanted a girl. I'm so, so sorry ..."
He holds you as you both cry.
******
You've been home from the hospital for a few days. You've just woken up from a long sleep. You feel terrible. Not just physically, but mentally. You wish you were still asleep, because whenever you're awake, you cry.
You don't want to spend your time watching daytime TV -- the soaps and women's cable TV channels show far too many baby food and diaper and training pants commercials. You don't even want to think about seeing those "Having a baby changes everything" commercials. Almost having a baby changed your life. It changed your mind about wanting to have a family.
How could you have lost the baby? Your doctor isn't sure what went wrong. Was it an infection? Chromosomal damage? Maybe both? She says you can start to try again in a few months. However, at your age, you may have to use fertility treatments or even in vitro fertilization to get pregnant again.
The thought of trying again is scary. What if you lost another baby? It would break your heart. B's heart must already be broken.
You were so happy. Finally, finally, you were happy about your pregnancy. You weren't so afraid of parenthood anymore. Sure, you still had doubts and questions, but you knew you could handle whatever came along, somehow. You'd been doing fine so far. You were starting to feel better. You were going to be a mother! You and B were going to have a beautiful baby boy, who'd grow up to be just like his handsome, charming, intelligent, talented, and caring father.
And B was there for you, in big and small ways. He wanted to be a father! He married you! Now, you were ready to tell everyone -- family, friends, old coworkers, even strangers on the street -- that you and B were having a baby. If people did the math, so what? The gossipers and nay-sayers would eventually stop. Everyone else would be happy for you, start planning your baby shower, give you advice (whether or not you wanted it), and offer to baby-sit.
But now you're not going to have a baby. Maybe you never will after all.
B walks into your (now shared) bedroom. He puts a glass of water, for you, on your nightstand. He sits on a chair he's placed by your side of the bed.
"How are you, love?" he asks, trying to stay calm.
"Terrible."
"I'm sorry." He strokes your head.
"B. Listen to me." "I'd rather not say this, but ... We got married because of the baby, right?"
"That was one reason why we got married."
"Now that ... we don't have to stay married. We could get an annulment."
"How could we possibly annul our marriage? What grounds do we have for an annulment? Why not just file for a divorce from me?"
"Wouldn't an annulment be better for your immigration status? And, as a Christian, wouldn't you rather say you've never been married than say you're divorced?"
"I don't know what difference an annulment or a divorce would make with immigration. And as a Christian, I'd always say we were married. Because I wouldn't lie about something as important as a marriage, J."
"Why couldn't we get an annulment, if Renee Zellweger filed for an annulment after four months of marriage?"
"I'm not a famous singer. You're not an actress."
"No, I'm just an ordinary woman who met a man, got pregnant by him, married him, and lost my job and my baby. I'm ashamed of myself, I'm sad ..."
"Sad, I can understand. We lost our baby girl. You lost your new job, the start of your new career. That's a lot of sadness. But shame? You and I have nothing to be ashamed about. You did what you did because you -- we -- had fallen in love. Even if you want to end our marriage and deny its existence, you'll still know it existed, J. We met. We fell in love. We had sex. We conceived a child. We got married. All those things happened, in that order. I'll never regret any of them. And no, I didn't marry you only because of the baby. I married you because of you." He holds your hand.
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course, J! I will always love you. Why do you ask if I still love you?"
"I failed you. I couldn't have your child. That could be grounds for an annulment, my not being able to have your baby. You wanted our baby more. And then, when I really started to want the baby ... " You're sobbing. "I may not even be able to have another baby. You must be so angry at me. If you want to find a woman who can have your children, B, I'll let you go."
"I don't want to leave you, J. I want to stay with you." He sits on the bed and takes you in his arms. "Love, you didn't fail me or our baby. It wasn't your fault. I'm not angry with you. I will say I'm angry with God for putting us through this for whatever reasons He had."
'I don't know His reasons either."
"Maybe it happened to bring us closer together? J, listen to me now. I will always be with you, even if we don't have a baby," B tells you. "If you want to, we can try again. I'd like to. Do you want to, J?"
"I ... I don't know yet. I need some time to recover and to decide. Give me a little time, okay?"
"All right." You hold each other.
Notes and Disclaimer: This is fiction. B is based on Bono. This is an alternate universe where B isn't Bono but is an awful lot like Bono. Once again, I must say: I've never met Bono. Even though I was in front of him and five people from the front of the stage when I was in the ellipse in Detroit. (hee hee) Yes, there really is a Library Hotel in New York. Its rooms are numbered and themed according to the Dewey Decimal System. Of course I want to stay there someday. This chapter has angst, but no extended scene. On with our show:
One Midwestern American woman. One Irish rock band. Four cities, six concerts. Meetings with Plebans. Two hotel rooms. One lost car. Fast Cars. The new iPod. An afternoon in the GA line. A night in the ellipse. All part of my "Tour of the Vertigo Tour." Click "View Journal" under my avatar and location and read it all.
Your first weeks of married life were wonderful. Blissful.
