Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
We meet Lily in the hallway of the maternity ward and she gets right to work, helping Stassi into her room and onto a bed. The nurse does a blood and ketone test, then attaches sensors to her growing belly, as Stassi continues to chatter on about how it’s probably nothing. “Well, that’s true,” Lily says with a smile as she turns on the machine for the non-stress test. “But let’s just make sure.”
I check the readout on the monitor as Lily takes her other vitals. The line is slowly moving on an upward trend, and I notice Stassi flinching as the line reaches a climax. “There,” she says. “That was it.”
“It’s a contraction,” Lily says.
Stassi blinks. “That was a contraction?”
“Yes. Nothing to worry about at this time. Some mothers usually start with them around now. It wasn’t too painful?”
She shakes her head. “No, just tighter, I guess. I thought something was wrong. It was a little sharper before.”
Dr. Patel steps in the room, followed by Dr. Freeman. “Hello, folks,” Dr. Patel says, shaking my hand, and Dr. Freeman, ignoring me, makes a beeline over to Stassi.
“Oh, honey,” she says, sitting down at the monitor. “Not feeling so good?”
“I’m feeling fine. I guess I just had my first contraction, and I freaked.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Freeman says, checking the monitor, along with the other vitals. Then she takes her hand gently, checking for swelling. “Blood pressure is a little high and there’s protein in your urine. Any other symptoms? Blurred vision? Headache?”
She shakes her head and looks over at me.
Normally, I’d say it’s too early to worry about anything. But yeah, these are the early signs of preeclampsia, which start around mid-pregnancy, and that is a worry. I don’t want to give anything away, but it’s different when it’s my own kid. When it’s Stassi.
I go over and take her other hand, happy when she lets me. “Is everything okay?”
I let the other doctors answer. Freeman says, “Sure, doll, it’s looking good. Baby’s moving well, healthy as can be. You probably just gave yourself too much excitement. I want you to take a few days off and rest, no strenuous activity, no sex. Got it?”
At the sex part, Dr. Freeman finally looks at me. As if I’m the one who caused this. I don’t feel like arguing. “Got it.”
“So I can leave?”
“Yep. Just take it easy.” Dr. Freeman doesn’t bother looking to Dr. Patel for confirmation. I’m sure Dr. Patel would say if he thought otherwise, but he simply nods and shrugs at me, then heads off. So I guess Stassi is right. Dr. Freeman does have this under control.
But if this is preeclampsia, I’m worried.
After we get the discharge papers, I check in with Dr. Burns and get the okay to leave early to tend to her. As we’re leaving through the doors to the ER, I see the other nurses I work with, including Cherry and Carlina in the hallway, watching me with wide eyes. Neither one speaks. It must be a shock because I’ve never explicitly mentioned being a father to anyone at work, except Dr. Burns, when I asked about paternity leave.
“I’m sorry if I interfered with your work,” she says as I help her into my truck.
“Are you kidding me? I get to leave early. You should do that more often.”
She gives me a look as I help put her seatbelt on. “Ha, ha. You know, I’m not an invalid.”
“I know. But you’re only pregnant for nine months. Shut up and enjoy the royal treatment.” I slam the door.
When I come around to the driver’s side, she’s looking at me curiously. “Are you sure it’s okay?”
I nod.
I drive us home, asking every time she touches her stomach if she’s okay. Then I help her out of the car. There’s no question as to which apartment she’s staying at. When I lead her to mine, she doesn’t argue.
When I get her set up on the couch with some terrible reality dating show, I say, “Dinner?”
She nods. “What are we having?”
“Don’t worry. It has olives. I bought the stuff to make it last night.”
She gives me a guilty look. “Oh. Yes. I’m starving.”
An hour later, I bring over a tray with two bowls of veggie pasta and glasses of iced tea.
“This looks amazing,” she says, digging in almost before I finish handing her the bowl.
“Thanks, I gave you all the olives,” I say, sitting down beside her and putting my feet up on the table. “So what’s this one about?”
“It’s called Date Hate. They all took surveys beforehand, and unbeknownst to them, now they’re forced to live with the person they’re least compatible with for a full two weeks.”
“Huh.” That probably explains why the girl on the screen is throwing anything she can get her hands on at the guy. I twirl some spaghetti around my fork, and just as I’m about to lift it up to my lips, I realize Stassi isn’t looking at the screen. She’s looking at me.