Mutation

“Dr. Frank!” Dr. Stedman said sternly. “You have a choice: either stop interfering or leave the delivery room. Take your pick.” Dr. Stedman had had enough. He’d already put up with a number of Frank’s orders, such as performing every known prenatal test, including amniocentesis and chorionic villus biopsy. He’d even permitted Mary to take an antibiotic called cephaloclor for three weeks in the early part of the pregnancy. Professionally, he’d felt none of these things were indicated, but he’d gone along with them because Dr.

Frank had insisted and because the surrogacy status made the situation unique. Since Mary did not object, saying it was all part of the deal she’d struck with the Franks, he didn’t mind complying. But that was during the pregnancy. The delivery was a different story, and Dr. Stedman was not about to compromise his methodology for a neurotic colleague. Just what kind of medical training had Frank gone through? he wondered. Surely he could abide by standard operating procedures. But here he was questioning each of Stedman’s orders, second-guessing every step.

For a few tense seconds, Victor and Dr. Stedman stood glaring at each other. Victor’s fists were clenched, and for a brief moment Dr. Stedman thought that the man was about to strike him. But the moment passed, and Victor slouched away to stand nervously in the corner.

Victor’s heart was racing and he felt an unpleasant sensation in his abdomen. “Please make the baby normal,” he prayed to himself. He looked over at his wife as his eyes clouded with tears. She had wanted another baby so much. He felt himself begin to tremble again. He chided himself inwardly. “I shouldn’t have done it. But please, God—let this baby be all right.” He looked up at the clock. The second hand seemed to drag slowly around the face. He wondered how much longer he could stand the tension.

Dr. Whitehead’s skilled hands had the caudal analgesic in place in seconds. Marsha held Mary’s hand, smiling encouragement as the pain began to ease. The next thing Mary knew was that someone was waking her, telling her it was time to push. The second stage of labor went quickly and smoothly, and at 6:04 P.M. a vigorous Victor Frank Jr. was born.

Victor was standing directly behind Dr. Stedman at the moment of birth, holding his breath, trying to see as best he could. As the child came into view, he rapidly scanned the infant as Dr. Stedman clamped and cut the cord. Stedman handed the infant to the waiting resident pediatrician, whom Victor followed to the thermostatically controlled infant care unit. The resident put the silent infant down and began to examine him. Victor felt a rush of relief. The child appeared normal.

“Apgar of ten,” the resident called out, indicating that Victor Jr. had the highest possible rating.

“Wonderful,” said Dr. Stedman, who was busy with Mary and the imminent delivery of the afterbirth.

“But he’s not crying,” questioned Victor. Doubt clouded his euphoria.

The resident lightly slapped the soles of Victor Jr.’s feet, then rubbed his back. Still the infant stayed quiet.

“But he’s breathing fine.”

The resident picked up the bulb syringe and tried to suction Victor Jr.’s nose once again. To the doctor’s astonishment, the newborn’s hand came up and yanked the bulb away from the fingers of the resident and dropped it over the side of the infant care unit.

“Well that settles that,” said the resident with a chuckle. “He just doesn’t want to cry.”

“Can I?” asked Victor, motioning toward the baby.

“As long as he doesn’t get cold.”

Gingerly, Victor reached into the unit and scooped up Victor Jr. He held the infant in front of him with both hands around his torso. He was a beautiful baby with strikingly blond hair. His chubby, rosy cheeks gave his face a picturesquely cherubic quality, but by far the most distinctive aspect of his appearance was his bright blue eyes. As Victor gazed into their depths he realized with a shock that the baby was looking back at him.

“Beautiful, isn’t he?” said Marsha over Victor’s shoulder.

“Gorgeous,” Victor agreed. “But where did the blond hair come from? Ours is brown.”

“I was blond until I was five,” Marsha said, reaching up to touch the baby’s pink skin.

Victor glanced at his wife as she lovingly gazed at the child. She had dark brown hair peppered with just a few strands of gray. Her eyes were a sultry gray-blue; her features quite sculptured: they contrasted with the rounded, full features of the infant.

“Look at his eyes,” Marsha said.

Victor turned his attention back to the baby. “They are incredible, aren’t they? A minute ago I’d have sworn they were looking right back at me.”

“They are like jewels,” Marsha said.

Victor turned the baby to face Marsha. As he did so he noticed the baby’s eyes remained locked on his! Their turquoise depths were as cold and bright as ice. Unbidden, Victor felt a thrill of fear.