Iheaded for the door but before I could push through, I glanced over my shoulderto catch his eye. He smiled then, and I smiled back, knowing that he would, infact, miss me. And I would miss him, too.
Ialways did.
***
“Doyou want to come to the doctor with me?” I asked Brendan, as I got ready totake my shower.
“Youknow I have stuff to do at home,” he muttered halfheartedly, sprawled on thebed, with his attention pinned to his phone.
Hisattention wasalwayson his phone.
“Youcould go home afterward.”
Hiseyes flicked across to shoot me an exhausted glower. “Kendo, I don't have timeto sit around while the doctor does whatever to you. Just tell me what shesays, okay? I mean, I’m sure it’s going to be the same crap she always tellsyou, anyway.”
Isighed to cover the sting of hurt, knowing just how uninvested he was in mypart of the pregnancy. He cared about the baby, I genuinely believed that, buthe never thought much of what kind of work went into growing and nourishingsaid baby before it was born. He never seemed to think about the toll it wastaking on me and my life. I just assumed most men would be like that, and whenI thought about it, as I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, Icouldn't say I blamed them.
Somewomen seem to live for being pregnant. They love every single moment of it andrevel in the miracle of growing life. I just couldn't say I was one of them.Seeing the subtle ways my body had changed so far, made me greatly appreciatewhat I and other women were capable of doing, and I felt lucky to have theexperience. But that didn't mean I had to enjoy it, and I wasn’t.
Iturned the water on and stepped under the pelting spray. Since around theeight-week mark, I had found my tolerance for heat in any degree to be minimal,and so my showers had become brief. I knew it was only a matter of time beforeI was bathing in freezing temperatures, but I hadn't given in yet.
Justminutes into the shower, though, I was struck with an unbearable feeling oflightheadedness and vertigo. My body swayed and I had to reach out and press myhands against the slippery, tiled wall. Nausea rolled over me in unrelentingwaves and I heaved with my forehead against the wall, as my mind threatened tolose consciousness and the light began to dim around my tunnel of vision.
KnowingI would hurt myself if I passed out in the shower, I quickly, albeit carefully,turned the water off and stepped out, using the wall to keep steady. I sank tothe floor with my back against cold tile and forced deep breaths in and out ofmy lungs.
Myheart was racing and rattled wildly within its cage. I reached up to the sink,to find my watch—a step counter that also tracked my heart rate—and strapped iton. Then, when it finally registered how quickly my heart was beating, thenumber alone nearly made me pass out.
154.
Itwas too fast. Not unusually fast for a panic-inducing situation, like the firsttime I ever published one of my books, but much too fast for something asmundane as a shower. I knew that it was common during pregnancy for your heartto beat a little faster, even a little harder, but something wasn'trightand I knew it.
“Brendan!”I called, terrified, as I sat naked on the bathroom floor. When he didn’treply, I called for him again.
“What?!”he answered, clearly agitated, and I wondered what was so damn important on hisphone.
“Ineed you to come here!”
Ilistened as he groaned from the bedroom, and then, heavy footsteps ploddedacross the floor to the bathroom. He opened the door and stared down at me,with an infuriating amount of annoyance in his eyes.
“Whatthe hell are you doing?”
“Ialmost passed out,” I explained, sounding breathless to myearsand knowing I needed to calm down. “My heart rate is out of control. My … myheart is beating so hard and fast; I feel like it’s going to explode. I-I don’tknow what to do. I’m so—”
Hisfeatures softened just a little, as he leaned against the doorframe. “Kendo, you’reprobably just having a panic attack. Try to take a few deep breaths, and you’llbe fine.”
Angerwas the last thing I should have been feeling when I was already in such afragile state, but anger is exactly what I felt at the condescending tone of hisvoice.
“Iam not having a panic attack,” I insisted. “I was just showering, and all of asudden, I thought I was going to—”
“Okay,okay,” he said, crouching down to take my hand in his. “But you’re going to thedoctor, right? So, talk to her about it. I’m sure she can do more for you thanI can, anyway.”
Iblinked at him, as tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I had expected more fromhim. I had expected him to comfort me. To help more with what he could and justbe there for me, while my body ran me through trials I never would’ve expected.But I told him not to worry about it, that I was sure I’d be fine, and sent himout of the room. Then, as I listened to him leave the apartment, withinstructions to call him whenever I got the chance, I found the strength tostand and got ready for my appointment.
***
“Well,Kendall, your baby seems just fine,” Dr. Albrecht said, smiling as she pulledmy shirt back over my belly. “Was there anything you wanted to talk about?”
Itook that invitation to explain exactly what had happened during my showerearlier that evening. She listened intently, and when I was finished, sheleaned her hip against the counter in the small exam room.
