Page 74 of No Way Home
I pulled the stethoscope from around my neck.
James was done with polite conversation, apparently. Hesqueezed Sage’s hand. “This is the third time she’s almost fainted this month. Something feels…I dunno…off?”
I nodded, popped the earpieces in, and pressed the bell of the stethoscope to Sage’s chest. Her heartbeat was fast, but that was normal this far in a pregnancy. But then she shifted and?—
There was something underneath the rhythm.
If I hadn’t been such a self-taught overachiever, no doubt I would’ve missed it. But all the late nights I’d spent on medical education apps had trained me to listen beyond the norm.
And this heartbeat was definitely not normal.
It wasn’t a soft whoosh, like the harmless murmurs sometimes heard in pregnant women. This was harsher. Louder. Like wind being pushed through a too-narrow tunnel. It had a shape to it — started soft, then built to a peak, then faded again. Almost like a wave rising and crashing. And it wasexactlywhere I didn’t want to hear it — along the left side of her breastbone.
I moved the stethoscope to double-check. Still there. I could feel James studying my every micro-twinge.
I gave them both a smile. “Hey, Sage, would you mind standing up for a second?”
“Sure.” She reached for James to help. “It’s not easy when you feel like you’ve swallowed an entire watermelon.”
Please let me be wrong, I prayed.
Once she was standing, I listened again. It was even louder now. Sharper. Like someone had turned the volume up. That wasn’t vasovagal. No way.
And though I wished I didn’t, I knew exactly what it was. How had no one picked up on it before?
But I already knew the answer. Pregnancy cranked up blood volume and cardiac output, especially this far along, which could make murmurs and abnormalities more pronounced. Being eight months pregnant meant her heartwas working overtime, and whatever was hiding in there? It wasn’t hiding anymore.
I pulled the stethoscope away and swallowed, the sound still ringing in my ears. I suspected it would still be ringing as I tried to fall asleep tonight.
James’s eyebrow arched. “Everything okay?”
I ran a hand over my forehead. What I really wanted was to ask who her doctor had been growing up. But she’d grown up in this town, and I was ninety-nine percent sure I already knew.
I’d never been so grateful it wasn’t my job to deliver a diagnosis. My job was to convince a man with an ego the size of the hospital that he’d missed something huge, without making him defensive. It was going to be awkward, maybe even ugly, but I had to do it for Sage.
I settled my stethoscope around my neck. “I’m going to grab Dr. Adams really quickly. I’ll be right back.” I slipped out of the room.
Dr. Adams was just standing up, his posture making it clear that seeing a Dupree—any Dupree—was the last thing he wanted to do today.
“Dr. Adams?” I hurried toward him, voice low. “I think Sage Dupree has been misdiagnosed with vasovagal syncope.”
“Is that so?” He folded his arms smugly. “I was her pediatrician, so tread carefully.”
Just as I suspected. I forced myself not to flinch. Doctors missed things all the time. But I had no idea how he’d missed something this big. “Yes, sir,” I said respectfully, knowing full well how pretentious this sounded coming from a med student. “I mean, I’m no expert, but…” I chewed my lip, staring at the floor, hating how this was going to rock the Duprees' world if I was correct.
“I’m listening,” Dr. Adams said, tone cool and condescending, as if the idea I’d caught something he’d missed was laughable.
“I suspect that she has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.” It was as serious as it sounds. A genetic heart disorder that causes the heart muscle to thicken. If unchecked, it blocks blood flow, eventually causing sudden cardiac death, even in young, healthy people.
He sighed. “Go on.”
So I told him about what I’d just heard. It seemed like he was actually listening, which is probably more than most doctors would’ve done. By the time I was done, he looked less sure of himself.
He peeled the stethoscope from around his neck, a look in his eyes that said he did not want to do this. “Let’s go.” He tipped his head for me to follow him back into the room.
Three minutes later, after Dr. Adams delivered an impressive round of small talk—no trace of disdain for the Duprees—he pressed the stethoscope to Sage’s back, listened, adjusted, and listened again before moving to her front.
After another sixty seconds, he sat down on the rolling chair and smiled like nothing in the world was wrong. “Well, it’s good that James insisted you come in. Your husband has good instincts.”
