It started out so innocently.
Marcy was at the Home Depot
with Dewey, her four year old. She had bought the
pressure washer and told a little white lie to the cashier.
Dewey is busy, adorable, but busy. He is her wonderful
second son, conceived on a wild night at the beach, yes, in
Delaware. Thank God, it wasn’t Rehoboth, her brother
said. Now, who would name their son Rehoboth? She
was tired and the possibility of loading the pressure washer
in the van while trying to keep track of Dewey was just too
much for her to comprehend that morning. So, she told
the casher she was expecting, slyly rubbed her abdomen and
asked, “Could I have a little help with the pressure washer?”
She gave the sweet smile with the head tilting.
Marcy
thought, “It’s easier sometimes, than telling them, I can’t
handle my five year old and need another adult to help load my
car.”
She
just wanted to avoid the usual questions – what does he have,
he looks okay to me, blah blah blah, blah bleeh blooh blah
blah. Marcy got lost in thought about Dewey and
Fragile-X, the syndrome he has that causes cognition delays,
speech problems, anxiety. The first thing people alway
say... he looks pretty normal. Marcy thought, Yea,
other than his compulsive staring, questions, prolonged thumb
sucking and apparently excessive crotch holding.
Marcy smirked imagining the scientific paper “The
Correlation of prolonged thumb sucking, excessive crotch
holding and Fragile-X Syndrome” Presented by Dr. Ida
Wishdicood and I. Gotzit, II, M.S.W. at the Twenty-Third
International Conference of People Who Think They Know
Something About Everything.
Back
at the Home Depot, Marcy didn’t say what she was expecting.
In reality it was only that the cashier would get someone to
help her to the car. He assumed she meant a baby, which
is the white lie she was going for and that’s where the
complications began.
That
afternoon, when she got home from the store Marcy could smell
the unmistakable.
“Oh,
Dewey, you pooped.” Marcy sighed angrily.
“Where does poopy go?” she says, trying to be stern, like
Dewey’s therapists had told her. But Dewey’s eyes begin
to fill and her heart throbbed.
“Oh,
Dew, it’s okay. Just put your poopy in the toilet
PLEASE. Mommy is tired.
Dewy
grins, “toilee.”
His
smile is brilliant, “Yucky p.u.,” he giggles.
Marcy
laughs, too.
‘It’s only poop’ she thinks. ‘But EVERY SINGLE DAY,’ her
brain screams back, ‘Is he going to need diapers his whole
life? Maybe at two years old this would be okay.
But he’s almost six.’
Dewey
manages to grab his poop before she can get his underwear off.
“Ugh,
Dewey! No!”
“Squish, p.u.”
“Don’t touch anything!”
Marcy
spins him around to the sink, turns on the water and begins
soaping his fingers, now covered in poop. Fragile-x, she
thought, ‘who ever heard of Fragile-x? Marcy
shudders, thinking of all the phrases that had freezed her
hope: diagnosis, percentages, not compatible with life,
classification, a carrier, pre-mutation, full mutation and
prognosis. Each one is like trying to swallow a stew of
anger, sadness, guilt and frustration.
‘All
the things, I didn’t before, but I sure know it now, anxiety,
to toilet troubles, not speaking. I know it now.’
A sore sadness started to creep across Marcy’s brain.
But
suddenly the combination of green apple soap and poop scents
was too much. She gagged uncontrollably. Of course
someone knocked on the front door as Marcy’s stomach explodes
uncontrollably.
“BE…
RIGHT…THERE,’ she gasps between retches.
“Who
the hell is that,” Marcy grabs a towel, dries Dewey’s hands
and wipes her face. The knocking gets louder and a loud
horn honks and the end of the driveway.
“Oh,
shit, it’s Simon,” Marcy says, “What time is it?”
“Shit!” Dewey squeaks.
“NO,
Dewey!” Marcy gingerly picks him up by the armpits.
“Stay right there, she says to Dewey, Don’t move.” She
puts him by the front door and lets his older son, Simon in.
She gives a weak wave to the scowling, bus driver parked by
the mailbox.. “heh, heh,” Marcy whispered through her
fake smile, “ I just threw up, my son has poop under his nails
and in every crevice of his hiney – could you just wait a
second before laying on that horn?!?”
