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Chapter Twenty-Two
Josephine
It’s the day before Christmas Eve—nearly four weeks since Maceo and his team left for Colombia, meaning I’m fifteen weeks along in my pregnancy.
Maceo.
He comes home tonight. I’m so fucking relieved and excited for his return. To see Maceo with my own eyes, and feel his heart under my palm, will be heaven after weeks without him.
It’s almost enough to make this appointment with my doctor bearable.
Doctor Stoll's head of gray hair is bent over my latest test results. His brows are pinched together, his lips in a thin line. He reads through the finds in silence as I sit on the exam table on pins and needles.
Nervous, I look for a distraction to keep my thoughts occupied, scanning the small room and its muted blue walls but finding nothing to hold my interest.
Ebony sits in the plastic chair in the corner, blowing bubbles with her gum. She wanted to tag along today and see what all the others had been fussing over. What I like about Ebony is that she never sweats the small stuff and is good at being chill even when big things are happening. I find her presence reassuring and less suffocating than most.
The doctor looks up over his wire-rim glass with sympathy in his eyes. “Your glucose results came back. I’m sorry to say you have gestational diabetes.”
Fuck me.
“It’s quite common when a woman is pregnant with twins, or when the baby is large,” Doctor Stoll explains. “You, unfortunately, got a double-dose—big twins.”
My arms wrap around my midsection, cradling my stomach. I was already concerned with the potential side effects of being high risk. Gestational diabetes is just another ding against me.
The backs of my eyes sting
Ebony reaches over and gives me a comforting squeeze on my bicep.
“So what does this mean moving forward?” I ask, my voice shaky. “Will the babies be alright?”
“Your babies are going to be fine, but they’ll need more monitoring. I’m going to send you to our prenatal department to set up weekly care visits to monitor the health of the babies…” I take mental notes as my doctor goes over how to use a glucose meter, seeing a dietician, regular exercise, and increased ultrasound visits. “If that fails, then insulin injections will be necessary to control your blood glucose.”
“What are the complications if it’s not controlled?”
I had to ask, but that doesn’t mean I want to hear the worst-case scenarios. Bed rest, excessive birth weight, possible C-section, high blood pressure, preeclampsia, preterm birth, stillbirth…
I gulp. This all sounds horrible.
“Not my intent to frighten you, only to give you the facts,” he says, reading my body language. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t advise you properly. Just know that gestational diabetes is treatable as long as you follow the care plan. Do you have any questions?”
“Yeah. Can I start my special diet after the holidays? I should be entitled to at least indulge on Christmas.”
My doctor raises one finger. “One day, Jo. I’ll give you that, but the sooner we regulate your diet, the better.”
Merry fucking Christmas to me.
* * *
The rest of my day is busy. I’ve been excited about the trendy boutique project downtown, but even this isn’t enough to pull me out of my stupor entirely. I contemplated calling my parents or sister to tell them what’s going on with the twins, but decided against it. This is a conversation I need to share with my husband first. He would be upset to hear the news second hand; I know I would be.
As upset as I am about having gestational diabetes, I try not to let it overshadow my client’s reveal. It would be extremely unprofessional of me to lose it in front of a client. For now, I need to keep all my worries locked inside.
I do my last walkthrough, pleased with the final results of the remodel.
It’s not my favorite type of project to take on, but it keeps my company running. Build projects come with their own set of headaches, but something is refreshing about starting from scratch. Removing the old and starting anew. You get to design it the way you see fit without preexisting factors.
Remodels are an entirely different beast, forcing you to work within a current structure that may not flow the way you wish.
