5. Fiona
Chapter five
Fiona
Six Weeks Later
S hit, my stomach feels like it’s going against me. Hugging the toilet, I unload everything that I’ve tried to eat this morning into it.
“Are you okay, Fee?” my mother asks as she leans against the doorframe of the bathroom door. Her eyes widen a bit when she gets a look at me. I know I must look like shit. I’ve barely slept, and I’ve been puking my guts out for the last week.
Sweat drips down my back as Isit up. “Ugh, not sure. It feels like something is trying to kill me.” Groaning, I reach for some toilet paper to wipe my mouth.
My mother grabs a washcloth from underneath the sink, and I watch as she holds it under the cool water. “How long have you been feeling like this?”
She dabs the towel against my forehead. My eyes flutter closed with how good the cool water feels against my skin. I’m not sure how much more I can take of this.
My stomach churns when I feel sick once again. Pushing my mother out of the way, I lunge toward the toilet and retch into it. Which turns into dry heaving since I have nothing left in my stomach. Once I’m able to calm myself, I lean back against the cool bathtub, embracing the cool feel against my skin. No one really talks about how throwing up can make you hot all over.
“About a week off and on,” I reply dismissively.
Her eyes narrow at me when she asks her next question. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“It’s just a stomach bug.” Waving her off I turn away and grab the washcloth to wipe the back of my neck myself.
She eyes me suspiciously. “It seems more than a stomach bug.”
“Mom. I’ll take care of it.” I lower my voice so she knows she needs to drop it, but unfortunately, she doesn’t take the hint.
“Well, if you were taking care of it, you would’ve been feeling better a week ago.”
“I can’t afford to go to the doctor. Besides, it’s a virus. There is nothing they can do.”
Reaching for my arm, my mom goes to pull me up off the ground. Her voice holds a hint of annoyance. “A week is too long. I’m taking you in now. It could be serious.”
I try to move out of her grasp, but she squeezes my arm hard, hurting me. She pulls me up from the ground, as she mocks. “Besides, you don’t want to miss out on any more jobs, right?”
My parents never thought my photography business was a serious job, just a phase that I was going through. Working in the church is what they really want me to do, so that I can find a respectable husband. What they don’t seem to understand is that isn’t in any part of my plans.
I roll my shoulders back. Damn it, she has a point. “Fine. I’ll go to urgent care. Just give me a minute.”
My mother releases my arm, and I try to stand on my own, but the room spins. It takes all my might to stay upward, putting my hands out to find support, but apparently, I’m unsuccessful. A sharp pain rings through my head when darkness takes over.
“Fiona.” My lashes flutter when I hear my name being called.
Opening my eyes seems harder than you would think, but when I’m finally able to, my mother is standing next to my bed but a few feet away as she’s trying to keep her distance. As she stares at me, her forehead is etched with concern. Her eyes well up with tears, but I can tell she’s holding them back. My gaze drifts to where my father is standing, right behind my mother. His arms are crossed over his chest, his mouth turned downward. Crap, he looks angry. I try to think what he could be so angry about. I’m the one who is sick, and what appears to be a hospital room.
“Where am I? What happened?" I croak out. Smacking my lips together, I try to create some saliva to help coat my dry throat.
My mother opens her mouth to answer, but my father answers first in a sharp tone. “You passed out in the bathroom. Your mother thought it was best to call the ambulance.”
It’s obvious he didn’t agree with my mother to call for help. Him not caring enough hits me right in the chest. His anger shouldn’t surprise me. I’ve been letting him down for years now.
My mistakes get worse and worse as the years go by in his mind.
Trying to figure out what is going on, I gather my strength to sit up in the hospital bed, which proves to be harder than I thought. My mother sees me struggling and goes to help me but he stops her. “Mary. Don’t you dare.”
Bouncing my gaze between them, I’m not sure what to say, when he continues with a tone filled with anger, “She can do it all on her own. Just like she does everything else.”
Her eyes soften a bit as she pleads with me to understand that she’s listening to my father. But I’m not sure what I’m trying to understand. “Can someone tell me why I’m here?”
