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But she doesn’t sit. She remains standing in place, not moving, not blinking.
“So sit. Or leave. Either way makes no difference to me.”
She doesn’t respond, and I think she’s just upset at what I said. But as she continues to stand there, lightly swaying, doubts begin to creep in.
Her eyes are glazed and unfocused. “I don’t feel well,” she whispers.
“Liz, are you okay?”
“Something’s not right,” she responds. But her words are slurred and unclear. When she grabs the arm of the couch for support, I rush over to her. I help her sit on the couch and put my arm around her, afraid she might fall over.
The anger rushes out of my body and is replaced with concern.
“Liz? What’s wrong? Are you dizzy? Is it the baby? Talk to me.” I know I’m firing off questions faster than she can answer, but I’m getting worried.
“I’m fine. I’m just exhausted, and I need some water, please.” Her eyes are still unfocused. But it’s her sudden lack of energy that has me scared. She was fine just minutes ago.
Not willing to take any chances, I grab my cell phone and dial 911. I realize I’m probably overreacting, but I’ve never been in this situation before. Worst case, I’ll just look like an idiot when help arrives.
As I’m talking to the 911 operator, explaining the situation, I get Liz water. She drinks it thirstily. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but some color seems to be coming back to her face.
I crack open my front door so the paramedics can come in when they arrive. Afraid to leave Liz alone for even a second, I sit beside her. She barely notices when I rub her hand soothingly as she lays back on the couch. “Don’t worry, paramedics are on their way. You’re going to be fine.”
She doesn’t respond, just stares listlessly at nothing.
I’m determined to remain calm for Liz. She doesn’t need to be upset or worried.
I’m still on the phone with the 911 operator, urging them to hurry when the paramedics arrive less than five minutes later. They swiftly move into action, checking Liz’s vital signs. The paramedic closest to me turns with his tablet.
“Sir, I have some questions I need to ask about your wife. Does she have any known medical conditions?”
“Um, no, not that I’m aware of. But she’s not my wife. She’s just a friend . . . so I’m not sure.”
“Okay, any problems with the pregnancy so far?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Do you know how far along she is?”
Relieved to be able to answer at least this question, I nod my head. “Yes, She’s almost thirty-three weeks along.”
I look behind me to where Liz is lying. While I was being questioned, they brought in a stretcher and gently but quickly laid her down. The panic I’d been holding back now surges forward.
“Wait, what’s going on?” I ask the paramedic strapping her down. He’s so young that I wonder if he even graduated high school. He doesn’t answer but continues with the straps.
The condo is chaotic in manic activity, with people seemingly everywhere. Where did they all come from? A uniformed guy about my age passes by, and I put my hand on his arm to stop him from walking by. “She’s okay, right?”
Behind him, I see the younger paramedic and another man begin to wheel Liz out. Anxiety like I’ve never felt takes hold of my chest. How can they all be so calm? I want to scream at them to hurry up. Why are they all walking so slowly?
A paramedic stops in front of me, his eyes crinkled in kindness. His expression is calm yet concerned. “Sir. Your wife is okay. But this is a medical emergency. We need to get her to the hospital. They will check her out there and run the necessary tests.” He puts his hand on my upper arm and squeezes. “Everything will be fine. You can meet us there.”
Everything will be fine. That’s what he said, and I’m going to hold him to that. I grab my keys and wallet off the table and rush out of the condo.
Liz has to be okay. She just has to be.
Chapter 4
Liz
