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Five Days Later
“Lucy, take a break.”
I’ve heard those words on repeat for the past five days.
After my talk with Anna, the nausea only seemed to get worse. I’m still living in denial because I can’t be pregnant. But as I peer at the calendar on my phone, the 18thcome and gone, the odds are stacked against me. I put my lateness down to my stress, but now, I’m not so sure.
There is no way this can be true because I don’t want it to be.
Anna passes me a bottle of water, no words needed. I gulp it down, thankful I can keep something down without wanting to throw up. “Sweetie, I’m only saying this because I love you, but if you don’t let me take your blood, I will take it when you’re asleep.”
Tact has never been a strong suit of Anna’s, but it’s welcomed. “Fine. I’m only doing this to prove you wrong,” I say, rolling up my sleeve. Anna is a nurse by trade, so I don’t doubt her threats.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I guzzle down my water. I’ve never had a fear of needles or blood, but when Anna opens the medical packet, producing a needle and vial, my cheeks bellow as I hold back my vomit.
Unable to look, I glance away, feeling like a complete chicken. It’s over in seconds, but I am still lightheaded when I stand. “Now, maybe you’ll let it go once you see the results are negative.”
She labels my vial of blood, grinning. “We’ll see.”
Dr. Edgerton enters after working a sixteen-hour shift. But this is common practice for us all. “Taking a break, girls? Good. You’ve both been run off your feet.” As he makes a beeline for the bottles of water, he notices Anna holding my blood. “Is everything all right?” I suddenly feel beyond guilty for agreeing.
“Can you check Lucy’s bloodwork when you can? She’s been feeling a little…pregnant.”
“Anna!” I admonish, embarrassed. “Dr. Edgerton, I completely understand you have better things to do than this. It’s fine, really.”
But he shakes his head, his kind eyes expressing nothing but understanding. “Of course, I will. You’re a valued team member, Lucy. If you are pregnant, it’s best you know right away. Being here is dangerous for everyone. You don’t want to put your unborn child at risk. Being exposed to diseases and…”
But his sentence remains unfinished because a deafening boom pierces our eardrums and dust clouds our vision. It only takes me a second to realize we’re under attack.
“Get down!” Dr. Edgerton uses his body as a shield, taking both Anna and me to the ground.
The world explodes around us, the pained cries of civilians mingling with the mayhem. The noise is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. It seems to last for hours, not minutes, but those minutes are the longest and most crucial moments of my life.
My life flashes before my eyes. From the beginning to end. I see myself as a small child, the years fast-forwarding as I grow into the woman I am today. An ache so deep slashes through me because only one thought runs on a loop—if I die here today, I will never look into his eyes, those soulful depths which have pulled me from murky waters time and time again. I will never feel his touch. I will never be able to tell him how much I love him and how I’m dying without him, piece by piece.
The longing I feel, the constant emptiness I dance with every breath I take, is all because of him. I know we agreed to cut all ties, but I miss him…so fucking much. A flutter stirs in my belly, and this time, it’s a tickle…a tickle of hope.
My ears are ringing, but when the weight shifts, I know the air strike has stopped. “Are you okay?” Dr. Edgerton’s voice seems miles away, but I nod.
Patting myself down, I see that I’m unscathed and so is Anna. But when a hysterical cry of a child catches on the foul-smelling air, I know we’re some of the lucky ones. Without a moment to lose, I run onto the battlefield, seeking out the crying youngster. I see him, feet away, cowering under the bed he was once lying upon.
It’s a flurry of survivors, attending to the victims, but my eye is on that little boy. His face is smeared with dirt, all except a clear path where his tears are falling. “It’s okay. I’m coming!” I shout to be heard over the bedlam.
Other people cry out for help, but I can’t stop, not now. I keep running until I reach his bed. Dropping to my knees, I extend my hands and assure him he’s okay. With complete trust, how only a child can, he scrambles toward me and buries himself in my arms. I promise he’ll be okay as I rub his back, peering at the damage around us.
Shielding his eyes, I hope to spare him the destruction and the awful memories he will always associate with this day. Some of my colleagues help the wounded while others give the dead the dignity they deserve.
My stomach does a backflip, but this time, it isn’t plagued with nausea. It’s filled with a sense of peace. Could it be possible, that by some fated mishap, a miracle,ourmiracle grows within me? In this war-ravaged place, can something so beautiful exist? The child I hold in my arms who, regardless of his circumstances, can open his heart to a mere stranger is proof that beauty exists far and wide.
Anna is ushering those who can walk to the back tent where ambulances and transport are waiting to transfer them to a safe location. Standing slowly, I tell the child, whose name I don’t even know, that we’re going to a safe place. I’m surprised to see that he’s fallen asleep in my arms.
That isn’t a deterrent as I aid the wounded, finally finding my peace. Finally finding where I belong.
We’re settled in a new makeshift hospital, an hour from where the air strike occurred. The crowded area doesn’t have enough beds, but everyone is helping where they can. Rami, the young boy I helped, found his mom. They were separated and, by some miracle, reunited over tragedy.
She thanked me profusely for helping her son, but little did she know, he’s the one who helped me. The need to protect him was automatic and made room for what might be.
As I’m bandaging a leg wound, my cell chimes in my back pocket. At first, I have no idea what it is because our remoteness over the past five days has left me with no service. I let it go to voicemail because nothing is more important than this.
