Page 79 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘Are you all right?’
She wants to scream,No! I’m losing my baby! Again! AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN!
Instead she clears her throat and opens the door to see Patricia holding her mat and bag.
‘Thanks,’ she says, reaching for them. Patricia hands them over slowly.
‘What’s going on?’ It’s Grace Maud, a few steps behind. ‘You disappeared.’ She stops and narrows her eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s nothing.’ Dorothy shakes her head vigorously. She doesn’t want to bother these two. They need to get home. As does she. Then she can ask Frederick what to do. He’ll know. He’s known every other time. She wishes she could remember what he said those three times, because then she would know too, but her memory is empty.
‘It’s something.’ Grace Maud steps closer and takes her arm. ‘Perhaps we can help.’
‘Really, it’s— ’
‘Why don’t you let us decide if it’s nothing?’ Patricia says, her voice soothing, her face showing concern but not panic.
Good. That’s what Dorothy needs to see. Someone who isn’t panicking the way she is.
‘I’m bleeding,’ she says, then takes quick breaths, like she’s trying to expel reality with each exhalation.
‘How much?’ asks Grace Maud.
To Dorothy, one drop is too much, but she says, ‘I … I don’t know how much is a lot.’
‘Are your pants soaked?’
Dorothy shakes her head.
‘Good.’ Grace Maud nods twice, as if the matter is settled. ‘It may be nothing, but you should have it checked.’
‘Shall we take you to the hospital?’ Patricia asks.
‘Oh no – I don’t want to bother anyone,’ Dorothy says quickly.
‘Dorothy,’ Grace Maud says, ‘doctors and nurses need patients otherwise they have nothing to do. It’s not a bother. Besides, you pay taxes, I presume – and taxes pay for this hospital visit you’re about to have. So you’re going. That’s that.’
They walk her slowly to the car, cheerfully farewelling Sandrine, who is standing by the door looking as if she wants to ask questions.
Luckily Casualty isn’t busy and they take Dorothy through within a few minutes.
‘I’ll call Frederick,’ Patricia tells her.
‘Please don’t. I don’t want to worry him.’
‘He’ll be more worried if he doesn’t know why you’re not home on time,’ Grace Maud says, and Dorothy relents.
On the bed, wearing a hospital gown, she gazes at the fluorescent lights as the doctor pokes around. She’s been in this position before, so many times, and each time she feels the indignity of it. She could be anyone. Or no one. To the doctor she’s a specimen, and her insides are a curiosity, and if he remembers her name once he withdraws his gloved fingers she’ll feel mildly appeased. But in the end, the indignity will add to the pain of whatever the diagnosis is. Because it always does. Just once Dorothy would like to feel as if the small tragedy of her lost babies isn’t being played out while there are other patients waiting to be seen, and nurses who turn away, discard their gloves, scrub up for the next patient and never think of her again.
This is my life, she wants to say to them.This is my body. Why don’t you care?
Maybe they can’t care. Maybe their job would be too hard if they cared about everyone. Maybe it would be impossible. But that doesn’t mean she can’t hold onto a small hope that today she’ll be treated like a human going through something instead of just being the next name on their to-do list.
‘Look, Dorothy,’ the doctor says, pulling off his gloves and throwing them into a nearby bin, ‘I know it’s alarming to see blood, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about.’
She stares at him. This isn’t the outcome she’s prepared for. ‘What?’
He shrugs. ‘It happens sometimes in the second trimester. If you’re, um, active with your husband, sometimes that can cause it.’
