Page 151 of First in Line

He presses a kiss against my forehead before sitting beside the bed, his hand immediately finding mine while the other comes over my bump. “Did you get the results from the test?”

I shake my head. “He should have them with him.”

A knock sounds at the door before it opens again. The obstetrician walks in holding a thin file. “Ah, Mr. Reyes. Welcome.”

Jax nods. “Doctor.”

“We’ve received the blood and urine results.” He places the file down near the computer before washing his hands at the sink. “Your blood pressure is still elevated, and there are traces of protein in your urine. Not enough for me to diagnose preeclampsia at this stage, but enough that I want to monitor you carefully.”

I swallow, resting a hand over Jackson’s on my stomach. “Okay.”

He pulls the ultrasound machine closer to the bed. “Let’s have a look at your baby.”

Used to this, I lift my top all the way and lower my already opened jeans. The gel is cold when he squirts it on, and I jump a little. This, I’m not getting used to.

He spreads it with the probe. The sound and the image are all over the place until he stabilizes his motions. Then, we hear the fast pulse of our baby’s heartbeat.

I exhale, some tension releasing from my body. And next to me, Jax also seems reassured, his hold on my hand tightening.

The doctor studies the screen in silence, moving the probe slowly across my stomach. His expression doesn’t change much, but I notice the way his eyes narrow slightly in concentration.

“What is it?” I ask immediately.

“Baby looks alright,” he says first. “Heartbeat is good.”

“But?”

He pauses the image. “There’s a small area behind the placenta where bleeding has occurred.” He points at a dark, crescent-shaped shadow on the screen. “It appears to be a minor partial abruption.”

My stomach drops. “What does that mean?” Jax asks before I can.

“It means a small part of the placenta has lifted away from the uterine wall. Right now, it’s limited. The baby is developing normally, and there’s no immediate distress. The separation area is small enough that it shouldn’t be a problem for the baby’s growth. If it gets worse, there could be complications.”

“Like what?” Jax asks.

“The baby might not get enough nutrients and oxygen, in which case the fetus’ development might be affected or stop completely. You’ve just entered the second trimester, which means there’s still a long way to go until the baby is fully formed.”

“Can it reattach?” I ask.

“Alas, no. But it could worsen and detach more.”

“How can we make sure it doesn’t?”

“Reduced activity. Rest as much as possible. No unnecessary physical exertion. No traveling. I also want your stress levels kept under control. More frequent monitoring moving forward. And if the bleeding increases, if the pain worsens, or if you experience contractions, come back immediately. Day or night.”

“Okay.” I stare at the screen, at the dark area that’s jeopardizing everything. “Did I do something wrong?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

The doctor shakes his head. “No. This is not your fault.”

“But I can’t stop stressing.”

“Which isn’t something you can control. But it might help if you talked to a therapist. I’ll recommend you one or two when this is over.”

He unfreezes the screen and drags the probe around again. “I know this sounds bad, but if you do as I said and rest, everything should be alright.”

“Okay.”

“Now, I like to counterbalance news like this with something good. Did you want to know the sex of your baby?”