Heather’s face lit up. “Let’s go do something then.”
“Like what? It’s too hot to do anything.”
“Too hot for you,” Heather accused me. “You never want to go outside. Let’s go to the lake.”
I looked at her like she was crazy. “I would rather die than be seen in a bathing suit.”
“You don’t have to wear a suit,” she said. “Just put on a light dress or something and we’ll sit on towels.”
“I don’t want to see anyone.”
“Okay, so you’re bored, but you won’t go anywhere because it’s too hot and someone might see you.” She picked her magazine back up. “Pregnant women are impossible,” she mumbled.
I tapped my belly and made motorboat noises with my lips. “Oh, all right,” I said finally. “Let’s go to a movie. At least it’s air conditioned.”
“Okay, I’ll look up times.” She sat down at my computer desk.
“I want a summer blockbuster,” I demanded. “With lots of explosions.”
“Okay.” Heather sounded slightly annoyed.
“Lots of explosions!” I reiterated emphatically. “And aliens… or robots… or something, like, mechanical that battles people. Or car chases. But no romance.”
Heather breathed in deeply. “I got it.”
I pushed myself up from the bed. “I’m going to go pee for the twelfth time this hour while you look up the movie.”
“Why don’t you just start wearing some adult diapers?” Heather asked, and I shot her a dirty look before going into the bathroom.
“Oh man.” I took off my maternity jeans. I was wet again. I knew pregnancy was a total pain, but I never knew it would cause incontinence. I never even felt it coming out until I was wet. And I was only at thirty-six weeks. How much would I be leaking by forty weeks? I went into my closet and changed my pants.
“What’s the matter? Did you pee yourself again?” Heather asked as I came back out in my new pants.
“For your information,” I said, bending over to look at the computer screen. “Yes, I did.”
“Is that normal?” Her eyebrows came together in a worried look.
“Well, the baby is putting a lot of pressure on my bladder,” I explained. “I just wish it wasn’t this constant trickle I’ve had for the last few days. It never seems to stop.”
Heather looked back at the computer screen. “Time for adult diapers,” she mumbled.
~ ~ ~
The movie was all I had hoped for—a mindless escape from reality. It had explosions, car chases, and even an unexpected sword fight. Who’d have thought? I even forgot I was pregnant. That is, until I went to the bathroom and found myself wet again. Luckily, I had thought ahead and worn a pad.
After the movie, Heather and I stopped at a restaurant to get some dinner. She ordered a salad and I ordered whatever looked like it had the largest quantity of food. This was a heaping bowl of spaghetti and meatballs. I also ate most of the bread they brought to our table.
“So,” Heather said, taking a bite of her salad. “What do they give you for the pain when the baby comes?”
“There’s a bunch of things.” I swirled a large bite of spaghetti around my fork. “They can give you drugs through an IV or even in your spine, like an epidural.”
Heather cringed. “That sounds horrid.”
I shook my head. “I read this book my mom gave me about childbirth. I guess the drugs can affect the baby’s respiration, and my baby will already have so much trouble breathing. So…” I took a big bite of noodles and swallowed. “So I’m not going to use anything.”
Heather’s eyes bulged. “Nothing?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“But doesn’t it hurt like crazy? Like torture?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.”
“But,” she breathed out. “But please don’t take this the wrong way.”
“What?” I asked, my mouth full of meatballs. Yes, plural—meatballs.
“Well, the baby’s already so unhealthy. Maybe it doesn’t matter if you have the drugs.”
I nodded in understanding. “Yeah, but the doctors don’t think the baby will even survive the birth.” I put down my fork and wiped my mouth, staring at my plate. “I guess I just feel like… like I’ve gone this far. I’ve been through a lot for this baby. I’d like to see him alive.” I picked my fork up and began twirling it again, waiting for the small tears in my eyes to dry. “I think I deserve to see him alive.”
Heather reached across the table and touched my arm. “You do.”
I continued. “And if not having any drugs during the birth gives him just a little bit more of a chance of being born alive, then I think it’s worth it.”
“If you want,” Heather said, her voice soft and sad, “I’ll be with you, you know, to help you through it.”
“That’s a lot to ask, considering…” I took a deep breath. “Considering all that’s going to happen.”
“I would be honored to be there.” She moved her hand from my arm to my hand and squeezed it.
“And I would be honored to have you there.” I squeezed her hand in return.
~ ~ ~
On our way home from dinner, I started feeling strange. I didn’t feel terribly sick or anything. I just felt, like, off or something. I turned the car’s air conditioning off, and Heather looked at me in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I rubbed my arms. “I just feel kind of chilly.”
“Chilly?” she asked, her eyebrows scrunched together in that same worried look I had seen a hundred times over the last few months. “It’s hot in here. Are you okay?”
“Of course I am.” I laughed. “Just because I’m not all overheated as usual doesn’t mean something’s wrong. Sheesh.”
“You look pale,” Heather said, looking from the road to me and back again.
“Yeah? I just feel a little funny. I think I just need some rest. I’m really tired.”
Heather dropped me off at my house, and as I hugged her goodbye, she said, “You feel warm. Maybe you should go to the doctor.”
