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“We need to go faster,” I said. Being on a secluded island had its perks, but getting to help in a medical emergency wasn’t one of them. I kept a tight hold on Sam’s hand. “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” I told her.
I wasn’t sure Samantha registered my words; she was so lost in the pain. It felt like my own spine was being ripped from my body as I watched her suffer, but I wouldn’t look away. Anything could happen if I looked away. I was trained in first aid, could remove a bullet, and put in respectable stitches. But internal stuff? I had no clue.
“The baby,” she sobbed. “Oh God, the baby.”
It felt like a slap. I hadn’t even thought about the baby, only concerned something was wrong with Sam. I squeezed her hands and murmured nonsense in Russian, afraid to promise everything would be okay. I should have been as worried about the baby as she was, but I wouldn’t be able to breathe, let alone think about anything else, until I knew that she would be all right.
We finally pulled into the emergency bay at the small hospital, and I carried her in, shouting for someone to help us. An orderly ran over with a wheelchair, and I lowered her into it. She doubled over as soon as she was seated, reaching for my hand.
Thankfully the place was close to empty, just a drunk with a bandage around his head sleeping it off in the corner. A nurse came out with a clipboard and asked me a few questions. I answered as best I could.
“She’s pregnant,” I said, trying to remember how far along.
“First trimester?” she asked.
At a loss, Sam nodded from her hunched-over position, still panting as the pain refused to subside.
“We might be having a miscarriage,” the nurse said, waving for me to stay back as she wheeled her through the swinging doors.
At hearing that, Sam wailed as if her heart was breaking, and I seriously considered putting a hit on that damned nurse for speaking so carelessly. To hell with waiting with the drunk. I pushed through the doors, where another nurse jumped out and stopped me.
“Hang tight, hon,” she said in a syrupy southern accent. “Let the doc check her over, and I’ll call for you.”
I shook my head, about to barrel past her, my eyes locked on Sam huddled and crying as the other one wheeled her further away, “I have to make sure she’s going to be okay,” I said, my voice cracking.
“You’re just going to get in the way and hinder the doctor,” she said reasonably.
No, I didn’t want that. I only wanted the best for her. I nodded miserably as I watched her disappear behind a curtain, her anguished crying drifting back to me and tearing me apart.
Chapter 22 - Samantha
The pain kept ripping through me, but the fear was worse. From the first moment it hit, so hard that it made me crumble to the ground, all I could think about was my baby. I couldn’t lose my baby. I was unable to remind myself that it wasn’t mine. I wasn’t strong enough at the moment to pretend I hadn’t been slowly becoming more attached with every passing day, not with the pain and the fear that I might be losing it. I knew now that when I had to give it up, the sadness would probably kill me, but in the moment, all I wanted was for it to be all right.
Someone came at me with a needle, and I swatted them away. The movement caused another wave of pain that took my breath away, but I struggled to get through to the nurse, who was determined to stab me with that needle. Hadn’t I been through enough in the last few weeks? Seriously, I’d survived two attempts on my life, but thinking about drugs harming the baby when it might already be in trouble made me ball up my fist. I’d never hit anyone before, but I was prepared to do it if she didn’t back off.
“We just want to give you a little sedative,” the nurse said.
Maybe she’d put her needle away if I could calm myself down. The problem was that I was stuck in a whirlwind of terror I couldn’t escape. It had started that morning when I woke up before the pain knocked me down. Now it was worse than ever because my baby was in trouble, and they wanted to fill me full of toxic chemicals.
“I’m pregnant,” I reminded them. They could go straight to hell with their miscarriage diagnosis before even examining me, thinking they could pump me full of dangerous drugs.
“Yes, and this is a mild sedative perfectly safe for baby,” she said.
After a brief staredown, I held out my arm as best I could from my doubled-over position. Within minutes I was blissfully floating above it all, free from the heart-rending terror. I was still worried, but it was at enough of a distance that I was able to let them get me onto the exam table. The doctor came in and checked me out while I counted the tiny water stains on the ceiling.
Another nurse stuck her head between the curtains, asking if Leo could come in. She seemed somewhat annoyed with him. Hadn’t I been annoyed with him, too? Just that morning? It was hard to remember.
“Yes, I want him here,” I said. “He’s the baby’s father.”
A second later, he burst into the exam area. “Is she going to be okay?” he demanded.
In my sedative haze, I wondered if someone had told him the baby was going to be a girl. But it was much too early to be able to tell yet. Was he asking about me? I felt him take my hand, and I turned my head to try to smile at him.
“The pain’s not so bad anymore,” I told him, finding it hard to form the words since my lips felt heavy. I barely took acetaminophen. Whatever “mild” drug they’d given me was doing a number on me.
The doctor stepped back. “You’re not losing the baby.”
That got through to me, and I closed my eyes, feeling tears of relief leak out and down my cheeks.
