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I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens to her.
As soon as I park the car near the entrance, I turn and face her. “I’m going to get a wheelchair. I’ll be right back.”
She hums.
I sprint to the entrance. To my luck, I bump into a woman in a hospital outfit pushing an empty wheelchair.
“Excuse me, where can I get one of them?”
The woman glances at me.
“My girlfriend is in the car, but she can’t walk and needs to see a doctor. She hit her head and has been vomiting the entire day and—”
“Sir, breathe. Take this wheelchair and bring her inside,” she says, offering me the chair.
I thank her and turn around to get back to my car, but when I open it, my heart almost stops seeing Amanda slumped in her seat. “Amanda?” I ask as I touch her face and she responds with a faint groan. Within seconds, I scoop her up in my arms and rush into the emergency room entrance, forgetting about the wheelchair. “Everything will be fine,” I promise in an effort to sound reassuring.
The nurse who gave me the wheelchair sees me and points to a set of doors. “Please, this way.”
I follow her, and once we’re through the door, she addresses a doctor standing nearby. The woman stops by a bed. “Lay her on the stretcher.”
The man stops beside the bed and looks at Amanda, then at me. “What happened?”
“I found her in the bathroom. She told me she’s been throwing up all day after hitting her head, but it started nonstop over three hours ago when she came home. I called the GP, and they told me to bring her here. Please, you need to help her.”
The doctor grabs Amanda’s wrist, checks her pulse, and asks, “What’s her name?”
“Amanda,” I answer.
The doc pats her hand. “Amanda, I’m Doctor Carlson.”
She opens her eyes to slits and shakes her head. Her hand goes to her belly, and her eyes dart to me and then to the doctor. “I’m pregnant,” she whispers. “Please, I need to be sure it’s okay.”
My heart stops as her words sink in.
Pregnant? Did she just say she’s pregnant?
My gaze glides to Amanda. Worry whirls inside her eyes as she holds her palm protectively over her lower belly.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you,” he answers in a calm way before turning his attention to the nurse.
“Okay, let’s put her on an IV with fluid. I’m going to add something that hopefully reduces nausea. I want to run a blood test and do a few tests to get a complete overview of what is wrong.”
“Can you please make sure my baby is okay? I need to know if it’s okay,” she says in a panicked tone.
The doctor nods. “Calm down, miss. I’ll see if we can do an ultrasound.”
“Thank you,” she whispers before closing her eyes.
As she rests, my mind is a spinning wheel with questions.How long has she known she’s pregnant?Bile rises when I recall what I said to her about what I wanted her to do if she was pregnant with my baby. The questions keep coming.What happens now? And most importantly, what about the baby? Is it healthy?Does its heart beat?
A long two hours later, a stream of elation flows through my heart, softening the tension that’s been building in my body since I found her in her bathroom.
I observe Amanda’s demeanor, taking note of her appearance, which seems to be improving. She is no longer vomiting and the color has returned to her cheeks. She looks exhausted but better. The doctor performed a few neurological tests to determine if further scans of her head were necessary. Thankfully, she passes all the tests.
A doctor comes into the room with a tool that I expect to be an ultrasound machine. She asks Amanda a few questions, and then Amanda lowers her pants and pulls up her shirt. I scoot closer to her in my chair as the lady applies gel to her belly. After she spreads the gel, the woman glances at the monitor while moving the equipment around. Despite the panic rising in me like an unstoppable tide, my eyes are glued to the screen, even though I’m not sure what I’m searching for.
Suddenly, Amanda gasps, and she points to the screen.
