Then,I glanced around the room and noticed Goose was gone. My heart sank with anoverwhelming need for him to be there, and I asked, “Where's Goose?”
“Wejust saw him in the lobby on our way up,” Mom said. “He told us he was goinghome to shower.”
“Oh,”I muttered, not intending to sound so disappointed.
“Buthe said he'd be back later, after he stops at work to let them know he’d beout.”
“Oh,and he said that, if there was anything you wanted him to bring back, to sendhim a text,” Dad chimed in, taking a seat in the chair that Goose had slept in.
Mombrought the vase of flowers she carried to the table beside the bed. “Wegrabbed these in the gift shop. They'rekindawilted,but,” she fluffed the blossomed roses and daisies abit, perking them up and making them prettier, “they'll have to do until we canget some nicer ones.”
“They'refine, Mom,” I said, barely able to bring my voice above a whisper.
“Wealso got you this,” she said, picking up the stuffed cat and handing it to me.“I know it's not Mrs. Potter, butitkind of lookslike her, so we thought you might like it.”
Tearsfilled my eyes as I hugged the floppy stuffed animal. I missed my cat. I hadleft in such ahurry,I didn’t have time to saygoodbye or make sure she was all set for the night. I hoped she wasn’tconfused, and I hoped she wouldn’t be angry whenever I made it back home.
“Thanks,”I managed to say.
“So,we talked to the doctor last night after we first got here,” she went on,folding her hands in her lap. “They'repretty sureyouhave severe preeclampsia, judging from the way your blood pressure spiked sosuddenly. They said if you had come in even just a couple hours later, youwould have had a stroke, and the baby would've already been gone.”
Thebaby.
Ilaid a hand over my empty stomach at the reminder of my poor baby. How had Inot thought about him, first thing after I woke up? How could I have been soselfish?
“Ishe …” I couldn't get the last word out.Alive. I hugged the stuffed catcloser to my chest, unable to believe that I wasactuallywonderingif my baby was still on this earth, when just yesterday, hewas still in my belly. Kicking and still so far away from being ready to beborn.
“Heis,” Mom answered softly. “They have him in the NICU right now. You don'tremember one of the nurses coming in last night to talk to you?”
Itried to recall such conversation from the night before and came back with nothing.So, I shook my head and replied, “No. I don't remember much from last night.Just little bits and pieces of things.”
Dadnodded understandingly. “Youwerepretty out of it. They must've put youto sleep during surgery.”
“Yeah,they did,” I said, recalling the moment the anesthesiologist told me he wouldgive me something to make me feel better. “After they took the baby.”
Itwas all so surreal, and no matter how many minutes passed by in that hospitalroom, the reality of the situation didn't seem to settle in. I kept trying toforce the truth home. That I had given birth to my baby boy, and that he washere, three whole months premature and in the neonatal intensive care unit. Butthere was a big part of my psyche that seemed to be too detached from it all,and I just couldn't seem to accept that this was my life. No matter how hard Itried, I just couldn't believe it was real.
AfterI forced myself to eat some fruit and a muffin, Dr. Gellar came in to run methrough what they knew about my condition. Just as my mother had said, I wasdiagnosed with preeclampsia, a condition that causes high blood pressure inpregnant women. Coupled with that, my amniotic fluid had been almost completelydepleted for reasons unbeknownst to the doctor. She ran me through themagnesium sulfate treatment I was currently undergoing, and the variety ofmedications I was on, to try and control my blood pressure.
“I’mso hot,” I complained, rolling my head against the pillow.
“Iknow,” she sympathized, nodding. “You’re going to be warm from the mag, and youmight find it harder to breathe for a while, from the fluid around your lungs.That’s why we have you on the oxygen,” she said, gesturing toward the canula inmy nose. “You’re going to be uncomfortable for a couple days, but we’rewatching you very closely, and you’re going to be fine.”
Aquestion burned against my tongue, and I knew I needed to ask. “Was itsomething I did?” I asked, fearing her answer, as I clutched the stuffed catand kept my eyes diverted from the woman in the white lab coat.
“No.God, no,” she assured me, reaching out to lay a hand on my blanket-coveredknee. “There was absolutely nothing you could have done differently to preventthis from happening. Unfortunately, this just happens sometimes, and it is innowayyour fault.”
Iheard what she was saying, and I believed she was telling the truth. But Istill couldn't accept it. I couldn't accept that my body had simply decided itno longer wanted to carry the baby. I couldn't accept that I had taken somethingso natural like pregnancy, and completely failed at it, for no other reasonthan, “it just happens sometimes.”
Icouldn't accept that I had almost killed myself and my baby, just by beingpregnant.
“Usually,”Dr. Gellar explained further, “the preeclampsia goes away right after givingbirth, but in some cases, the complications linger for a while. And right now,your blood pressure is still high. Hopefully, we'll see some improvement overthe next couple of days.”
Inodded through the fog I was in. “Okay.”
“Justtake solace in the fact that you listened to your intuition and got to thedoctor when you did. You listened to your body, and now, you and your baby areexactly where you need to be, becauseyoudid the right thing,” she wenton, offering a spiel I didn't feel quite up to hearing.
“Okay,”I repeated, and then, added for good measure, “Thank you.”
