Mother’s Day May 14
Joshua.
5月14日母亲节
约书亚
I wake, feverish. The skylight above me pulses with rain, and I spider my fingers across the sheets, remembering I’m alone. I close my eyes and find my way back to sleep, until I’m woken again, engulfed by a deep, sudden pain. I’ve been waking with a sick feeling every morning since he left, but I know right away this is different.
我醒来的时候,发烧。头顶的天窗随着雨水跳动着，我的手指在床单上划过，想起了我是孤独的。我闭上眼睛，重新进入梦乡，直到我再次醒来，被一种深深的、突然的疼痛所吞没。自从他离开后，我每天早上醒来都觉得恶心，但我马上知道这是不同的。
Something’s wrong.
出事了。
It hurts to walk, and I crawl from the bed, across the floor, which is gritty （多沙的）with sand and dust. I find my phone in the living room, but I don’t know who to call. He’s the only one I want to speak to. I need to tell him what’s happening and hear him say that everything will be fine. I need to remind him, just one more time, how much I love him.
走起来很疼，我从床上爬起来，穿过布满沙尘的地板。我在客厅找到了我的手机，但我不知道给谁打电话。他是我唯一想和他说话的人。我要告诉他发生了什么，听他说一切都会好起来的。我要提醒他，就一次，我有多爱他。
But he won’t answer. Or worse, he will, and he’ll seethe into the phone, telling me he won’t continue to put up with this, warning me that if I ever call him again, he’ll—
但是他不会回答。或更糟的是，他会的，他会看到电话，告诉我他不会继续忍受，警告我，如果我再打给他，他会——
The pain grips my back so hard I can’t breathe. I wait for it to pass, for the moment of reprieve I’ve been promised, but it doesn’t come. This isn’t what the books said would happen, nothing like what the doctor told me to expect. They said it’ll be gradual. That know what to do. time things. sit on the stoop-sale yoga ball I bought. stay home as long as possible, to avoid the machines, the drugs, all the things they do at the hospital to make a baby come before a body is ready.
疼得我后背发紧，喘不过气来。我等待着它过去，等待着承诺给我的缓刑，但它并没有到来。这不是书上说的会发生的事，也不是医生告诉我的那样。题目说它是渐进的。知道该做什么。时间的事情。坐在我买的stoop-sale瑜伽球上。尽可能呆在家里，避开机器、药物，以及医院里在身体准备好之前让婴儿出生的所有事情。
I’m not ready. It’s two weeks before my due date, and I’m not ready.
我还没有准备好。离预产期还有两周，但我还没准备好。
I focus on the phone. It’s not his number I dial, but hers, the doula（产妇陪护）—a pierced（穿刺的） woman named Albany I’ve met just twice.
我专注于电话。我拨的不是他的号码，而是她的，那个叫奥尔巴尼的妇女我只见过两次面。
I’m attending to a birth and cannot take your call. if you are—
我要接生，不能接你的电话。如果你是——
I crawl with my laptop to the bathroom and sit on the chilly tiles（瓷砖）, a damp washcloth on my neck, the slim computer resting on the bulging outline of my son. I open my e-mail and begin a new message to them, the May Mothers.
我带着笔记本电脑爬到浴室，坐在冰冷的瓷砖上，脖子上放着一块湿漉漉的毛巾，轻薄的电脑放在儿子凸出的身体上。打开我的电子邮件，给五月的母亲们发一条新信息。
I’m wondering if this is normal. My hands tremble as I type. I feel nauseous（恶心）. The pain is intense. It’s happening too quickly.
我想知道这是否正常。我打字时双手颤抖。我感到恶心。痛得很厉害。它发生得太快了。
They won’t respond. They’re out to dinner, eating something spicy to hasten（加快） their own labor, stealing sips from their husbands’ beer, enjoying a quiet evening together, something experienced mothers have warned us never to expect again. They won’t see my e-mail until morning.
她们不会回应。她们出去吃饭，吃一些辣的东西来加快自己的劳动速度，偷喝几口丈夫的啤酒，一起享受一个安静的夜晚，这些都是有经验的母亲警告过我们不要再期待的事情。他们直到早上才会看到我的电子邮件。
My e-mail chimes right away. Sweet Francie. It’s starting! she writes. Time the contractions and have your husband keep steady pressure on your lower back.
我的电子邮件马上响了。甜蜜的佛朗斯。这是开始！她写道。控制宫缩的时间，让你的丈夫对你的下背部保持稳定的压力。
How’s it going? Nell writes. Twenty minutes have passed. Still feeling it?