After your wedding night, you didn't stay home for long. On Thursday night, you flew to New York and checked into The Library Hotel. You and B acted just like tourists until Sunday. You saw Times Square, took in a Broadway show, wandered through an art gallery, dined at delis and at fine restaurants. On Friday, B insisted on buying you breakfast at McDonald's and taking you to sip your orange juice outside of Tiffany's -- and then he took you inside Tiffany's to buy you diamond earrings for another wedding present. And you took photos of each other standing in front of the lions outside of the New York Public Library.
You also spent some time in The Library Hotel's "Erotic Literature Room," doing what honeymooners do.
On your first night home, B actually shouted "Honey, I'm home!" as he walked though the door when he came from work. Just like a sitcom husband. And feeling just like June Cleaver in "Leave It To Beaver," you rushed to the door with a goofy smile, your wedding present pearls round your neck, and said to your new spouse: "How was your day, dear?"
Then the two of you collapsed in laughter.
"Dear God, did we just become a sitcom?" you asked B. "Seriously, though, B, how was your day at work?"
"The oddest thing happened," B tells you. "Today at the coffee machine, Johnson was telling us a joke her little girl told her about spoons. It sounded like something Adam posted on Spoonman.com ... "
You listen to B's story, but you're really focusing on his lips. While remembering what they had done to you in bed that morning.
Since your wedding night and honeymoon, whenever you're together, sparks keep flying between the two of you. All it takes is a look, a glance, a touch, a wink. And then you're either making out on the living room sofa, kissing in the car at a stoplight, taking each other's clothes off on the living room floor, or heading to the bedroom.
Maybe sex in marriage eventually gets as boring, routine, and infrequent as people say it does.
But for now, you're on your honeymoon. And you and B are two very happy honeymooners. Who still eat, sleep, and go to work.
****
Things started to change around your house during your first full week as man and wife.
Little things at first. Things which let you know B was here, with you, for good. A bag of Starbucks Ethopian coffee on the kitchen counter. Bottles of The Body Shop Honey moisturizing shampoo and conditioner -- made with honey from Zambia -- in your shower. A man's razor in the medicine cabinet. Men's suits and jeans in half of the closet. Men's clothes in half of the dresser. The Message translation of The Bible on the nightstand. B controling the television remote (even though he says he hates American television) whenever you sit down to watch some TV or DVDs together at night. An electric guitar in the closet. Burt's Bees beeswax lip balm, which you bought for B instead of Chap Stix as a little joke. And B's car in your driveway every night.
Then, on Saturday, B, his friends, your friends, and a few movers, began to move his things in. Cardboard boxes of his clothes and things in the bedroom and basement. His old living room furniture in the basement. You decided to let him take over the basement for a room of his own, a place for him to spend time alone, have his 'mates' over, watch sports and BBC America, work, read and write. You've already nicknamed it "The B Hive."
****
On the second Sunday afternoon after your wedding, on the day which you had planned for your engagement party, you and B had a post-wedding reception at one of your favorite restaurants. You invited your friends and family. B invited his co-workers and people from church. Emily and Dave provided the music. B's minister performed a ceremony to bless your union. You wore your wedding dress (who said you'd never wear it again?) and B wore another dark suit.
The party, your first together, was a success. People loved the food, the favor (copies of your and B's favorite wedding day photo of the two of you), and Emily and Dave's music. Everyone loved watching the wedding DVD play on the televisions you had set up so people could see your civil ceremony/actual wedding.
And, of course, you cut another wedding cake together for dessert. With a chocolate layer this time for the two of you to share.
B was the perfect host. He had this uncanny sense of knowing what is going on between people during a party -- who's having a good time, who needs to stop being a wallflower and join the party, which couples are fighting, who needs a drink, and who needs to be cut off.
"How do you read people so well at parties?" you asked B on your way home.
"It's a skill I picked up from my time on stage," he told you. "When you're in front of a screaming, excited audience, you learn how to read their vibes."
*****
Monday morning after your party, about 9:30. You and B are in your doctor's office. You're supposed to have your ultrasound and hear your baby's heartbeat today -- and you'll find out if you're having a boy or a girl. And then you've agreeed that now that you're married and the danger's passed, you'll finally start telling everyone you're having a baby. You're on the ultrasound table, B beside you holding your hand. You're both excited.
The technician applies the gel and begins sliding the probe over you. But she doesn't show the ultrasound screen to you or to B.
Why? Don't they usually do that right away? And where's the sound of the baby's heartbeat?
The technician whispers something to the nurse, who leaves the room.
"Is there something wrong? Why aren't you showing us the screen?" you ask. Your heart is in your throat. You grip B's hand tighter.
"I've asked the nurse to have the doctor come in," she tells you. She continues to rub the probe over you.
Your doctor comes in the room and looks at the ultrasound screen for a minute, then speaks.
"Mrs. Hewson. Mr. Hewson. We have a problem. We're not detecting the baby's heartbeat."
They immediately sent you to the hospital for further testing.
The technicians at the hospital didn't find a heartbeat or fetal movement on their equipment, either.