“Hi
Simon, “Marcy kisses the top of his head. Simon tries to
dodge the kiss.
“Ewww, what stinks?”
“Oh,
the usual, Dewey pooped his pants.”
“Disgusting. Is he ever going to stop?” Simon looked
aggravated.
“Simon! Home!” Dewey beamed - his pants and underwear around
his ankles.
“Yea,
I’m home and thanks for the welcome wagon…pu,” Simon
half snarled.
“P.
U.” giggled Dewey.
“Simon, I know it stinks, but think of how far he’s come,
remember, he’s got special-“
“I
know, Mom,” Simon interrupted, “Special needs. But,
what’s so special about pulling down your pants and pooping in
a toilet for once.”
“Geez, Simon – are you sure you’re only eleven? You
sound like a cranky old man.”
“Yes,
I’m eleven. What’s there to eat?”
“I
don’t know, check the cabinets.”
“Baby” said Dewey.
“No,
Dew, no baby,” said Marcy.
Later
in the kitchen, Dewey and Simon were eating snack when Ron,
their father and Marcy’s husband came through the door.
“Finally!” Marcy shrieked, “What a day! Have I got a
story for you!”
“Hey,
Dad,” Simon shouted over Dewey’s “Dahdee! Dahdee!”.
Ron
picked up Dewey with a grunt and kissed his chubby cheeks, “I
love the way you say Dahdee. What a good boy! What
did you do today?”
“Well, we had home therapy in the morning,” Marcy said “and
then ran errands.”
“Did
you get the –“
“Yes,
I got the power washer”
“Pressure washer”
“Whatever!”
“Great, thank you! Mmm-muh” Ron kissed Marcy loudly.
“You
are a very strange man.” She said.
“Simon, how was your day?”
“Fine, except for coming home”
“Simon!” Marcy cried.
“What
does that mean?” Ron asked irritated.
“Well, professor poopy pants did a number and mom puked from
the smell it was quite the welcome home.
“How
old are you?’ Ron asked, “You sound like a fifty-year-old.”
“That’s what I said!” Marcy chimed in.
“Other than that, Simon, how was your day?”
“Fine, the usual.”
“Come
on! Come on!, “ Marcy pleaded. “I have to tell you
my story. We’ll be right back, Simon, I just need some
Mommy and Daddy time.”
Marcy
pulled Ron into the garage. There were two old easy
chairs, a small table, ashtray, cigarettes and a lighter.
“Aaahhhh, that feels good,” Marcy sighed smokily. “I
hadn’t had a cig since 10 this morning.”
“Okay, so what happened?” Ron asked.
“Well, me and my big mouth. At the Home Depot I bought
the power washer.”
“Pressure washer”
“Whatever washer”
“Dewey was really acting up in the store, and I just didn’t
feel like dealing with the stares and comments while lugging
that thing into van, So, I told the cashier I was expecting.
Of course I didn’t say who or what I was expecting, just
expecting.”
“You
were expecting some help to the car.”
“Exactly! So, I’m in the parking lot, Dewey is going
wild over this guy’s keys. I thank him, he says good
luck with the baby –and who do you think is walking by – just
then – “
“I
don’t know” Ron slaps his leg mockingly.
“Patty Golden!”
“No”,
Ron gasps.
“Stop
this is serious. By the time I get home the phone is
ringing and it’s Nancy, who believes I’m pregnant and is
irritated that I told Patti, before I told her. And then
I couldn’t tell her I wasn’t pregnant because Sarah’s bus had
come and Dewey had pooped his pants.”
“Who’s Sarah?”
“Nancy’s daughter”
“Great, now all of Crest Haven thinks we’re having another
kid. Boy, the tongues must be wagging now.”
“Oh,
I don’t care, people are idiots. The most annoying thing
is that both Patti and Nancy commented on having ‘another
Dewey’. Marcy quoted the air.
Ron’s
face turned red, “What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, since I’m a carrier for Fragile-x, we could have
another child like Dewey.”
“I
know that Marcy, but is that any of their business? They
have no idea what it’s like to have a kid like Dewey, what the
hell do they care?”
“I
know, I know, they mean well, I guess they just got me worried
and aggravated. Dewy is cute and adorable, but he’s
really difficult to handle."