“Right,” I said. “At eight o’clock at night.”
She narrowed her eyebrows. “Promise me you’ll go tomorrow if you’re still feeling sick.”
“I don’t feel sick,” I said, laughing. “Stop being such a worrier.” I stepped out of the car. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
She waved to me, and I shut the door. I watched her drive away then went inside. I walked upstairs and peeked in my mom and dad’s room. “I’m home.”
They both looked up at me from their bed. They were eating strawberries and watching something on TV I could tell was sappy. My dad must have been in misery. “How was the movie?” my mom asked.
“Great,” I said. “Just what I needed. I’m going to go to bed now. I think I’m worn out.”
They wished me goodnight, and I made my way to my room. I was so tired I just put on my pajamas and went to bed without brushing my teeth or washing my face. I pulled the covers up to my chin and twirled myself up in them like a burrito. I just couldn’t seem to warm up.
What little sleep I got that night was restless, and I had strange dreams about being caught in a snowstorm and finding shelter in an igloo where some penguins lived. They had a fire going and we roasted marshmallows together, but no matter how close I got to it, I just couldn’t warm up.
I woke up around four A.M., shivering. What was wrong with me? I got out of bed and went downstairs. I checked the thermostat—it was seventy-three degrees in the house and the upstairs tended to be warmer. I rubbed my arms as I walked into the kitchen. I made myself a cup of hot tea and sat down on the couch. I turned on the TV and watched several different infomercials about various ridiculous products until my dad finally came downstairs.
“Lenna?” he said as he entered the living room. “You up already?”
I turned to look at him. “Yeah, I don’t feel so well.”
He
hurried around the couch and sat next to me. He held his hand up to my forehead. “My God, Lenna. You’re burning up.”
He left the couch and came back about ten seconds later with an extremely sleepy mother. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked, already putting a hand to my forehead. “You’re really hot,” she said and shoved a thermometer in my mouth. She pulled it out. “One-oh-two.” She shook her head. “We need to get to the doctor.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I don’t feel so good.”
My mom stared at me. “Has anything been happening with the baby?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I felt him kick this morning. My abdomen feels tender, but I assume it’s just from stretching muscles and stuff.”
“Tender?” my mom asked. “Has anything been coming out of you?”
“No,” I said. “I would certainly say something if I was bleeding or anything like that.”
“Nothing at all then?” she said. “No fluid or mucous?”
After getting past my disgust over the word mucous, I thought for a moment. “Well,” I said, embarrassed. “I have been peeing myself a lot.”
“Peeing yourself?” my dad asked, and I felt my cheeks flush even more than they already were.
“Yeah, just like a constant trickle,” I explained.
My mom looked thoughtful. “Are you sure it was pee?”
I shook my head. “What else would it be?”
“It could be amniotic fluid,” she said.
I looked from her to my dad and back to her. “But it’s too early for that. And it’s just a trickle.”
“I’d better get you to the doctor right away,” my mom said, taking my hand and lifting me off the couch.
“I’m going to go with you,” my dad said, rubbing my back. “I’ll call work.”
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I’m sure everything’s fine."
~ ~ ~
I sat in Dr. Rhoades’s waiting room with my parents, bouncing their knees and fidgeting with brochures, on either side of me.
“I’m sure everything is just fine,” I tried reassuring them.
They continued their nervous behavior as though I hadn’t spoken. Finally we were led back to a room, and after my temperature, weight, and blood pressure were taken, were left to wait for Dr. Rhoades. I sat on the paper-lined table while my mom fiddled with the q-tips on the countertop and my dad paced the room.
“Stop it,” I said after my mom knocked the jar of q-tips over, spilling them all over the countertop and floor. “You guys are freaking me out.”
Dr. Rhoades entered the room. “Hi Lenna,” she said in her calming, gentle voice. “What’s going on with you? It looks like you have a fever.”
“We think she’s been leaking amniotic fluid for several days now,” my mom said in a squeaky voice.
“Several days?” Dr. Rhoades asked with a note of disapproval in her voice.
I rolled my eyes and breathed heavily. “I thought it was just urine.”
Dr. Rhoades nodded. “Easy mistake to make.” She grabbed a thermometer and put a new plastic covering on it. “I’m just going to double-check,” she said and shoved it in my mouth. After it beeped, she took it out and said, “One-oh-two point seven.” She looked at my mom. “Have you given her any Tylenol to bring the fever down?”
My mom nodded as she squeezed her chin with her hand. “Yes, but the fever’s actually gone up.”
Dr. Rhoades looked at me. “Lenna, I think you have an infection. I’m going to admit you to the hospital. They can test your fluid there and get you hooked up to some IV antibiotics.”
“Is that necessary?” I asked.
“Lenna,” my dad spoke up. “I think we should just do what Dr. Rhoades says.”
“If you have an infection,” Dr. Rhoades addressed me again, “which I do believe you have, it can be very dangerous for you and the baby. We need to get you on IV antibiotics right away.”
I stared down at the floor and kicked the table. “And what if the antibiotics don’t do anything?”
