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The clock on the stove reads just after two. I inhale deeply and twist the phone up on the exhale. Close my eyes and focus on what Icancontrol. In less than two hours, I will see her. In less than two hours, we will figure out why she is having chest pains.Shelly will be okay. The baby will be okay.
“No, thank you,” she says softly, a smile in her voice.
“Take it easy until you leave. Please.” I don’t care if I come across as desperate. Iamdesperate.
She chuckles. “I will. Elizabeth won’t let me do anything except arrange. Not even paperwork. She says it’ll stress me out too much.”
Light laughter spills from my lips, although I feel anything but weightless.Thank you, Elizabeth.“I need to send that woman a fruit basket or something. Gift her art for her birthday.”
“She won’t say no.”
“I love you, Shell,” I say, my tone more somber. “So much.”
“Love you too, Dev. See you soon.”
“Soon.”
The call disconnects, but I don’t lower the phone from my ear. My limbs remain frozen while my mind continually whirls from the news.
I don’t know what is happening with Shelly, what has her heart in literal pain, but I swear to do whatever it takes to keep her safe. To keep the baby safe. She may not like what happens next, what treatment the doctor prescribes and how fragilely I tend to her every need, but I can’t lose her. Iwon’tlose her. Not now, not ever.
Ineedher. More than the air I breathe, more than the life force that keeps my heart beating, I need Shelly. And nothing will take her from me.
* * *
With each symptom Shelly tells Dr. Webster she experienced recently, I bite down harder on the inside of my cheek and curl my fingers tighter. Taste iron on my tongue as I break the skin. Feel the sting in my palms as my nails dig deeper.
These aren’t minor issues. Chest pain that occasionally gets better with deep breathing, but not always. Tingling in the chest. Problems breathing and tightness in the chest. Profuse sweating and random dizziness. The more symptoms she rattles off, the more it sounds like signs of a heart attack.
Why didn’t she tell me about this? I love her pride and independence, but this is different. This is serious. This not only affects Shelly, it also affects the baby.
You know why, my mind mocks. Because I would have rushed her to the emergency room. Would have begged her to stop working. Would have strongly encouraged her to sit on the couch all day and not lift a finger. All for something her regular doctor can easily help with.
Still… Shelly not speaking up and sharing this vital information makes me question her trust in me, in us. And that hurts the most.
Dr. Webster jots notes in Shelly’s file, then looks up with a soft, but serious expression. “From everything you’ve shared, it sounds as if you’re suffering from panic attacks. This isn’t abnormal for new mothers or parents.” She rolls herself closer to us on the stool. “But this is your body telling you that you need to relax more. Physically and mentally.” She lays a hand on Shelly’s forearm. “It’s okay to let go of some control right now. It’s okay to let others help.”
Paper crinkles as Shelly drops her head back on the exam table. “Feels like I’ve already given up so much.”
“And you may have. Just remind yourself why you’re giving up these tasks. Temporarily.” She scoots the stool back and stands. “When the little one arrives, life will slowly go back to normal. Well, the new normal.” Dr. Webster shifts her gaze my way. “Let Dad help out. Anything heavy or stressful, let him carry some of the weight.”
Pushing up on her elbows, Shelly moves to a seated position. “What about work?” She tugs her top back in position. “I need to work.” Desperation licks her tone, pleading with Dr. Webster to not take work away from her.
“You’re still at the florist shop?” Shelly nods. “Work is fine.” Shelly sags in relief just as Dr. Webster points a finger. “But no picking up boxes or bending at the waist. Simpler tasks only. Desk work or flower arrangements. I don’t foresee many disgruntled customers.”
Except maybe another visit from my mother.Please, no. No more visits from Karen Templar.
“I know giving up some of your freedoms isn’t easy, but it’s not just about you anymore.”
“You’re right.” Shelly sighs. “It’s just… how will I know what’s too strenuous until I do it?”
Dr. Webster chats with us a few more minutes before escorting us to the checkout desk. She mentions how panic attacks could elevate blood pressure. And uncontrolled blood pressure may equal bed rest, something Shelly definitely does not want. Before she walks off, she reminds Shelly one last time to go slow, to take her time. She suggests pregnancy yoga and meditation and more walks at the park.
We wander out the door and head for our cars. I hate that we are leaving in separate vehicles, especially after this visit, but thankfully the drive home is short. And then I will cater to Shelly while she relaxes.
The situation isn’t what either of us expected or wanted, but we have to adjust accordingly. Remind ourselves this modification in our daily routine is temporary. Remind ourselves why this change is necessary.
Sidling up to Shelly at her car, I press my lips to her forehead. “See you at home.”