“Well, they don’t have to live with him. He’s a gift;
they couldn’t do it - with all the help in the world.”
“But
it would be really hard to have two of him,” Marcy half cried,
half whispered guiltily.
“How
can you say that?” Ron asked.
“How
can you not see how overwhelmed I am?” Marcy asked,
“Besides, I’m not pregnant. We don’t need to have this
conversation.”
“Right.” Ron replied leaving Marcy alone with her
cigarette.
Dinner, bath and bed was the usual mayhem of spills, sprints
of a naked, soapy Dewy and howls, hysterical laughter and
finally sleep. Marcy couldn’t eat, still feeling
queasy and angry. Late that night, Marcy sat in the
living room. A blanket of quiet surrounded Marcy, who
was again exhausted from her typical day. Simon and
Dewey were sleeping in there rooms. Ron’s mouth gaped
opened as he slept on the couch. Was she mad at Ron, her
so-called friends, Dewey or herself?
She
looked at the carpet, pet stains, psychedelic playdoh pieces
grounded into the shag, and a hundred fragments of potato
chips. The walls were murals of markers, lines and
circles of Dewey's mysterious musings.
'The
outside of the house looked so normal,' she thought.
'How many times have I gone by a house that has such a
beautiful façade, never guessing the chaos that lives within?
Yuck, what a crappy and telling metaphor for people. It
wasn't supposed to be this way. I was golden I was
going to be beautiful inside and out.' A Talking Heads
song played in her mind. “Well, how did I get here?”
The answer to her life could never be solved, she hardly knew
the question. Did she party too much in high school or
was she just that cruel that God thought to bring her down a
notch by giving her Dewey?
Her
eyes stayed dry, the self pity and pain and weary had made
crying hard to come by – she had already cried more than she
thought possible. Marcy thought of the day, Home
Depot, the poop, the vomiting, the latest story in Crest Haven
– about her, but so spiraled out of control and not a bit
true. Then her brain froze on one word completely
as if skipping on a record player, vomiting – vomiting –
vomiting. Her eyes wandered around in a circle,
not seeing the room, When did I last have my period? OH
SHIT!!! Marcy panicked at the confusion of
possibilities. Am I pregnant? Oh, no, no, no, no.
This is just not going to happen. Okay, breath deep,
think, relax. Go to bed and in the morning take a
pregnancy test.
Marcy
sighed, thinking of yet another night of staring into the
dark. What would I do with another Dewey? Do I
have a right to even ask that question? What makes me
think that I can control my life? Marcy’s mind swayed
from Dewey The Gift to Dewey The Burden. The weight of
life was crushing her soul.
She
got out of bed at five am, not waking, because she couldn’t
sleep. She thought for sure she had a pregnancy test in
the back of the cabinet. She laughed at herself meanly –
all the pregnancy tests she bought because she wanted another
child so badly – Well, I certainly got my other child didn’t i?
And now I don’t want to have to be taking this test – and
every other time, I couldn’t wait for the results I wanted to
know so badly.
The pregnancy test sat in the back of bathroom cabinet.
It was like reaching for a key through a cave of spider webs.
Marcy’s hands shook – babies are good, babies are good -
she told herself. The cat bit her calf making her yelp
and her heart jump in her chest.
Okay,
God, here we go. You know best, I know nothing, Thy Will
Be Done, etc etc, etc. Marcy sat on the toilet and
unwrapped the test kit. She closed her eyes and
began the process of testing. She couldn’t open her
eyes. A slide show of conversations and faces rushed
across her mind: Holding a baby Simon | at the
hospital with a new Dewey and a big brother Simon | Marcy, you
are a carrier of Fragile-X | her friend’s concern over
"another Dewey" | Ron’s disconnect from her perspective
of Dewey | Dewey smiling radiantly. STOP!
Her brain screamed.
There are a million possibilities of
conception and misconception. She prayed; eyes still
closed. She exhaled deeply, eyes still closed. She
knew it was time to open her eyes and see if she was pregnant.
Blindly she held up the test stick at eye level.
She looked at the results, eyes
straight and blank.
With all the weight of life coming
and passing, she read the results of the test.
She breathed sharply through her
nose and deeply out her mouth, expecting life to continue, as
it may well.
