Chương 3
Inside the ambulance, the paramedic wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm while her partner started an IV in my left hand.
“Any medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Complications with the pregnancy?”
“No.”
“Baby moving normally today?”
I pressed my palm against the side of my stomach.
For several terrible seconds, I felt nothing.
Then a small heel pushed back against me.
“Yes.”
The paramedic glanced at the monitor clipped to my finger.
“That’s good.”
Another contraction built slowly, tightening across my lower back before curling around my abdomen.
I counted through it because counting gave me something to do besides imagine incubators and tiny lungs that were not ready.
One.
Two.
Three.
By twelve, I had stopped counting and started breathing through my teeth.
The paramedic watched my face.
“How close are those?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll time them.”
The ambulance turned sharply, and a cabinet latch rattled beside my head.
My phone buzzed against my thigh.
Denise had tucked it beside me before the doors closed.
Three messages were waiting.
The first was from Evan.
I’m five minutes away.
The second was from Brianna.
Mom is freaking out.
The third arrived while I was reading.
Please don’t make this worse than it is.
I stared at the screen.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
There were a dozen things I could have written.
I could have asked whether she had watched Mom’s hand connect with my face.
I could have asked whether she had heard me scream when I hit the water.
I could have asked whether she was truly worried about Mom right now.
Instead, I locked the phone.
The paramedic noticed.
“Family?”
“My sister.”
“She coming to the hospital?”
“I hope not.”
That answer surprised me.
Usually, even in my own head, I softened things.
I hope she gives me some space.
I hope she calms down.
I hope we can talk later.
But I meant exactly what I had said.
I did not want her there.
The ambulance slowed, then stopped.
The back doors opened to bright afternoon light and the hard mechanical hum of the hospital loading area.
Everything moved faster after that.
A nurse met us inside.
Someone asked my birth date.
Someone else asked whether I had insurance.
A monitor was strapped around my belly.
A nurse with silver-framed glasses found the baby’s heartbeat, and the quick steady rhythm filled the room.
I cried when I heard it.
Not dramatically.
The tears simply slid sideways into my hair while I stared at the ceiling.
“There we go,” the nurse said.
“One-forty-two.”
“Is that okay?”
“That’s a reassuring heart rate.”
Reassuring.
It became my favorite word in the English language.
The nurse examined me and frowned slightly.
“You’re contracting every four to five minutes.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to have obstetrics evaluate you right away.”
“Am I having the baby?”
“I can’t answer that yet.”
She was careful with her voice.
I appreciated her for not lying.
Evan arrived before the doctor did.
He came through the door wearing his work clothes, gray slacks and a blue button-down with one sleeve rolled higher than the other.
His hair was damp around his temples.
He looked at me, then at the monitor, then at the swelling beginning along my cheek.
“What did she do to you?”
I reached for him.
He took my hand.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You have that face.”
“What face?”
“The one you had when the plumber charged us six hundred dollars.”
“That man robbed us.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
It hurt my stomach.
Evan bent and kissed my forehead.
His hand stayed at the back of my neck.
Then he looked at the nurse.
“Is the baby okay?”
“The tracing is reassuring.”
His shoulders dropped an inch.
“Okay.”
He repeated it quietly.
“Okay.”
Dr. Patel entered a few minutes later with a resident behind her.
She had been my obstetrician since the beginning of my pregnancy, and seeing a familiar face made me want to cry again.
She pulled a stool close to the bed.
“Savannah, I heard you’ve had an eventful afternoon.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Her eyes went to my cheek.
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
I told her.
This time, I did not minimize anything.
I told her about the slap.
The fall.
The pool.
The contractions.
The fluid.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she examined me, ordered an ultrasound, and explained that they needed to confirm whether my membranes had ruptured and whether the fall had caused any problems with the placenta.
“We’re going to monitor you closely.”
“For how long?”
“At least overnight, possibly longer.”
“And if my water really broke?”
“At thirty-four weeks, there are several factors we consider.”
She paused.
“We may be looking at delivery sooner than you planned.”
Evan tightened his grip on my hand.
“How much sooner?”
“Potentially very soon.”
The room became too small.
I looked at the plastic bassinet parked against the wall.
It was empty.
A folded receiving blanket lay inside.
The sight of it made my chest ache.
I had planned another month.
I had planned finishing the nursery.
I had planned washing the newborn clothes that still had tags on them.
I had planned buying the car seat that was sitting in my online cart because Evan wanted to compare one more safety rating.
“You need to tell me the worst-case scenario,” I said.
Dr. Patel held my gaze.
“If labor progresses, we may not be able to stop it.”
“And the baby?”
“Babies born at thirty-four weeks often do very well, but many need support in the neonatal intensive care unit.”
Often.
Another word that was both comfort and threat.
Evan asked the practical questions because that was what he did when he was scared.
Steroids for lung development.
Antibiotics.
NICU availability.
Delivery options.
I listened until the answers blurred together.
Then my phone began vibrating again.
Once.
Twice.
May you like
Three times.
Evan looked at the screen.
