Page 32 of Judas

A few days ago, after coming out of the showers and struggling to drag my clothes on, I noticed how Sadie shifted down low. The pressure I normally felt under my lungs has eased and now I can’t look at the fluorescent lights without wanting to pee all over myself. She’s also still and it scares me. When too much time has passed since I’ve felt her moving around, I run both hands over my stomach and press from left and right. In search of the long plane of her back, then the swell of her little rump somewhere below my ribs. Once I am done gauging where her sides may be, I start poking at her and she jumps.

Waddling my ass to the infirmary, I knock on the metal door that was built to withstand fucking Hiroshima and wait for someone from the nursing staff to come and address me. I’m down to my weekly visits, but they scheduled a few extra due to the whole blood type incompatibility thing.

“Inmate Pierce, you’re right on time,” Zoe, the medical assistant comments with her signature bright smile.

Sometimes she reminds me of Bailey from the hospital. The nurse who tended to me after I was found by the CERT team and sent me in for observation. She annoyed me, but havingher there was the only thing I could tolerate. Even when you want to be alone, shut yourself away from the world, someone acknowledging your pain allows you to be seen in a way no one has looked at you before.

Giving her a playful wink, I reply, “It’s one of my bad traits.”

I like to believe the nurses enjoy my company, that they feel safe with me. When I visit, they seem to be comfortable enough to turn their backs while they prep things like the sonogram gel and napkins to wipe me clean afterward. We also talk about what kind of life I hope for Sadie, discuss her adoptive parents, and sometimes we bring up Kace. Those days I’m the most quiet but they reassure me with what they think he would say if he were here still.

‘Our little girl is going to be a goddamned menace just like you, Nadia. You drive me mad, but then again, you’re my favorite brand of insanity.’

“Oh I’m sure, that’s the one I should probably look out for. The Warden would expect entirely too much from little ol’ me if I start showing up to work on time.”

We both laugh while I follow her back to one of the gurneys and work on wiggling myself up on the side of it. Going from fit to being as big and round as a damn house is a struggle. Zoe pulls the curtain with her as she steps into the small area with me then sets to work. Knowing the drill, I lay back and pull my shirt up. Pale lightning bolts crawl across my stomach—stretch marks are right up there with my distaste for Braxton Hicks and the heartburn I’ve had since four months gestation. As long as I don’t look at them, I’m okay. I was hoping to come out of this pregnancy with as little damage to my body as possible, so there is less to torture myself with. Unfortunately, I’m still one unlucky bitch.

“Alright, cold gel,” she announces.

My skin flexes when the cool material splats on my abdomen and I look at Zoe incredulously. The chill makes my skin prickle and spread across the tight skin of my belly. The same goosebumps slowly creep up to my arms and down my thighs in a leisurely wave, causing the rest of my body to be more sensitive to the cold of the infirmary. Hell, the whole building. The staff keeps the temperatures set at sub-zero under the guise of germ control. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to double up socks—which are thread bare and worthless.

“Just let it splat on there, why don’t you. Rude.”

Zoe grins salaciously, having done that shit on purpose. Placing the container down and grabbing the Doppler first, she begins checking for Sadie’s heart beat. Once she hears the rapid thud of it through the speaker, she moves over to the sonogram wand and slides it across my skin next. Searching for a clear shot of her. Shifting, I turn to see the screen in its graining black and white glory—my pride and joy sitting there for the world to see.

My words fall out as a whisper. “There she is.

“There she is,” Zoe repeats.

I’ll never tire of looking at her. Her perfect profile, round little head, her fist sitting in front of her mouth which Zoe says she’s probably sucking her thumb to self-soothe. Every time I come to see her, she looks bigger, more developed, and usually gives us a bit of her playfulness.

One time she turned completely around on the screen to where we had to shift her manually to see her profile. Another time, her hands were directly against her face and she just wouldn’t move them—we like to think she was playing peek-a-boo. Oh, and before I came to Bluitt, my OBGYN was looking for her and got a screen full of infant ass. All that silliness and play is her father shining through.Today is different; I can tellby how quiet Zoe has become. Then her hands start to fly across the keyboard of the sono setup.

“What is it, Zoe?”

“Has she been less rowdy than normal?”

“Uh, yeah. My OB said she would get less active as we get close to the due date—running out of room and all that.”

Zoe replaces the wand in its holder and stands up next to the bed, wiping the gel from my stomach and pulling my shirt down without saying a word. So unlike, her which scares the fuck out of me.

“I’m going to recline you and help lift your hips, okay?”

“Wh… what, why? What’s wrong?”

Her silence is unnerving and finally sends me into a panic. As she moves me around, putting me into this new and awkward position, my limbs start to shake. Staying close by, she calls the nurse over and gives her a quick rundown of what she saw on the monitor. I’d listen in but I can’t hear anything over the internal screaming—something is wrong.

I’ve always gotten the raw fucking end of the deal. Please, if there is a creator out there, help her, don’t let me pass this on to my baby.

“Nadia, we are calling the ambulance to transport you to the hospital.”

“Why!?” There’s no holding back the terror in my voice now.

“The umbilical cord is pinched between Sadie’s head and the lower part of your uterine wall. From the angle of the sono, it may be against the cervix, too. If you go into labor without assistance, the umbilical cord could prolapse into the vaginal canal. And while you’re pushing, the placement will cut off all oxygen to her and put her in danger. I need you to stay like this until the ambulance gets here, do you understand me?”

Umbilical pinched. Cut off oxygen.

In a blur of scrubs and immense stress, the emergency team arrives and assists me into a similar position on the stretcher. One medic attaches the fetal heart monitor to my stomach, as another focuses on my own leads and wires. The straps, though? The ones they use to keep passengers from moving? They’re nearly as heavy as the weight crushing my chest at the thought of Sadie dying inside of me. Pregnant women aren’t supposed to be restrained unless they are a threat to themselves, other inmates, or the baby—which I’m not. I know they need to buckle me in, to keep me safe in the ambulance, but there is no help in overthinking every little thing that could further harm the both of us.

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