怎么样了？内尔写道。二十分钟过去了。还在感觉吗？
I’m on my side. I have trouble typing. Yes.
我是站在我这边的。我打字有困难。是的。
The room goes black, and when the light comes—ten minutes later, an hour later, I have no idea—I feel a gray ache blooming from a bump on my forehead. I crawl back to the living room, hearing a noise, an animal howling, before I realize the sound is coming from me. Joshua.
房间里一片漆黑，灯光一亮——十分钟后，一个小时后，我什么也不知道——我感到额头上的肿块开始隐隐发痛。我爬回客厅，听到一个声音，一个动物的嚎叫，然后我意识到声音来自我自己。约书亚。
I make it to the couch and rest my back against the cushions. I reach down between my legs. Blood.
我走到沙发前，背靠在靠垫上。我把手伸到两腿之间。血。
I pull a thin rain jacket over my nightgown. Somehow, I make my way down the stairs.
我在睡衣上穿一件薄雨衣。不知何故，我下楼了。
Why haven’t I packed the bag? The May Mothers have all written so much about what to pack in the bag, and yet mine is still in the bedroom closet, empty. No iPod with relaxing music inside, no coconut water, no peppermint oil for the nausea. Not even one printed copy of my birth plan. I cradle my stomach under a misty streetlight until the car service arrives and I climb into the clammy（潮湿的） back seat, trying not to notice the troubled look on the driver’s face.
我怎么还没收拾行李？五月的妈妈们已经写了很多关于包里应该装什么东西，但是我的仍然在卧室的壁橱里空着。里面没有放着轻松音乐的iPod，没有椰子水，没有让人恶心的薄荷油。连一份打印出来的计划清单都没有。我在雾蒙蒙的路灯下抱着肚子，直到汽车来了。我爬进潮湿的后座，尽量不去注意司机脸上不安的表情。
I forgot the going-home outfit I bought for the baby.
我忘了买给婴儿的回家衣服。
At the hospital, someone directs me to the sixth floor, where I’m told to wait in the triage（分诊) room. “Please,” I finally say to the woman behind the desk. “I feel very cold and dizzy. Can you call my doctor?”
在医院，有人将我带到六楼，被告知要在分诊室等。 “求你了。”我终于对桌子后面的那个女人说。 “我感到非常寒冷和头晕。你能给我的医生打电话吗？”
It’s not my doctor’s night. It’s another woman from the practice, one I’ve never met. I’m overcome with fear as I take a seat, where I begin to leak liquid that smells like earth, like the backyard mud my mother and I used to comb for worms when I was six, onto the green plastic chair.
今天不是我的专属医生值班。是另一个实习的女人，一个我从未见过的女人。当我坐下来，我开始在绿色的塑料椅子上洒出闻起来像泥土的液体，就像我母亲和我六岁时在后院用来清理虫子的泥土一样。
I go into the hallway, determined to keep moving, to stay upright, picturing his face when I told him. He was angry, insisting I’d tricked him. Demanding I get rid of the baby. This will ruin everything, he said. My marriage. My reputation. You can’t do this to me.
我走到走廊上，决心继续走，站直身子，想象着我告诉他的时候他的表情。他很生气，坚持说我骗了他。要求我把孩子处理掉。这会毁了一切，他说。我的婚姻。我的名声。你不能这样对我。
I won’t let you.
我不会让你得逞的。
I didn’t tell him I’d already seen the blinking green light of the heartbeat, that I’d heard the rhythm, a quickly spinning jump rope, emanating(产生） from the speakers in the ceiling. I didn’t tell him I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this baby.
我没有告诉他我已经看到心跳闪烁的绿灯，我听到了节奏，一根快速旋转的跳绳，从天花板上的扬声器发出。我没有告诉他我从来没有想要过这个孩子。
Sturdy （坚定的）wrists lift me from the floor. Grace. That’s what it says on her name tag. Grace leads me to a room, her hands around my waist, and tells me to lie down on the bed. I fight. I don’t want to lie on the bed. I want to know the baby is all right. I want the pain to subside（减退）. “I want the epidural（硬膜外麻醉）,” I say. “I’m sorry,” says Grace. “It’s too late.” I seize her hands, roughed by too much soap and hospital water. “No, please. Too late?” “For the epidural.” I think I hear footsteps in the hallway, rushing toward my room. I think I hear him calling for me. I give in and lie down. It’s him. It’s Joshua, calling to me through the darkness. The doctor’s here. She’s speaking to me, and they’re wrapping something around my bicep（二头肌）, sticking a needle smoothly under my skin, at the bend of my arm, like the blades of skates over ice. They’re asking who’s come with me, where my husband is. The room spins around me, and I can smell it. The liquid seeping （渗出）from me. Like earth and mud. My bones are splitting（裂开）. I’m on fire. It can’t be right. I feel the pressure. I feel the fire. I feel my body, my baby, breaking in two. I close my eyes. I push.
