“W-What?I can't—”
“Comeon,” he nudged myslipperedfoot and offered areassuring grin, “just give another guess. Lay it on me.”
Iblew out a long-winded breath and stifled a cough, then said, “Um, okay …maybe, uh, maybe you secretly have webbed feet.”
Gooselaughed. “No. But I like that one.”
“Or,um, you hoard little glass goose figurines. You probably have hundreds ofthem.”
“Oh,God, that'd be weird.”
“Maybeyou—”
“So,”the doctor said, entering the room unannounced and sitting down on the chairbeside Goose, “you, my dear, are heading to Labor and Delivery.”
“What?”My eyes volleyed between her and Goose, unsure I had heard her correctly. “Areyou, areyouseriousright now?”
“Very,”she said, maintaining an eerie calm. “They're already expecting you. You justgo down to the hospital, head up to the sixth floor, and the on-call doctorwill monitor you for a little while. Okay?”
“O-Okay,”I stammered, not knowing what else to say, as the nursed hurried in and helpedme to my feet, then began to unstrap the monitor from my belly. “Wha-What's going on? What’s happening?”
“Well,”the doctor said, “it appears that your baby is in quite a bit of distress, butwe don't know why.”
“Oh,my God,” I said, unable to breathe, as I turned to look in Goose's direction.“I told you. I told you something was wrong. I—”
“Wedon't know what's wrong, Kendall,” the doctor gently interjected. “It might notbe anything, but just in case, we're sending you to the hospital. Because thatwill be the best place for you and your baby right now. Okay?”
Inodded quickly and asked, “Okay, when … when do I have to be there?”
Thedoctor didn't waste another second, as she replied, “Right now.”
Withoutfurther instruction, Goose grabbed my hand and we hurried through the waitingroom and to the elevator. We rode silently down to the street, where he waveddown a cab and helped me in. Then, as we zigged and zagged through New YorkCity traffic, he turned to me, never letting go of my hand, and looking rightinto my eyes, said, “You're going to be fine, Kenny. Okay? I swear to God, I'mnot going to let a fucking thing happen to you or your baby.”
Withmy hand wrapped in his and tears frozen in my eyes, I spent the rest of theride to the hospital thanking God that, of all the bars I could've stumbledinto that day in September, I happened to stumble into his.
Chapter Twenty
Theyhad been waiting for my arrival, just like Dr. Albrecht had said. The nursethat greeted us ordered Goose to wait in a chair. But as she led me down a longhallway to a room of hospital beds, curtains, and monitors, I soon wished hehadn't been made to stay back. I didn’t want to be alone, as they, without anyexplanation, instructed me to putall ofmy clothesand belongings into a bag and to change into a gown.
“Okay,Kendall, just lay down here and we’ll get you set up with an IV,” one of thenurses said with a reassuring smile.
“What’shappening?” I asked, flitting my eyes around to look at every one of thehospital personnel crowded into the room. “Why do I need an IV?”
“Justin case we need to administer any medications,” she replied, as another nursebegan to ask me a myriad of questions about my health history and themedications I was currently taking.
“Whatis going on?” I asked again, and the nurse handling the IV finally answered,“We're just doing all of this as aprecaution, just in caseyou need it. We don't want to have to waste any time.”
Incase I needit?I thought frantically,furrowing my brows.In case I need it for what?
Theon-call doctor entered the room in a winter jacket, like she had been gettingready to leave before answering the call to come see me. She smiled at me,introducing herself as Dr. Gellar, and asked for a brief run-down of what I'dbeen experiencing over the past couple of weeks. I told her everything that I'dpreviously told my doctor, and Dr. Gellar nodded, removing herjacketand revealing her scrubs.
She'sin scrubs. Why is she in scrubs? What the hell is going on here? Why won’tanybody tell me what’s going on?
Mythoughts were running a mile a minute, as my eyes volleyed between the doctorand other medical staff, scurrying purposefully around the room. They washedtheir hands, tended to computers, and I felt like I was an actor on one ofthose hospital dramas. Nothing felt real, nothing felt right, and I wonderedif, at some point, I would wake up from this nightmare and find I’d never beensick.
Finally,Dr. Gellar stopped to peer over a nurse’s shoulder, at the screen she wasworking on, and asked, “Kendall, have you noticed any leakage?”
“Leakage?”I squeaked through the panic rising in my throat. “I … I don't know?”
