Parasite

Kayla

         This is the third time I've been at the changing table with Blake in the past two hours.  Why does it always seem like there's more coming out than going in?  I never would have imagined that my life at age eighteen would consist of dirty diapers, baby formula, and cries more repulsive to the ear than fingernails on a chalkboard.  Kayla Nicole Thompson, daddy's girl, mommy's angel, high school prom queen, straight-A freshman at the best pre-med school in the state.  Or at least that's who I used to be.  Now I'm a Schmidt, and a walking cliché - teenage mother.  My parents always said I could do anything if I put my mind to it, could become anything I wanted.  Parents lie. 

         Some parents I have, anyway.  The day Jayden and I told my parents I was pregnant, my dad, a former Army Colonel whose Army training was reflected in every aspect of his life, calmly looked at me and said, "Kay, I've always told you that you must live up to your decisions.  Since you've decided you're mature enough to have a child, you need to act like an adult and be independent.  I regret that this is the path you have chosen for your life; you could have done so much more.  But you must deal with the consequences of your actions, so your mother and I will not financially support your error in judgment."  And Jayden's parents?  They agreed with this strict "live with the consequences" viewpoint.

         Luckily, Jayden graduated before Blake was born and got a job with BioSearch Labs, making $55,000 a year.  And without a college degree, it was cheaper for me to stay home than to hire a full-time sitter.  My life is a far cry from the hectic but rewarding life of a medical intern I had hoped to be living.  Jayden has to pay off his student loans, and a baby isn't exactly cheap.  Instead of a big house, we are living in a small two-bedroom apartment, scraping by, paycheck-to-payc....

        "Damnit Blake, stop squirming!"  But why am I talking to an infant?  He's too stupid to understand yet.  How could anyone actually enjoy taking care of a screaming, crying... thing that won't even listen to reason?    And Jayden insists on using cloths and pins instead of commercial diapers, like normal people.  He says that they ruin the environment.  He wouldn't care so much about the precious environment if he was the one using them.  Okay, fold the cloth across, gather up the corner, take the pin and....

        Speaking of "Mr. Environmentalist," it's almost 6; he should be home by now, I wonder what's keeping him?  I hope he's okay with ordering out.  Oooh...pizza sounds good, pepperoni and mushroom with extra cheese.  Or Chinese from the greasy Shang You's down the road.  Ugh, why are you wailing now, Blake?  Oh.  These stupid pins!  He certainly does not need any more motivation to cry.  I think I need to have a little talk with my tree-hugging husband when he decides to show up.     

Jayden

         I pause in the doorway of the nursery, wondering how mad she is that I'm late.  Can't help but smirk, foreseeing her beratement and then silence when she realizes the reason I was late was to pick her up some flowers - red orchids, her favorite.  God, she looks so beautiful.  Leaning over the baby against a background of Winnie the Pooh wallpaper, the late afternoon sun streaming in through the small window, she seems almost to glow.  A peculiar notion enters my mind that I should run for water to put out the fire in her auburn hair.  Perhaps I could steal it from her eyes.  Motherhood suits her - she's even more striking than the day we met.

        Not that a baby was in my plans, or hers, for at least a few more years.  But I like to think we're doing pretty well.  Certainly better than I could have imagined 10 months ago.  I remember the day well....

Kayla

         I stared at the two lines in disbelief.  Over and over again, I read the box: "one line means not pregnant.  Two lines mean pregnant."  I had taken the test after my monthly visit from "the red monster," as my mother used to call it, had been conspicuously missing for 7 days.  But I had assumed I was just being paranoid, and the test was simply to put my mind at ease.  Clearly, that plan had failed.

         Shock immobilized me on the futon; I must have looked like a zombie with my mouth hanging open, staring at a cardboard box as if it were a Picasso painting.  I thanked god that my roommate wouldn't be back from class for another couple of hours.  How could this be?  I was on the pill.  Jayden and I used to joke about the tiny white and brown tablets being "parasite repellent."  I wasn't sure how it worked (I slept through that particular lecture); I just knew that if I took it, it would protect me from being infected with a "parasite."  I took it religiously, even had an alarm set so that I was sure to remember to take it, the same time every day.  99% effective, the experts say.  But this means nothing when you find yourself infected with a "parasite," part of the unlucky 1%.

Jayden

      She called me that hot August day, in the middle of Microbiology class.  Normally, I would turn my phone off.  But I had dozed off in the back row while the professor was droning on about anaerobic bacilli, and the noise jolted me awake.  There was only ten minutes left of class and I could have used a distraction, so I quickly grabbed my bag and snuck out the back door of the lecture hall and outside into the blinding sun. 

      "Yes dear?" I said, faking irritation.

      After several seconds of silence, "Hello?  You there?"

         "Yes."
I could immediately tell something was wrong.  Her voice was shaky and soft, the way she sounds after a good cry.

         "What's the matter?'