强壮的手腕把我从地板上举起来。恩典。她的名牌上就是这么写的。格雷斯把我带到一个房间，她的手搂着我的腰，叫我躺在床上。我战斗。我不想躺在床上。我想知道孩子是否安然无恙。我希望疼痛能消失。“我要硬膜外麻醉，”我说。“对不起，”格雷斯说。“太晚了。”我抓住她的手，她的手被太多的肥皂和医院的水弄得粗糙不堪。“不,求你了。太迟了吗?”“硬膜外。”我想我听到走廊里有脚步声，他们朝我的房间冲来。我想我听到他在叫我。我屈服了，躺了下来。这是他。是约书亚，在黑暗中呼唤我。这里的医生的。她在对我说话，他们在我的二头肌上缠了些东西，用针平稳地刺在我的皮肤下，在我手臂的弯曲处，就像溜冰鞋在冰上的刀刃一样。他们问谁跟我一起来了，我丈夫在哪里。房间在我周围旋转，我能闻到它。液体从我身上渗出来。像泥土。我的骨头都要裂开了。我着火了。这不可能是对的。我感到了压力。我感觉到火。我感觉到我的身体，我的孩子，裂成两半。我闭上眼睛。我推。
1. Feverish = 发烧的
– She lay in bed, too feverish to sleep
她躺在床上，发烧得无法入睡。
– I’m feeling a bit feverish – I hope it’s not the start of flu.
我有点发烧-我希望这不是流感的开始.
2. Something’s wrong = 出问题了
– I have a bad feeling that something’s wrong.
我有种不好的感觉，好像哪里出问题了。
– Is there something wrong sweetheart? We can always talk through it.
亲爱的有什么问题吗？ 我们可以随时讨论.
3. Or worse = 或者更差
– Work is, for better or worse, becoming more flexible nowadays.
无论现在好坏，工作变得越来越灵活。
– They would criticize me, or worse yet, pay me no attention.
他们会批评我，或者更糟的是，我不会被关注。
4. Reprieve = 暂时解救
– But any last-minute reprieve may come too late.
但是任何最后一刻的缓刑都可能为时已晚。
– She was too grateful for the reprieve.
她为缓刑感到非常感谢。
5. Due date = 截止日期
– It’s five days until my baby’s due date.
还有5天就到孩子预计出生的日子。
– To avoid the late charge, please make your payment on or before the payment due date.
为避免滞纳金，请在付款到期日或之前付款。
6. Bulging =鼓起
– His pocket was bulging with sweets.
因为装满了糖，他的口袋鼓起来了。
– I don’t like body builders who are so overdeveloped you can see the veins in their bulging muscle.
我不喜欢那些过于发达的健美运动员，你可以看到他们肌肉膨胀中的静脉。
7. Nauseous = 感到恶习
– I am a little nauseous from the medication.
这个药物让我感到有些恶心。
– I felt a bit nauseous during the sea crossing.
过海的时候让我有点恶心。
8. Quiet evening = 安静的夜晚
– I’d rather not go out and have a quiet evening on my own.
和出去玩相比，我更想自己一个人度过安静的夜晚。
– Can we have a quiet evening, just me and you?
我们能度过一个安静的夜晚吗，只有你和我？
9. Steady pressure = 稳定的压力
– To ease the swelling, apply steady pressure to the ice packet.
为减轻肿胀，请对冰袋施加稳定的压力。
– Can you apply steady pressure to my back?
你可以在我的后背上施加稳定的压力吗？
10. Somehow = 出于某种原因/以某种方式
– We must stop him from seeing her somehow.
我们必须以某种方式停止他们见面。
– I’ve somehow managed to bluff my way through the interview.
也不知怎样，我就蒙混过关了面试。
11. Clammy = 湿腻的
– Make sure your hands aren’t clammy when you are shaking hands.
握手的时候，确保手不是湿腻的。
– It was a hot, clammy day.
那是一个酷热又湿腻的一天。
12. Subside = 减退
– His rage was beginning to subside.
他的愤怒开始消退。
– The police are hoping that the violence will soon subside.
警察们希望暴力会快速的减退。
