Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 892(@200wpm)___ 713(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
I blink in shock.
“Please move so I can go to the goddamn hospital,” she snaps.
I move two paces away from her to snatch up my keys and phone from the counter and she’s pulled the door wide, is already storming down the hall toward the elevator while I lock up. I rush to catch up to her and scoop her up into my arms.
“What are you doing?” she gasps.
“Carrying you.”
“You don’t have to do that, you-”
“Shh, baby. Shh.” I push the already lit elevator button and kiss her temple while I hold onto her.
Fuck. Fuck! Where’s the goddamn elevator?
It dings and opens. Before the doors are all the way open we’re inside and I’m smashing the button repeatedly with my thumb, willing it to fucking hurry so I can get her to the hospital. I stab my key in for an express ride down.
A baby. Our baby.
Fuck.
I stare up at the yellow lights moving as we descend into the garage, closing my eyes and doing what I can only think is a little like praying.
Please.
***
I’m pacing inside the tiny curtained-off area where she lies on a hospital bed, biting on her lip.
I refused to leave when she had to change into a gown and she got pissy with me about it, but I did not fucking care. I helped her into the gown and I’ve paced.
I have nothing else to do with this excess nervous energy, so that’s what I’m doing. Pacing. Pacing and thinking that if the doctor doesn’t get in here right fucking now and do something, I’ll lose my shit.
Who am I kidding? I’ve already lost my goddamned shit.
A young, blonde, ponytailed woman in polka-dot scrubs comes in.
“Hellooo,” she singsongs, “I’m Doctor Anderson. Nice to meet you. Violet Coulter?”
Violet nods.
“Is this daddy?” Dr. Anderson asks.
“Yeah. I’m her husband. What’s going on? You’re the doctor? You’re not an intern, are you?”
“I’m a doctor, yes.” She loses her perkiness and answers with a now-fake smile. “According to the urine dip, you are pregnant, Violet. Congratulations.”
Violet stares, wide-eyed, waiting for the but. I’m doing it, too.
“But,” the doctor continues, “we’re going to do an ultrasound to assess and see what’s what and we’re waiting on answers about levels in your bloodwork. Now, because of your dates, it’ll have to be a vaginal ultrasound so we can get a good look. We need to make sure the cervix is closed. If it is, this could be nothing to worry about. It’s quite common and based on your dates, is likely just implantation bleeding. Time will tell. But if the cervix is open, I’m sorry to say that it means miscarriage is imminent, and-”
“What can you do to stop it?” I demand.
Violet’s eyes are wide with fear. And I fucking hate it.
I move toward her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. She grasps my shirt and I’m thinking she’s about to shove me off, but instead, she hangs on.
“If all looks good, then have Violet rest and take it easy and hope it’s nothing. Threatened miscarriages are common, unfortunately frightening, and if the cervix is closed and we see what we need to see from the bloodwork, it’s likely nothing to worry about. If the cervix is open, there’s nothing that can be done. No guarantees, but if your dates are correct and your periods are fairly regular, this is most likely implantation bleeding. You said there was only a bit of blood.”
Violet nods.
“Even a bit of blood can be scary when you’re pregnant; I completely understand. Coming in was a good idea,” the doctor says.
I thrust my hand through my hair and use my free one to detach one of Violet’s hands from my shirt to hold it in mine. I kiss it and stare into her eyes, trying to convey with my expression what I’m feeling. Empathy. Fear. Hope.
She looks scared. Terrified. I drag the chair over as close to her as I can get and sit down and kiss her hand again.
“It’s gonna be okay, baby. Okay?”
She trembles with her fight to hold a sob back, I can tell. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and pull her a little so I can get my mouth to the top of her head.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I repeat, hoping I’m not telling my wife more lies.
“We’ll get you wheeled down to imaging and get some answers in a couple minutes, okay?” Dr. Anderson asks.
I rise.
“I’m coming,” I announce.
“Absolutely,” she agrees, opening the curtain. “Just one moment.”
Not a minute later, two guys in scrubs are with us, fiddling with the buttons on the side of Violet’s bed. I grab our jackets and Violet’s bag as well as her shoes and bundle of clothing, then we’re on the move down multiple corridors until they’ve wheeled her into another room.