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She turns on her heel and trots off obediently into the bathroom, and another cramp takes hold.I don’t like the feel of that. All my panicky patients where it turned out to be nothing … the lovely old Jewish guy flapping his hands in the ER yesterday. I need to be more sympathetic.
“It’s very unlikely I’ll pass out, but if I do, you need to do the talking for me, tell them I’m pregnant, get them to scan me.”
The buzzer in the apartment sounds loud in the quiet, making us both jump.
“That’ll be them.”
“Shit. Do you want me to come with you to hospital?” Liss says.
“Yes. Oh God yes. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. I’ll fling some clothes on.”
She races to the buzzer and tells the night doorman to let them up, and it feels like only minutes later I’m talking to a very nice paramedic who’s delighted I’m an intern; and it feels normal and almost light-hearted as he teases me about not being certified yet, and am I sure I know what I’m doing? God, he’s good at his job. After a series of questions which I know are all correct, a spasm grabs me across my back and abdomen and I gasp and double over, grabbing on to his shoulder for support.
“Okay, Kate,” he says. “Just hold on there. We’re going to get you to hospital right away.”
And the second guy is there, and they’re helping me onto a stretcher, Liss buzzing around, now fully dressed and gathering up things we might need. Within minutes we are in the ambulance, red light flashing over the small window as we bump through the empty streets.Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.Nausea catches the back of my throat, and I’m breathing too fast; it’s making me light-headed. The prickle behind my eyes intensifies. There’s something about this situation, my mind skittering toward losing the baby and away again, and I rub my hand over my stomach in silent apology.
Liss must see something in my face because she grabs my hand. “You okay?”
My smile wobbles, and I nod as tears leak out unbidden over my cheeks.
“Yeah, you look okay. What a stupid question. Do you think you’re losing it?”
I nod again, unable to articulate a single word, and she leans right over the stretcher and pulls me into a hug. She holds me so tightly but so carefully that I want her to do that forever, breathe in her soft smell of peaches and disappear into her, emerge into a velvety, sweeter world. The cotton of her T-shirt is soft beneath my hands, and I can feel her breath on my neck and the thrum of her pulse and the hard body from all her running; the sheer life of Liss coursing out of her and through us both.
“Have I told you how much I love you?” I say.
I feel her laugh through my body.
“Stop being sentimental. You’ll scare me into thinking you’re dying, and then there’ll be no stopping my panic,” she mumbles into my ear.
My mouth curls up, and the tears recede. Right on, Liss, you’re a badass in an emergency situation. Maybe I’ll try that line on my patients next time. Fabian, oh Fabian.I’m so sorry.
As if she can read my mind, Liss pulls back, eyes roaming my face. “Where’s Fabian headed?”
I hand her my phone and lie back and close my eyes. “Can you call him? Tell him to go to Bellevue.”
I need to hold on here: I think I’m losing the baby, but I’ve seen enough emergencies to know that it’s never clear cut; bleeds happen all the time.
The arrival at hospital and the chat with the doctor passes in a blur, and of course there’s no issues here. I’ve met the doctor on duty before, and if she’s surprised by the pregnancy, she says nothing. Just pats my hand and tells me about her own three miscarriages and her three strapping teenage boys as she examines me and asks me how far along I am. And I choke out, “Sixteen weeks,” and start crying again, tears leaking out all over the bed and the pillow. She squeezes my hand as Liss hugs me, and tells me what I already know: that they need to do blood tests and a scan and she wants to keep an eye on me. And I’m warm with the idea of being here and in her hands. This job. One day I want to be a doctor like this.
As she pats my hand, she tells me quietly that, given the quantity of blood, she suspects that I’m losing the baby, but she doesn’t think there’s anything worse going on. And in that moment, I’m standing next to her in my white coat, watching the words coming out of her mouth, another smiling doctor discussing someone else’s pregnancy.
In the middle of all this, Fabian arrives with his hair in a wild halo around his head, clothes askew. He sits on my bed as Liss stands to the side listening to the doctor, and tears well up in his eyes as he listens too. Liss frowns at the pair of us then decides loudly that what this situation needs is good coffee. I close my eyes. Fabian’s warm deep voice asking questions sends a thrill of reassurance through me.
But, of course, there’s no reassurance here. When she scans, there’s no heartbeat and Fabian’s face crumples as he buries his head in his hands. I can’t believe I’m losing it so late on the chances are …
But the doctor just says she’s admitting me, that the fetus should pass naturally, but she can give me something to speed up the process if we need it.
“Josh,” Fabian says, head snapping up as his Adam’s apple bobs. “We called him Josh.”
We did?
The doctor nods. “Of course. Josh,” she says.
And twenty-four hours later we’re asked whether we want to see him. It feels like a big question, but Fabian says yes before I can stop him, and we’re given a small bundle wrapped in a white muslin cloth. He’s tiny and perfect, and my whole chest feels like it’s trapped in a vice as I stare at the small pink and blue bundle and then at Fabian blinking. Hard lines are etched in his face.
