Page 62 of Forever Christmas
After a moment, I settle down.
“There you go, love,” the woman says. She’s not familiar, wearing pink scrubs and sporting wildly spiked hair. The people who work here are really into their wild ’dos.
I just want to sleep, butthe nurse takes the oxygen away and an even sharper odor snaps me awake. Smelling salts.
“Let’s sit up now,” the nurse says. “See how you’re doing.”
The world is back in color and normal shapes. Did I forget to breathe? Did my old habit of passing out when things got hard kick in without me trying? I can’t do that now. Not with the baby.
My stomach grumbles.
“She probably has low blood sugar,”the nurse says. “I’m going to go get some juice.”
Gavin closes in as soon as she leaves. Mom and Dad also crowd the table.
“You okay, baby?” Mom asks. Her face is pale and etched with concern.
“I’m okay,” I say. “I just didn’t handle the news well.”
Mom digs through her purse and tugs out an energy bar. “Please eat a little something.”
I don’t want it, but I take a bite to appease her.
Shelly still stands near. “Your color is coming back,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m screwing up your schedule.”
“Don’t worry about us,” she says.
The nurse returns with a little container of orange juice. “Here you go,” she says. “You’re looking better, though.”
I take the juice and tear a bit of the foil. It tastes like a dream, and my body gulps it greedily.
I pass the empty cup backto her. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” she says. “You need to sit here a little longer?”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m fine now.”
Mom and Gavin help me off the table.
Shelly passes Gavin some papers. “We’re going to send you a referral to the pediatric cardiologist. The office might give you a call. When the baby is born, he’ll be advised about the situation and if he is needed.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Good luck,” Shelly says. “For what it’s worth, most of the babies are just fine. Our bodies are amazing healers.”
I don’t answer that. Finn wasn’t healed. He didn’t even get a chance. A doctor like the pediatric cardiologist she just mentioned made that decision.
But we have our answer. And now there is nothing we can do but wait for the baby to be born.
~*´♥`*~
Thanksgiving is otherwisenice. My mom does the cooking in our tiny kitchen. Dad insists we go shopping on Black Friday and they outfit a mini-nursery in a corner of our bedroom with a bassinet, tiny changing-table unit, and some hanging shelves to store the baby’s first clothes and diapers and burp cloths.
We start our birthing class. Each weekly session is another increment toward reality hitting. A baby. Sleeplessnights. Midnight feedings. All the normal things we might actually experience this time.
Maybe.
