Page 104 of Fourteen of a Kind

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Well, there’s nothing like a magnificent cup of coffee to help with that. I’ll go make some while you get in the shower.”

“This is why I love you so much.” I smiled. “You spoil me.”

“It’s my job as your husband.” He tapped the end of my nose and climbed out of bed.

As I stood in the shower, trying to wake up, I placed my hand on my belly, which felt queasy. The shower door opened, and my handsome husband stepped in.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“You know I love taking showers together.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Oh God.” I placed my hand over my mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel sick.” I lay my head on his shoulder.

“A lot of people at the hospital are sick. I hope you didn’t catch something.” He softly rubbed my back.

“I’ll be okay. I have a busy surgical day, so I don’t have a choice.”

I finished my shower and climbed out. I picked up the coffee Graham set on the bathroom counter and brought it to my lips. Before I could even take a sip, a wave of nausea swept over me. I quickly dumped it in the sink.

“You dumped a full cup of coffee out?” Graham asked as he dried himself with a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

“I can’t drink it. Just the smell is making me sick.”

“Maybe you should call in and stay home and rest.”

“I can’t. I’ll be okay. Do we have any Zofran left?”

“Yeah. I just saw the bottle in the cabinet the other day.”

“I’m going to take one.”

I left the bathroom and walked down to the kitchen. Opening the cabinet where we stored medications, I grabbed the bottle and shook a pill in my hand.

“Okay, my little friend. Work your magic.” I popped it in my mouth and chased it down with some water.

Graham came flying down the stairs and grabbed his shoes. “I have to go, babe. Dr. Ashley just paged me about one of my patients.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there. I love you.” I handed him his bag.

“I love you too. Feel better.” He kissed my forehead.

As soon as I dressed, I climbed into my car and headed to the hospital. I was already running late, and the traffic didn’t help.

“There you are,” My Uncle Jackson said when I walked into the scrub room.

“Sorry. I wasn’t feeling well this morning.” I began to scrub in.

“Are you okay now?” he asked with concern.

“Yeah. I’m fine,” I lied.

During a complicated surgery, a wave of nausea hit. I began to sweat.

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