moved the whole baby.
She let her hands trail over the island of Alex’s belly and helped her sit up. “The good news is that the baby’s doing fine,” Lacy said. “The bad news is that right now, she’s upside down. Breech.”
Alex froze. “I’m going to need a C-section?”
“We’ve got eight weeks before it comes to that. There’s a lot we can do to try to turn the baby beforehand.”
“Like what?”
“Moxibustion.” She sat down across from Lacy. “I’ll give you the name of an acupuncturist. She’ll take a little stick of mugwort and hold it up to your little pinky. She’ll do the same thing on the other side. It won’t hurt, but it’ll be uncomfortably warm. Once you learn how to do it at home, if you start now chances are fairly good that the baby will turn in one to two weeks’ time.”
“Poking myself with a stick is going to make it flip?”
“Well, not necessarily. That’s why I also want you to set an ironing board up against the couch, to make an inclined plane. You should lie on it, head down, three times a day for fifteen minutes.”
“Jeez, Lacy. Are you sure you don’t want me to wear a crystal, too?”
“Believe me, any of those are considerably more comfortable than having a doctor do a version to turn the baby…or recuperating from a C-section.”
Alex folded her hands over her belly. “I don’t hold much faith in old wives’ tales.”
Lacy shrugged. “Luckily, you’re not the one who’s breech.”
You weren’t supposed to give your clients rides to court, but in Nadya Saranoff’s case, Alex had made an exception. Nadya’s husband had been abusive and had left her for another woman. He wouldn’t pay child support for their two boys, although he was making a decent living and Nadya’s job at Subway paid $5.25 an hour. She’d complained to the state, but justice worked too slow, so she’d gone to Wal-Mart and shoplifted a pair of pants and a white shirt for her five-year-old, who was starting school the following week and who had outgrown all of his clothing.
Nadya had pled guilty. Because she couldn’t afford a fine, she was given a thirty-day jail sentence deferred-which, as Alex was explaining to her now, meant that she wouldn’t have to go for a year. “If you go to jail,” she said, as they stood outside the ladies’ room in the courthouse, “your boys are going to suffer greatly. I know you felt desperate, but there’s always another option. A church. Or a Salvation Army.”
Nadya wiped her eyes. “I couldn’t get to the church or the Salvation Army. I haven’t got a car.”
Right. It was why Alex had brought her to court in the first place.
Alex steeled herself against sympathy as Nadya ducked into the bathroom. Her job had been to get Nadya a good deal, which she had, considering this was the woman’s second shoplifting offense. The first one had been at a drugstore; she’d pinched some Children’s Tylenol.
She thought of her own baby, the one who had her lying upside down on an ironing board and sticking torturous little daggers against her pinky toes every night, in the hopes that it would change position. What sort of disadvantage would it be to come into this world backward?
When ten minutes had passed and Nadya had not come out of the bathroom, Alex knocked on the door. “Nadya?” She found her client in front of the sinks, sobbing. “Nadya, what’s wrong?”
Her client ducked her head, mortified. “I just got my period, and I can’t afford a tampon.”
Alex reached for her purse, rummaging for a quarter to feed to the dispenser on the wall. But as the cardboard tube rolled out of the machine, something inside her snapped, and she understood that although this case had been settled, it wasn’t over yet. “Meet me out front,” she ordered. “I’m getting the car.”
She drove Nadya to Wal-Mart-the scene of her crime-and tossed three supersized Tampax boxes into a cart. “What else do you
She let her hands trail over the island of Alex’s belly and helped her sit up. “The good news is that the baby’s doing fine,” Lacy said. “The bad news is that right now, she’s upside down. Breech.”
Alex froze. “I’m going to need a C-section?”
“We’ve got eight weeks before it comes to that. There’s a lot we can do to try to turn the baby beforehand.”
“Like what?”
“Moxibustion.” She sat down across from Lacy. “I’ll give you the name of an acupuncturist. She’ll take a little stick of mugwort and hold it up to your little pinky. She’ll do the same thing on the other side. It won’t hurt, but it’ll be uncomfortably warm. Once you learn how to do it at home, if you start now chances are fairly good that the baby will turn in one to two weeks’ time.”
“Poking myself with a stick is going to make it flip?”
“Well, not necessarily. That’s why I also want you to set an ironing board up against the couch, to make an inclined plane. You should lie on it, head down, three times a day for fifteen minutes.”
“Jeez, Lacy. Are you sure you don’t want me to wear a crystal, too?”
“Believe me, any of those are considerably more comfortable than having a doctor do a version to turn the baby…or recuperating from a C-section.”
Alex folded her hands over her belly. “I don’t hold much faith in old wives’ tales.”
Lacy shrugged. “Luckily, you’re not the one who’s breech.”
You weren’t supposed to give your clients rides to court, but in Nadya Saranoff’s case, Alex had made an exception. Nadya’s husband had been abusive and had left her for another woman. He wouldn’t pay child support for their two boys, although he was making a decent living and Nadya’s job at Subway paid $5.25 an hour. She’d complained to the state, but justice worked too slow, so she’d gone to Wal-Mart and shoplifted a pair of pants and a white shirt for her five-year-old, who was starting school the following week and who had outgrown all of his clothing.
Nadya had pled guilty. Because she couldn’t afford a fine, she was given a thirty-day jail sentence deferred-which, as Alex was explaining to her now, meant that she wouldn’t have to go for a year. “If you go to jail,” she said, as they stood outside the ladies’ room in the courthouse, “your boys are going to suffer greatly. I know you felt desperate, but there’s always another option. A church. Or a Salvation Army.”
Nadya wiped her eyes. “I couldn’t get to the church or the Salvation Army. I haven’t got a car.”
Right. It was why Alex had brought her to court in the first place.
Alex steeled herself against sympathy as Nadya ducked into the bathroom. Her job had been to get Nadya a good deal, which she had, considering this was the woman’s second shoplifting offense. The first one had been at a drugstore; she’d pinched some Children’s Tylenol.
She thought of her own baby, the one who had her lying upside down on an ironing board and sticking torturous little daggers against her pinky toes every night, in the hopes that it would change position. What sort of disadvantage would it be to come into this world backward?
When ten minutes had passed and Nadya had not come out of the bathroom, Alex knocked on the door. “Nadya?” She found her client in front of the sinks, sobbing. “Nadya, what’s wrong?”
Her client ducked her head, mortified. “I just got my period, and I can’t afford a tampon.”
Alex reached for her purse, rummaging for a quarter to feed to the dispenser on the wall. But as the cardboard tube rolled out of the machine, something inside her snapped, and she understood that although this case had been settled, it wasn’t over yet. “Meet me out front,” she ordered. “I’m getting the car.”
She drove Nadya to Wal-Mart-the scene of her crime-and tossed three supersized Tampax boxes into a cart. “What else do you
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