Your baby had died sometime in the week before your visit. Your doctor isn't sure how it happened. You're told you need surgery -- "Surgery?" both you and B say -- to end the pregnancy. You and B sign the consent forms, then you're wheeled off to the operating room.
*****
You wake up, groggy, in a private hospital room. B's at your side. You see a vase of flowers on the nightstand. You can't quite see the card without your glasses or contacts, but the flowers have to be from him. His sunglasses are off. There are tears in his eyes. He's trying, and failing, to smile, when he sees you.
"Hello, love."
"B? What ... what happened?"
"Love, I'm so sorry. The baby ... the baby ... "
"Do they know what happened?"
"They don't know anything. They told me it was a girl. I know you wanted a girl. I'm so, so sorry ..."
He holds you as you both cry.
******
You've been home from the hospital for a few days. You've just woken up from a long sleep. You feel terrible. Not just physically, but mentally. You wish you were still asleep, because whenever you're awake, you cry.
You don't want to spend your time watching daytime TV -- the soaps and women's cable TV channels show far too many baby food and diaper and training pants commercials. You don't even want to think about seeing those "Having a baby changes everything" commercials. Almost having a baby changed your life. It changed your mind about wanting to have a family.
How could you have lost the baby? Your doctor isn't sure what went wrong. Was it an infection? Chromosomal damage? Maybe both? She says you can start to try again in a few months. However, at your age, you may have to use fertility treatments or even in vitro fertilization to get pregnant again.
The thought of trying again is scary. What if you lost another baby? It would break your heart. B's heart must already be broken.
You were so happy. Finally, finally, you were happy about your pregnancy. You weren't so afraid of parenthood anymore. Sure, you still had doubts and questions, but you knew you could handle whatever came along, somehow. You'd been doing fine so far. You were starting to feel better. You were going to be a mother! You and B were going to have a beautiful baby boy, who'd grow up to be just like his handsome, charming, intelligent, talented, and caring father.
And B was there for you, in big and small ways. He wanted to be a father! He married you! Now, you were ready to tell everyone -- family, friends, old coworkers, even strangers on the street -- that you and B were having a baby. If people did the math, so what? The gossipers and nay-sayers would eventually stop. Everyone else would be happy for you, start planning your baby shower, give you advice (whether or not you wanted it), and offer to baby-sit.
But now you're not going to have a baby. Maybe you never will after all.
B walks into your (now shared) bedroom. He puts a glass of water, for you, on your nightstand. He sits on a chair he's placed by your side of the bed.
"How are you, love?" he asks, trying to stay calm.
"Terrible."
"I'm sorry." He strokes your head.
"B. Listen to me." "I'd rather not say this, but ... We got married because of the baby, right?"
"That was one reason why we got married."
"Now that ... we don't have to stay married. We could get an annulment."
"How could we possibly annul our marriage? What grounds do we have for an annulment? Why not just file for a divorce from me?"
"Wouldn't an annulment be better for your immigration status? And, as a Christian, wouldn't you rather say you've never been married than say you're divorced?"
"I don't know what difference an annulment or a divorce would make with immigration. And as a Christian, I'd always say we were married. Because I wouldn't lie about something as important as a marriage, J."
"Why couldn't we get an annulment, if Renee Zellweger filed for an annulment after four months of marriage?"
"I'm not a famous singer. You're not an actress."
"No, I'm just an ordinary woman who met a man, got pregnant by him, married him, and lost my job and my baby. I'm ashamed of myself, I'm sad ..."
"Sad, I can understand. We lost our baby girl. You lost your new job, the start of your new career. That's a lot of sadness. But shame? You and I have nothing to be ashamed about. You did what you did because you -- we -- had fallen in love. Even if you want to end our marriage and deny its existence, you'll still know it existed, J. We met. We fell in love. We had sex. We conceived a child. We got married. All those things happened, in that order. I'll never regret any of them. And no, I didn't marry you only because of the baby. I married you because of you." He holds your hand.
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course, J! I will always love you. Why do you ask if I still love you?"
"I failed you. I couldn't have your child. That could be grounds for an annulment, my not being able to have your baby. You wanted our baby more. And then, when I really started to want the baby ... " You're sobbing. "I may not even be able to have another baby. You must be so angry at me. If you want to find a woman who can have your children, B, I'll let you go."
"I don't want to leave you, J. I want to stay with you." He sits on the bed and takes you in his arms. "Love, you didn't fail me or our baby. It wasn't your fault. I'm not angry with you. I will say I'm angry with God for putting us through this for whatever reasons He had."
'I don't know His reasons either."
"Maybe it happened to bring us closer together? J, listen to me now. I will always be with you, even if we don't have a baby," B tells you. "If you want to, we can try again. I'd like to. Do you want to, J?"
"I ... I don't know yet. I need some time to recover and to decide. Give me a little time, okay?"
"All right." You hold each other.
aww poor B and J
I went on Oct. 25th, the second night, which was my first U2 concert but I didn't get into the elipse
lmao, better luck next time, right?