Dr. Rhoades wrote something on her chart and said, “We’ll have to induce.”
“But it’s so early!” I cried out. “The baby won’t be strong enough.”
Dr. Rhoades sighed deeply and put her chart down. “Let’s just get you to the hospital and see what happens.”
I ran my hand through my hair, gripping it at the scalp until it hurt and my eyes filled with tears. “Fine.”
Chapter 20
“Why are they already giving me antibiotics before we even know what’s going on?” I complained to my parents as the nurse put the IV in my arm. “Ouch!” I cried out and shot the nurse a dirty look.
She looked at me, obviously startled by my reaction. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Your veins are movers. They’re difficult to find.” She successfully located a vein upon a second attempt.
“You have all the symptoms of an infection,” my mom explained to me for the fourth time. “They are doing it as a precaution and because they are nearly certain you have an infection.”
As though on cue, a hospital doctor entered the room and announced that I did, in fact, have an infection and we were on the right track with the antibiotics.
“What do we do now?” my dad asked him.
“Lenna has amnionitis,” the doctor explained to my parents, “which can be very dangerous for her. We have to get the baby out before we can effectively treat the uterus, which is now infected.”
“So how do we get things moving then?” my dad asked, standing up from the seat near my bedside.
“I’d like to get her started on Pitocin right away,” the doctor said.
“Oh no.” I shook my head. “I’m not doing any Pitocin. No way.”
All three of them looked at me. “Why not?” the doctor asked, sounding as though he were on the verge of laughter.
“Because,” I explained, “Pitocin is hard on the baby.”
My mom looked surprised.
“Yes, mom,” I said. “I read those baby books.”
“I guess you skipped the part about leaking fluid, though,” she retorted.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want the Pitocin. My baby won’t be able to tolerate it.”
The doctor took a deep breath and nodded his head. “Your baby also won’t be able to tolerate this infection. And neither will you. You could become septic, and that could kill you.”
My mom covered her mouth with her hands. “We’ll do the Pitocin,” my dad said, gripping her arm. My mom nodded her head wildly in agreement.
“No!” I cried out. “Let’s just wait and see if the antibiotics work first. Let’s just wait.”
“That’s a big risk, Lenna,” the doctor said. “I highly recommend starting the Pitocin now.”
“She’s under eighteen, so we’ll consent to it,” my mom said.
“No!” I cried out again. “I don’t consent to it.”
The doctor looked torn. “I really do need Lenna’s consent. She may not be eighteen, but she’s at a maturity level where she understands the significance of the situation."
“No she’s not,” my mom said, verging on panic. “She’s the most immature teenager I know. She’s completely unable to make decisions for herself.”
“Liar!” I cried out.
The doctor looked at her skeptically. “I can’t give her Pitocin against her will.”
The room was quiet as emotions ran rampant. I sat, fuming with my arms crossed in front of me, glaring at my parents. My mom huffed while she walked the perimeter of the room, talking to herself. My dad looked like he was about to pass out.
Finally, my dad said, “Can I please speak with Lenna alone?”
“What for, Ben?” My mom stopped pacing the room long enough to ask.
“I just want to talk to her. Okay?”
The doctor turned and left the room wordlessly, followed by my mom, who left the room in a parade of huffs while mumbling something about beating the crap out of
me.
My dad sat back down in the chair next to my bed. “My sweetheart.” He ran his hand over my hot forehead and pushed my disheveled hair away from my face. He looked at me, eyes full of worry and weariness. And intense love. “My sweet Lenna.”
“Dad.” I put a shaking hand on his arm. “I didn’t go through eight months of this just to have the baby die now. I can’t do it.”
“And what about you?” His eyes widened. “What about your life? Did you hear the doctor? You could die.”
“He’s overreacting,” I assured him, teeth chattering as my fever continued to rise.
“What if he’s not? Do you have any idea—” His shaking voice broke. “Any idea at all what it will do to me if something happens to you?”
I stared at him, still holding his arm.
“Sweetheart.” He put both hands on my burning cheeks and leaned in close to me. “I’m begging you. You have to put your life before the baby’s.”
I closed my eyes, and he shook my face gently with his hands, making me reopen them. He stared at me intently. “You have to put your life before the baby’s because the baby’s life is fleeting. No matter what you do, the baby will die. You have to think about yourself.”
He put his arms around me and held me tight, as though he could stop the incessant quaking of my weak body by force. After a long while, he pulled away. “Do you remember the story of how you were born?” he asked me, wiping his face.
I nodded. “Of course.” I wiped my own cheeks. “It’s the only time in my life I’ve ever done anything impressive.”
He looked at me gravely. “You have impressed me every day since.”
I smiled at him through slightly blurred vision. “You’re so easy to please, daddy.”
He took my hand in his. “I’ll never forget that day. Right here in this very same hospital. And here we are again,” he mused. “I was so worried about you, but when you came out…man.” He shook his head and chuckled softly to himself. “I’ll never forget that roar as long as I live. People on the fourth floor heard you.” He smiled at me. “I knew you were okay then.”
The Day We Met Page 15