Page 10 of Knocked Up
They poke and prod me. Four attempts to get an IV into my arm left it looking like it’s been pummeled with a meat tenderizer.
After hooking me up to various machines, a nurse came in and gave me antinausea meds along with nutrients through a second IV line. Strung to wires and tubes and monitors, I drift in and out of sleep for hours, the murmuring of a television in the background and Braxton’s occasional voice while he speaks on the phone filtering into my mind.
It’s been hours since I went into a room and saw the doctor. Based on my weight loss and dehydration and constant vomiting, I’ve been diagnosed with hyperemesis gravidarum. It’s essentially morning sickness times a million and might last through my entire pregnancy. Not to mention, until I reach fourteen weeks, my risk of miscarrying is higher than average.
As if I don’t have enough to worry about.
It was this news that pushed tears from my eyes and down my cheeks. I’ve cried more in the last two months than I have since Jimmy died. Hormones aren’t only just a pain in the butt, but nothing has gone right for me since Jenna’s wedding.
I’m moping, feeling sorry for myself, but it’s more than that. I’m also terrified out of my mind.
I’ve been on my side, turned away from Braxton, despite his attempts to speak to me.
I’ve never wanted to be a mom. Not really. It was always something I assumed I’d do. Go to college, then law school. Join my dad’s firm where I’d make partner by thirty. At some point along the way, I’d be introduced to a man my parents approved of and we’d marry, love playing second fiddle to respect and mutual goals, and once we were both settled in our careers, then I’d have a child or two because it was also expected.
I don’t regret walking away from that life or my parents’ unreasonable expectations. Watching my brother die in my arms in a hospice facility changed me for the better, at least I hope it has.
The fear of miscarrying is worrisome enough. Thinking about losing someone else I’ve fallen in love with before even seeing them sends me over the edge. I want to feel him or her move and see if it’s born with Jimmy’s eyes or mine, or the peach fuzz I had as a baby or Braxton’s inky black locks.
I’m fully bonded to something the size of a lima bean.
My vision turns blurry and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Behind me, Braxton sighs, as if he can see my shoulders shaking, or hear the cries I’m trying to keep quiet. I puked all over the man’s office and fainted in his arms. The last thing he needs is to have me bawling into his shoulder.
“Cara.” Braxton calls my name.
I shake my head and burrow my face into my pillow. The urge to tell him I’m fine screams at me, but I can’t.
A chair squeaks, metal on linoleum, and soon he’s at the side of my bed, his hand on me, between my shoulders.
His large, warm palm runs sweeping circles around my back. It reminds me of the day Jenna came to my apartment and helped me while I puked my guts out a month ago.
He says nothing, and I’m thankful. I need the silence and space to think. His fingertips dig into my lower back, massaging me firmly, yet gently and slowly. It’s not sexual. But he’s strong, and it feels so good, muscles in my shoulders and neck relax as his thumbs press in around my spine.
“Everything will work out.” His voice is deep, smoky and firm, as if he can will anything he wants into existence by a simple declaration.
I’ve never had that kind of confidence. But it helps, and as my body relaxes, my tears evaporate.
“Thank you.” I swipe away my tears and tuck my hands under my cheek. His hands are on my back. Turning to look at him would mean losing my massage and it’s the first comforting and soothing touch I’ve had in months.
God, how pathetic.
A one-night stand giving me a back rub is the most physical touch I’ve had other than Jenna’s hugs.
“I talked to Jenna and Dan while you were sleeping.”
“Is she coming?”
“Dan has an event with Lane Holdings tonight.”
“Right.” I helped Jenna search for a fancy dress weeks ago for this night. Dan works in their finance department and they’re having some spring fundraiser. I’d forgotten it was today. “Okay.”
“I want you to spend the night with me.”
My back tenses, my whole body jerks, and his hand stops massaging.
“I meant to sleep, Cara.”
