Page 76 of Not Our First Rodeo
My name is called a few minutes later, and I prop a hand on my back and waddle through the door the nurse has open for me, my feet screaming as the sandals cut into my skin. I thought my days of sore muscles and blisters and foot pain were over, but I underestimated pregnancy and the toll it would take on my body.
We go through the routine of taking my weight—which I still avoid looking at—and head back into a room. I take a seat in the chair next to her small desk against the wall, thankful to be off my feet once more.
“How are you feeling?” the nurse asks. I’ve had her before, and she’s always been kind. She’s younger than me, fresh-faced and always wearing a smile.
“Swollen and tired,” I tell her. “And I’ve been getting these terrible headaches for the past couple of weeks. They were originally getting better with medicine, but now even that’s not touching it.”
A look of alarm passes over her face, but it’s gone so quickly I almost think I’ve imagined it. She types something into the laptop and reaches for the blood pressure cuff. “I’m sorry. That sounds miserable. Let’s go ahead and get your blood pressure.”
She hesitates when she goes to wrap it around my arm, her eyes fixed on my hand. Last week Beau had to massage my hand with lotion to get my wedding ring off, and I haven’t put it back on since. My hand feels bare.
“Swollen hands?” she asks, glancing up at me. I nod, and she looks back down, this time at my feet. “Feet, too, it looks like.”
“Very,” I say. “These are the only shoes that still fit.”
She nods absentmindedly and slips the blood pressure cuff onto my arm before pressing her stethoscope to my elbow. The band tightens around my arm, the sound of her squeezing the ball the only sound in the room. I can feel the blood rushing in my arm and even more clearly, the feeling of the baby kicking me right in the rib. It brings a little smile to my face.
Until I see the nurse’s expression change. “163/111.”
My heart stops, and I look at the pressure gauge. “That can’t be right.” My blood pressure has always been a little elevated, most likely due to my anxiety, but never enough to require medication. Over the last few appointments, it’s been slightly higher, but my doctor said it wasn’t high enough to be concerned.
But this number is critical.
“I’ll go get the doctor,” the nurse says, pushing up from her chair and flashes me a smile. “No need to worry.”
She leaves me alone, and all the anxiety that has been slowly diminishing over the course of the pregnancy comes back with a vengeance, threatening to cut off my oxygen. I need Beau, and of course, it’s the one time he isn’t here.
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my lungs burning, and the walls seem to be closing in. My palm lands on my stomach, a protective instinct I don’t quite understand. In the quiet of the room, my breath comes in loud gasps.
But for some reason, the panic doesn’t fully take over. Not like before. It stays thrumming in my chest, present enough for meto feel it, but distant enough for me to use every ounce of mental strength I have to push against it.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper to myself over and over again, but I don’t hear it in my own voice. I hear it as if Beau is next to me, whispering it in my hair, his hand making soothing circles on my back.
I look down at my stomach, watching as a little foot or hand pushes against it. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise.”
The door opens, wrenching my attention away from my stomach. The doctor gives me a reassuring smile, but I can see the look of concern lingering beneath it.
“So your blood pressure has shot up,” she says, sitting in the chair the nurse vacated and opening her laptop. “I think you know that was a seriously high number.”
I nod, my throat tight.
Her eyes soften as she looks at me, and she drops her hands from her keyboard, settling them in her lap. “The good news is this isn’t anything we haven’t seen before. We’re going to run a test to check for protein in your urine. If it’s present, it would be an indicator of preeclampsia, which is a severe condition that can lead to complications for both you and baby.”
My heart rate quickens, and I can feel it everywhere in my body.
“Luckily, if that’s the case, you’re in the best place. While we wait on the results of your urine test, we will do a Doppler to check on baby and hear her heartbeat. I want to make sure she’s doing okay, and I think that will ease some of your fears too. Sound good?”
An uneven breath whooshes out of me, and all I can manage is a nod.
She finally looks around the office. “Where is Beau today?”
“Two hours away, picking up a rescue horse.”
The doctor smiles then. “Of course he is.” She’s a few years older than Beau and Cooper, closer to Morgan’s age, but she has known the Jenningses for most of her life. “Well, I’ll escort you to the restroom, and when you’re finished, you can come back here and we will hear the heartbeat.”
I follow her out of the room and use the bathroom before returning. We’ve listened to her heartbeat on the Doppler at every appointment in the second and third trimesters, but hearing thewhoosh-whooshof it never gets old, especially today. It eases some of the pounding in my chest, the thoughts running on a loop in my mind.
And then she leaves me alone. I stare at the phone in my hand, wondering if I should tell Beau yet, but I decide to wait. He’s two hours away, and he will only worry. Until I have concrete news, he doesn’t need to know just yet.