        "Nothing," she said quickly; a little too quickly.  "Can you come over, please?  We need to talk."

Uh-oh, this was serious.  She had uttered the four little words every guy dreads.  I headed to her dorm, anxious to hear what I had done wrong this time.  But what she had to say would change both our lives in a matter of minutes.

Kayla

         That night, Jayden and I talked for hours.  I half-wondered if it was possible to cry so much you die of dehydration.  But I'm still here, so theory disproved.  We discussed adoption, but Jayden said he would not be able to give up the baby after he had seen it.  Then, with a hesitant voice, he turned to me with his chocolate eyes and suggested we remove the problem all-together.  Back then, I was foolish, a staunch advocate of life.  So I shook my head vehemently and told him that abortion was not an option I would even consider.  Sometimes, just sometimes, men are smarter than us women. 

         

Jayden

         Kayla's roommate graciously left us alone and found somewhere else to sleep.  Neither of us got much rest that night.  She kept muttering something about how the repellent didn't work.  And a few times she woke up, sweaty, with a wild and fearful look in her eyes.  She would cling onto me tighter and fall back asleep.  I sat up and watched her the whole night, too worried that she might do something reckless to sleep.

Kayla

         Millions of tiny white parasites swim their way through my body.  All struggle, trying to win the race.  Most die along the way, getting a dose of repellent.  Some give up.  And still others get trampled in the stampede.  But one microscopic white runner finds the finish line, attaching itself firmly to my insides.  The rest realize they have lost and float around idly, awaiting their death.

Jayden

         I wake up and grope blindly for my wife, wanting to pull her closer, feel her warmth.  But she is not in bed.  I rub my eyes groggily and glance at the clock.  3 a.m., it says in bright red numerals.  I sit up, noticing the light from down the hall.  The baby must have been crying.  I should go help her; she needs her sleep.

         But when I arrive at the nursery, I find she is getting her sleep already, holding Blake against her shoulder in the rocking chair.  I start to carefully creep back to the bedroom, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene, mother and son both dead to the world.  But the floorboard outside the nursery door gives me away, and she wakes up.  "Here, let me take him," I whisper.  She nods, rising slowly out of the chair, and hands him to me.

         So glad he's a deep sleeper.  Look at him, so peaceful.  I touch his tiny hand, wanting to feel how strong he has become.  But he does not grip my finger as usual.  As I lean in closer, panic sets in.  His breathing is faint and strained.  His heartbeat is racing.  His face, I can tell even in the dim light, has an unnatural blue tint.

         Do you ever have a moment where fear is so great that your mind becomes empty of thought and your body seems to act independently?  Well, this is mine.  Barely aware of my actions, I begin to perform CPR.  Luckily, I remember my Red Cross instruction well, the ABCs - clear airway, breath for infant, restore circulation.  I lay Blake on the floor, tilt his head back, check his breathing, cover his mouth and nose with my mouth, blow, blow, 30 compressions, another two breaths.  I begin to get into a rhythm, breath, breath, compress, compress, compress, compress, until I reach a count of 30.  I repeat this several times until, finally, the baby begins to breath, although shallowly at first.

         I sit for several moments, stunned, wondering what to do.  It was 3:00 a.m. and I felt like I had just lived through a nightmare.  It was easy to guess what had happened; Blake probably fell asleep with his face deep in Kay's shoulder, closing his airways.  If I tell her, she might blame herself.  Besides, he seems to be fine now, and she has enough to worry about.  I decide to keep the incident my little secret, but to keep a closer eye on her so it doesn't happen again.

Kayla

         "Hush now Blake, everything's all right."  Yes, everything will be just fine.  Hush little baby, don't say a word.  Yes, no more words now.  Just quiet.  That's right, snuggle in closer to Mommy.  No more tears, no more crying.  Mommy will get rid of the parasite.  I smiled, thinking of the peace to come.  3's a crowd.  But sleep overcame me.

Jayden

         One night I came home from work and found Kay passed out on the couch, the baby in his playpen, wailing.  She had had a rough night.  The baby had woken up several times with a stomach ache.  He would not eat, and yet diaper changes seemed to double.  Nothing seemed to calm him.  Rest was possible only when he fell asleep again, exhausted from crying.  I covered her with a blanket, kissed her cheek, and took Blake into the nursery.

         Rocking him to sleep, I think how lucky my wife is to be around such innocence all day.  While I have to smile and be polite to people I secretly despise and work long hours, all for the sake of money, she gets to play peek-a-boo.  But I remind myself that it is the paycheck from BioSearch that allows us to keep Blake in the first place.

Kayla

         When I was younger, my mother always used to tell me that "it's easier to smile than frown."  This is true, physically speaking - more muscles are used to pull the corners of your mouth down than up.  But whoever came up with this adage must have led an easy life.  Have you ever tried to force a smile, to make it seem okay when you're not?  This is certainly harder than letting your outside reflect how you feel inside, to frown when you feel like frowning.

