Page 7 of Faith Notes
She smiles, and in moments like this, I am always grateful for the kindness of the nurses and doctors who see the heartbreak of their patients. It has to wear on them, yet so many offer comfort—at least in my experience.
“Great, and can you explain what brought you in today? I know your regular appointment was supposed to be in a couple of days, so can you just tell me what’s been going on?”
I open my mouth to explain, but all the air has been sucked out of the room.
My chest heaves up and down, proving that I am getting air, but it doesn’t feel like it.
Reaching up, I lay one hand against my chest, rubbing circles against it, and then I start to count.
Five things I can see: The tattoos up Grayson’s arms, especially my favorite one—the orchid just above his wrist. There’s a picture of a happy family holding their baby in their arms, which is probably not the best one to catalog in my five, considering the situation, but it’s what I’ve got. The nurse’s scrubs are blue, making me hope that, if this baby is okay, it’s a boy so he can be just like his daddy. Then there’s the screen that will soon give me my answers—whether I like them or not. And finally, the ceiling as I stare up at it, trying not to cry.
My lungs are still frozen, though. I have to keep going on to the next.
Four things I can feel: Grayson’s rough calluses as he takes over, rubbing my chest in soothing circles. The crinkle of the paper underneath my hands as I grip the edges of the table, and the cushioned table pressing into my back in all the right places to relieve the ache I’ve been experiencing for weeks. One more thing. I just need one more. I force myself to concentrate, and then I feel it. Nurse Maddie squeezes my hand, offering me the only comfort she can.
Three things I can hear: My breath as I draw it into my lungs–still erratic, but maybe a little less so. Grayson murmurs my name as he rubs my chest, and my heart pounds in my head.
Two things I can smell: There’s a strong antiseptic smell lingering in the air from all the times this room has been cleaned between patients. I inhale, searching for one more smell to calm me down, and at the same time, Grayson leans in like he knows what I’m doing. The smell of his aftershave fills the air between us, working to calm my nerves.
One thing I can taste: Fear. I can taste my own fear as if it were a palpable entity.
When the room comes back into focus, I find the nurse staring back at me, concern written on her face. “Do you have panic attacks often?”
Grayson beats me to the answer. “Only when she’s stressed. Sometimes, she needs a minute afterward. I can answer your questions for now, and when she’s ready, Georgia can jump back in. Okay?” He looks at me, confirming that it’s okay for him to step in, and I nod, giving him permission.
My husband is not the kind of guy to sit idly by. He has more of a take-charge personality, but one thing I love about him is that he always makes sure that he’s not running over my boundaries.
The nurse clears her throat and turns to him, hesitant to ask her question. “Alright. Can you tell me what happened to bring you guys in today?”
My body stiffens, but Grayson’s hand continues making circles against my skin. I grab onto that as a focus point.
“This morning, after she woke up, she found that she’d been spotting throughout the night.”
Fingers peck against the keyboard, and I remind myself to breathe.
“Any cramping?”
Grayson looks at me, an apologetic look on his face for not knowing the answer, but all I can offer her is a nod of my head.
Again, she enters the information into the computer, and I wonder if I will end up hyperventilating again.
Powering the laptop down, she walks across the small room and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. Tears brim in my eyes, and I will them away.
With a squeeze of my shoulder, she says, “I’ll send Doctor Madoc in. She will bring an ultrasound machine with her and do it right here in the room. I’ll be praying that you get good results.”
“Thank you.” It’s hardly more than a whisper, but she pats my shoulder, acknowledging the words I had forced out. Without saying anything else, she walks out the door, closing it softly behind her.
We only have to wait a few minutes before the doctor comes in, dragging a machine behind her.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Madoc. You must be Georgia—and Grayson,” she says, looking down at the chart in front of her.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Grayson says, stretching out his hand to shake hers.
She takes it, offering a firm shake before doing the same with me.
“I understand you’ve experienced some bleeding. Before we begin, I want you to know that it can be normal at this stage, but we’ll check things out and see, okay?”
“Okay.” It comes out broken in a way that’s different than when Nate died.
