24. Ellie
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ellie
I’D SENT SULLY AWAY, but the truth was, I didn’t want to do any of this alone.
I didn’t want to give myself this shot.
But even more than that, I didn’t want to sit in this abnormally quiet house by myself.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever really spent time in the Londons’ house without any of the Londons, and in some ways, the absence of them when they were usually so present made me feel even more alone.
But everything that had led me to this moment, this place, this time, had been of my choice and my making, so all I could do was breathe and move forward.
And that was what I did.
I took a long, warm shower before changing into a comfortable pair of shorts and one of Sully’s old shirts from his room—a faded one from a summer baseball league. It hit me mid-thigh, absorbing my shorts beneath it, and smelled like him. God, it smelled enough like him that I almost cried.
But then I made myself a cup of decaf coffee, sat at the kitchen table, and pulled myself together enough to finish organizing my medication.
I read the information pamphlet from beginning to end—something I always did now when being prescribed something new.
I took note of every side effect, of every precaution. All of it.
It was obsessive, in a way, something I was more than aware of.
It was also a fine line for me, to be knowledgeable about all the side effects without hyperfixating on them in a way that would spike my anxiety.
But I wanted to be as educated as possible on what I was putting into my body.
I couldn’t rely on anyone else to do that for me—for us.
Life was a balance of weighing outcomes. Of analyzing risks and benefits of any given course, and since I’d decided on this one, here I was.
Taking another steadying breath, I pulled my shirt up to clean an area of skin and then began to prep the needle, only to drop it when an unexpected cramp tore across my lower stomach. I doubled over, hunching from the pain.
Alarm spiked my blood flow.
Mild cramps were normal, I knew. Which was why I wasn’t concerned about the light ache in my belly this morning. But this one…this didn’t feel mild or light.
Another pulse of pain tore across my insides, and I instinctively moved to the bathroom. Not really knowing what else to do, I sat on the toilet, dropping my head into my hands, eyes squeezed shut.
Panic gripped me fully now, my stomach squeezing with turmoil.
I tried to breathe, using techniques I’d learned over the years, placing a hand on my stomach and feeling it expand as I inhaled.
I couldn’t remember ever being so desperate to remain calm, so as not to confuse whatever symptoms I was experiencing with the ones my stress-aware neural pathways might manifest.
But maybe it was too late.
Had my brain created this pain? Or was something wrong?
This dilemma, these questions, they weren’t new to me. But it felt critical today. Like a test of sorts. Perhaps proof that I’d be able to manage my health anxiety while pregnant.
You haven’t even taken the Lovenox yet, I reminded myself. You’re okay.
I had to be okay.
I mean, I hadn’t done anything yet. I’d been following all the recommendations for pregnant women.
I’d been careful. I’d had decaf, for crying out loud.
And I’d been good. I’d been scared, sure, but I hadn’t let my brain take me to scary places yet, and there was a difference.
It was something I was so proud of, honestly.
I was so proud that I’d handled the last month better than a younger me ever would have thought.
I was here, and I was doing this, and I could keep doing this, and I—
My stomach tightened, and I gasped as tears pricked the back of my closed eyelids.
No, no, no.
I’d been doing so good, but this morning—this morning, when it finally came time to face this medication, and this reality, and doing it all without Sully…
well, worry had been brewing heavily in my gut, worsening with every minute that passed after he left, chipping away at my resolve.
So maybe that was all this was. A moment of anxiousness that would pass. I’d be okay.
But then pain rippled through me again, more intense, and I forced my eyes open. And that was when I noticed that my underwear was stained with blood again.
More spotting.
More pain.
For a second, my brain quieted as I came to the realization that my amygdala had nothing to do with what was happening here.
The evidence was right in front of me. Even though it was slight, even though it could be explained away…
it was evidence all the same. Evidence that my prefrontal cortex used when it kicked in, piecing things together in a logical way.
Everything slotted into place for just one second of time, and a knowing settled over me. An awareness I couldn’t shake.
And then everything completely broke apart.
Including me.