Before either of my parents can answer, we’re interrupted by a knock on the door. A nurse and doctor, who both must be in their sixties walk in, seeming to not sense the tension in the room. Both have a smile plastered on their faces, but the doctor is the first one to speak while the nurse goes to check my I.V. “Good to see that you’re up, Ms. Adams. How are you feeling?”
“Confused. My throat is dry. What happened?” I rasp out.
The doctor nods as he listens. The nurse goes to the pitcher of water sitting next to the bed, handing me a cup. Fuck, I didn’t even see it there. I would’ve asked my mom to get me some water.
“Careful. We don’t want you throwing up again,” the nurse warns me as I chug it.
Once it’s all gone, I hand the cup back, whispering, “Thank you.”
The nurse gives me a big smile when the doctor asks me questions. “Fiona, other than your throat, how does everything else feel?”
Pausing, I take note of my body. “My head hurts a little.”
“That’s to be expected. You fell and hit your head. We ran a few tests to make sure that everything was okay.”
A lump forms in my throat as the worst-case scenarios of what could be wrong run through my mind. “You’re extremely dehydrated.” Nodding, he points to the IV. “We gave you an IV. of fluids.” He looks down at his clipboard, then up at me with a look I can’t quite read. “Congratulations, Fiona… You’re pregnant.”
“What? I can’t be pregnant. Are you sure?”
The doctor’s brow pulls together as he processes my question. “We did a blood test. It’s one hundred percent accurate. You are pregnant.”
That’s when all hell breaks loose. “I knew it! You’re a whore. I should’ve known when you started putting your job before the church!” my father yells from across the room.
He points his finger at me as she marches right at me, screaming in my face. “This happens when you turn your back on God!”
I look to my mother for help, but I should’ve known better. Her eyes are fixated on the ground, refusing to look at me as my dad continues to rip into me. “You’re not welcome in my house anymore.”
“Sir. Please keep your voice down,” the nurse says to him, but he doesn’t seem to register what she’s saying. “You are not an Adams anymore, Fiona. I never want to see your face again,” my father snaps at me before he grabs my sobbing mother and walks out the door.
Laying my head back down on the pillow, I close my eyes, trying to hold back tears that seem to want to pour out. When a hand lands on my arm, my eyes open, and I look at the owner. The nurse rubs my arm to comfort me. “Its okay sweetheart. You’ll make it through this.”
Nodding my head, I blink away the tears, because right now isn’t the time to break down. I place my hand on my stomach. “I’m really pregnant?”
“Yes. You’re really pregnant. Do you have someone we can call?”
Wracking my brain, I try to think about who I can call to help me. Because not only am I pregnant, but after my father’s declaration, I’m apparently homeless too. The whole reason I was living at home was to save up money since I had just started my photography business.
Starting my business and running it costs more money than I realized. Now I have my little bean to think of. A tear runs down my cheek as the idea that I might not continue my business enters my mind.
I brush the tears away. “Did anyone bring my purse when I came in?”
The nurse answers instead of the doctor. She heads toward a set of doors in the room. “Let me check in the closet.”
When she opens the door, I see my purse sitting right there on the shelf. I feel grateful that my parents felt the need to grab one of my belongings. My hand goes straight to my chest. “Oh, thank god.”
She grabs my purse and hands it to me. Opening it up, I rummage through it until I find my cell phone. Pulling it out, I look at the doctor and nurse. “Can I get some privacy, please?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a bit to check in on you.” They both leave, but before they do, I stop them. “Excuse me, when can I leave?”
The doctor turns back toward me and nods. “As soon as you have someone to pick you up, we can release you.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Watching them both leave, I feel like a can breathe without eyes on me. Time to figure out how I can get out of this mess. Scrolling through my contacts, I look for the one number that belongs to the one person who could help me. I hit Send , then wait on pins and needles until I hear her voice. I met her when I was out advertising my business. She was looking for a photographer for her wedding that wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg. I was looking for my first client. When the phone rings on the other line I release my breath, when I finally hear it. “Hello.”
“Hazel, it’s Fiona. I need your help. Please come to St. Andrews Hospital, and I’ll explain everything.”