I jostled her again. “Alexis, wake up. I need to go into work early. There’s an emergency.”
“What’s going on?” she asked groggily.
“It’s one of my clients. I need to head in early, so you’ll need to call Olivia and ask her mom to swing by and pick you up for school.”
I knew it wouldn’t be a problem since Olivia just lived a few streets over from us. Grace was a single mom too, so between the two of us, one of us was always swinging by to pick up someone for school.
“Okay, Mom,” she said with a yawn.
“Call me if there’s a problem, okay?”
“Okay,” she sighed, closing her eyes again.
I checked the clock again. “Go back to sleep. Your alarm is set, right?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket over her head.
“Love you,” I whispered, blowing her a kiss.
“Love you, too,” she murmured, quickly falling back to sleep.
I locked up the house and hopped in the car, eager to get to Shelby at Washburn Memorial.
The electronic doors slid open and the stale scent of hospital air blasted me in the face.
“Can I help you?” a white-haired lady behind the desk asked with a pleasant smile.
“Yes. Could you please tell me which room Shelby Blaine is in?”
The woman tapped a few keys on the computer then looked back at me. “Room 316,” she said with a wide grin.
“Thank you,” I said in a rush and headed toward the elevator.
When I reached Shelby’s room, I could hear the beep of the heart monitor through the crack in the door. I knocked quietly.
“Come in,” her weak voice squeaked over the resounding, rhythmic tone.
Pushing the thick wooden door open, I peeked my head in. “Shelby?”
Her frail looking body lay under the stark, white hospital blankets. Her bleached, blonde hair with dark roots was pulled up in a messy bun on top of her head.
“Mrs. Honeycutt,” she croaked. “I’m so glad you came.” Tears pooled in her bright, blue eyes and fell down her already tear-stained cheeks.
“Oh, honey,” I cried as I rushed toward the edge of her bed and reached out to her. She wrapped her arms around me and sobbed into the crook of my neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down,” she cried. “I was doing so much better.”
I pulled back, gently brushing the hair off her face. “Shelby, honey, you didn’t let me down. I just want to know what happened.”
She shook her head, wide-eyed with fear. “I’m not sure, really. One minute I was putting Jayce in his crib and the next minute I was in the bathroom taking a handful of pills. I called David at work before I passed out, but I don’t remember what I said. I can’t really remember much of anything, except Jayce’s crying.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as her hands flew up and covered her ears. “I can still hear him screaming through the monitor. I just couldn’t take it anymore, Mrs. Honeycutt.” Lowering her hands, Shelby gritted her teeth and clenched her fists by her side. The feeling I had when I sank into the deep water of the bathtub to drown out Alexis’s crying came barreling back to me as if it had just happened yesterday.
Words tumbled out of Shelby’s mouth as though someone had pulled the wrong block from an unsteady Jenga tower. “I’m not fit to be a mother, Mrs. Honeycutt. I love my son with all my heart, but some days I hate his guts. There’s something wrong with me. I shouldn’t feel like this. I have zero patience. I hate my life. I hate being a mother. I can’t take the constant crying.”
I knew that feeling of hopelessness. I understood the plight of feeling unworthy to be a mother. I empathized with her thoughts of hating her life. I remembered everything all too well.
“Shelby,” I smoothed her hair, consoling her. “You’re a great mother. I’ve seen you interact with Jayce. He’s such a sweet and happy little boy. We all have moments where we need a break or wish things were easier. There’s nothing wrong with that. But sometimes, hormones and chemical imbalances play a factor in our thoughts and feelings, and some mothers need just a little extra help coping with the birth of a child. I know I did.”
Shelby looked at me, wide-eyed with surprise. “You struggled too?” she asked.
I nodded. “Every day for the first six months.”
“What did you do?”
“I sought treatment. I visited a counselor and got on the right medication to help me. The pregnancy care center can help you do that.”
Tears slid down Shelby’s cheeks. “I don’t want to hate my life. I want to be happy. For Jayce. He deserves a good mother. One who doesn’t dread having to deal with him every day.”