         But for Jayden's sake, I must smile.  I remind myself that he is in this battle, too.  And what right have I to be upset?  He is the one working 10-11 hour days, and then coming home and helping me with Blake.  Compared to him, I have it easy.  And yet, I can't help but be a bit jealous.  He gets to leave this house, to speak with other adults.  For 10 hours a day, he gets to escape this quarantine.

Jayden

         Kayla is not happy.  I can tell, even though she won't admit it.  She smiles at me, but it is not reflected in her eyes; there is no shine, no sign of life in them.  I don't know why she won't talk to me, tell me what's wrong.  She used to tell me everything.  The doctor warned me that she might experience some post-partum depression and that it might be several months before she is back to her normal self.  But I fear it is something more, that she has lost trust in me, somehow.  Maybe she's just stressed.  We haven't had a night out, just the two of us, for months.  We can't afford a babysitter too often, and recently I've had to work late and even some Saturdays.  I'll call Kathy tonight, see if she can watch Blake this weekend.

Kayla

         Jayden took me out to Chez Pierre's last night.  For the first time in months, I felt like an adult.  No dirty diapers, no bottles, no puke stains on my clothes.  Jayden and I were actually able to talk without being interrupted by crying.  I felt giddy, remembered what it was like to be young and in love.  We even made out, parked in front of our apartment.  But the moment Jayden opened the door, Blake's shrill wailing snapped me back to reality.  For a few hours, I had forgotten I was infected.  I had forgotten about Blake.  As Kathy handed the baby back to me, I realized that my condition is chronic.  I am never going to be rid of this responsibility, this thing others call a "baby." 
 
         This is not a baby.  A baby is a cute, smiling thing that you can play with for a while, then hand back to someone else when its diaper starts to smell.  A baby is something that does not belong to you, something you have no responsibility for.  A baby does not wake you up 4 times a night, drain you of sleep, zap you of all your energy.

         No, this, this...thing, is not a baby.  This is a parasite.  It lived off of me for 9 months, stealing my food through a tube.  The doctors cut my stomach to remove it, and I thought the infection was over.  But it's still living off of me.  Totally dependent on me for everything.  It sucks on my breast, needs me to clean up after its bowel movements, and gives me a headache with its screaming.

         I cannot take this anymore.  I have been infected for far too long.  Jayden once suggested medicine to cure me, but I had stupidly refused.  It will be harder now, but I must get well.  I must do something before it overcomes me, causes me to lose my mind.  I pull some pieces of the luggage set Jayden and I received as a wedding gift out of the closet and begin to pack, trying to fight back the guilt rising in my stomach.

Jayden

         "Honey, I'm home," I yell as I come in the door, doing my best Ricky Ricardo impression.  No answer.  "Kay, where are you?"  Still no answer.  Then I hear water running in the bathroom.  She must be giving Blake a bath.

         As I go to the fridge to get a cold beer, I notice a new item under the magnets.  A letter on a plain piece of yellow notebook paper.  Kayla's handwriting.  What's this? 

I should have told you this in person.  Call me a coward if you want.  I'm sorry, but I cannot do this anymore.  I was not cut out to be a mother.  You infected me.  I hold no resentment toward you, but I am tired of being sick and I take my cure into my own hands.  I've left.  Don't try to find me, I will not come back.  I've started a bath for Blake, who you've obviously come to love.  It should be ready by the time you are reading this. 
I love you and I'm sorry,
Kayla

Water running.  Started a bath.  Shit!  I rush into the bathroom, almost slipping.  The floor is flooded with water.  Blake?  Oh my god.  He is in the bathtub, half submerged and screaming louder than I've ever heard him before.  I scoop him up with one arm, turning the water off with my other.  Then my legs seem to fail me and I slump on the floor.  For several minutes, I cannot think.  I can do nothing but sit on the soaking floor, holding the wailing Blake close, putting my ear to his chest again and again, wanting assurance that he is okay.

         Hush little baby, don't say a word.  "It's okay Blake, Daddy's here now.  It's all right, it's all right, you're safe now."  He finally stops crying.  Then thought returns.  I had no idea things were so bad.  How could she do this?  Why didn't she say anything to me?  Jesus, she could have killed him!  What if I had been late, then...  But I cannot follow this thought, it is too terrible.  And as the implications of what could have happened sink in, I clutch Blake tighter, and it is my turn to cry.

Kayla

         I head North on Highway 49, no plan, nowhere and yet everywhere to go.  I am finally parasite-free, and I plan to take full advantage of my newfound freedom.  I wish I could have taken Jayden with me, but he became too attached to the parasite I had to be rid of.  I will miss him and I regret passing my sickness to him.  But he is stronger, he can handle it. 
         My father always said I had to live with the consequences of my decisions.  I guess he never discovered the loopholes.