Nodding, I pulled back and shot him a weak smile while trying to swallow, but my mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
“Let’s get you set up, Lana,” the doctor said gently as she directed me to the bed.
It was supposed to be comfortable with a homey feel to it. But there was nothing to be relaxed about, and it briefly irritated me the attempts hospitals made to make a stiff bed padded with thin sheets seem like it was home. As I got on the bed and leaned against the inclined back so I was in a sitting position, I glanced at the machines that were on one side, most of which I was familiar with. And the familiarity of it was calming as Dr. Williams explained the nurse would begin to set me up for the nonstress test.
It was an odd name to call when this was all so stressful.
The doctor then asked me a variety of questions.
Was I spotting?
Was I leaking anything?
Any pain?
Any fever or chills?
When did I last eat?
When did I last drink? What was the drink?
When was the last known time the baby moved?
How long between the movements was normal?
When was my due date?
So many questions, and each one made my heart race a little more.
As the nurse placed stickers and monitors on my stomach, Drew came to my side and held my hand in one of his while he brushed my hair off my face with his other. He dried my tears as they escaped the corners of my eyes, leaving a warm trail down my cheeks.
I didn’t realize everything that would need to be done to check on my baby. For some strange reason, I had it in my mind—until I walked into this room—that it would be a quick check from an ultrasound. But that wasn’t the case, and I was overwhelmingly relieved at the thoroughness in place to check my baby. I prayed to God she was okay and everything was fine. That it was all in my head and my exhausted brain was making up things.
When the monitors were in place, the nurse explained the test could take a while to ensure the health of my baby and me. As she explained, I watched the doctor as she scribbled down notes on her clipboard by the small desk in the room.
My eyes flicked back to the nurse as she flipped on the monitor and watched the screen light up. When the nurse stood there and waited for, I assumed, my baby’s heartbeats, my stomach dropped and my heart stuttered.
There were no heartbeats except for my racing ones that were so loud.
So, so loud.
The nurse murmured she’d try to check for the heartbeats in a few different ways, yet they still weren’t coming as she did.
That caught Dr. Williams’s attention. She straightened from her slightly bent position as she jotted down notes. A stray piece of her dark wavy hair had fallen from her ponytail and fell over her forehead, which she didn’t tuck back as she took the few steps toward us and peered at the screen. She told the nurse to try something else; I wasn’t sure what it was and couldn’t focus enough on hearing what she said. My mind was whirling, and I was trying to push away my panic that I had barely kept at bay until now.
The nurse followed the directions, and still nothing.
I wanted to scream at her to find my baby’s heartbeat.
Drew’s hand tightened around mine, reminding me he was here with me and was as desperate as I was to hear our baby was okay. That she was alive, and this was some machine malfunction.
When the heartbeats didn’t come, the nurse swiftly—and thankfully—calmly retrieved the ultrasound I was used to.
After removing the monitors from my stomach, she squeezed cold gel on my stomach and smeared it around with the wand. Tapping a few things to catch the image of my baby, she tried to find my baby’s heartbeat.
“What’s happening?” I whispered when really I wanted to scream.
My racing heartbeat on the ultrasound thundered and was all I heard when I just wanted to hear my baby’s.
