ERIC #2
When I reach the lobby, she’s still moving fast—a human streak heading for the bathrooms. My only guess is that she ate something earlier that doesn’t agree with her. So I let her escape to the sanctity of the women’s room, and I park myself right outside to wait.
It’s not really like me to worry. But the minutes tick by with no sign from her. Gunnar appears eventually, crossing the empty lobby with a casual stride. “Everything okay?” he asks when he reaches me.
“I really don’t know,” I admit. “All she said was that she needed the ladies’ room.”
“Did you see anyone else go in there?” he asks. “I need to check on her.”
“I haven’t seen a soul,” I admit. “You know what? Let me do it.”
Gunnar shrugs, and I push open the door, hearing only silence inside. “Alex, are you in here?” I step further into the quiet bathroom. Only one of the stall doors is closed. “Alex, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m…I’m bleeding,” she gasps.
“What?” My heart rate doubles. “You’re hurt?”
“No. I…don’t know what’s happening. I might be having a miscarriage.”
Oh Jesus. I hear the toilet flush. And a moment later, the stall door opens, and a very pale Alex comes out. “I need to go to a hospital.”
“Okay, all right.” I hold out a hand, and she grips it, teetering briefly on those heels. That’s when instinct takes over. I just pluck her off the floor carry her toward the door of the restroom. “Gunnar,” I bark as I approach the door, and he opens it. I carry Alex out. “We are going to the E.R.”
“Oh hell. Need company?”
“What we need is a car.”
“On it.” He taps his watch, then starts speaking while he jogs across the lobby toward the main entrance.
“This is bad,” Alex says as I carry her toward the doors.
“You don’t know that for sure,” I say. But who the fuck am I to say so? I’m just a dumb jock who hates the look of fear on Alex’s face. “Let’s find a doctor who can help you out.”
She bites her lip and doesn’t say another word. By the time I get all the way outside, Gunnar has a black passenger sedan and a driver waiting. I place Alex on the back seat and slide in beside her. “We need…”
“The emergency room,” Gunnar finishes for me. “The driver knows.” He shuts the door and raps twice on the glass.
And off we go.
“Do you need me to step out?” I ask the tech who wheels the sonogram machine into the exam room where Alex is reclined.
“Not if you’d rather stay,” the man says. He has a cheerful round face and wears crisp blue scrubs. “I’m going to need you in a robe,” he says to Alex. “Open at the front, okay? You can leave your bra on. I just need to get at that belly. I’ll be right back.”
Alex nods. She’s tense and silent.
When we drove up fifteen minutes ago, I’d remarked that this hospital is kind of small. “It probably doesn’t matter,” Alex had said. “It’s so early in my pregnancy, if I am miscarrying, there’s nothing anyone can do.”
So here we are. And I guess rural Oahu is the place to be if you’re in need of an emergency evaluation on a Friday night. This place is clean and cheerful, and quieter than any New York City E.R. could ever be.
“Need help with that zipper?” I offer as the technician slips away.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, twisting to show me her back. “I’m sorry for this.”
“No, I’m sorry.” It’s just dawning on me that this is all my fault. What was I even thinking, taking a pregnant woman to bed? I wasn’t rough with her. But I wasn’t careful, either. “Slip your arms out of those straps.” I say gruffly, lifting the hospital gown and holding it behind her.
“This part really wasn’t in your job description,” she murmurs as she sheds the top half of the dress and then dons the hospital gown.
I pull the halves together for her. “Honestly, hospitals don’t bother me much. I’m a frequent flier.”
“Why?”
“Knee surgery. Shoulder surgery. That is part of my job description.”
“Better you than me,” she grumbles. “I hate hospitals. So much.” She lifts her hips and I slide the dress out from under her. My gut goes a little sideways when I see blood on it. Not just a little bit, either. Quickly, I sweep the dress out of sight behind me. But of course she knows it’s there.
Oh Alex. I’m so sorry.
And now I feel like punching something. So much for my chipper small talk.
“Knock knock,” the sonogram guy says. “Now let’s have a look at that baby.” He enters the room and snaps on the monitor. I move to the head of the bed to get out of the way as the technician grabs a tube of goo and squirts it on Alex’s exposed stomach.
Alex’s face creases with tension, and she clutches my fingers more tightly. I doubt she even knows she’s doing it. The tech puts the wand on her belly and slides it around for a moment. Then he actually smiles. “Well, hi there! Look at you, moving around!”
And, whoa. There’s a baby on that screen. It’s shaped like a peanut. Or a lima bean. But that’s a baby, and it’s lifting its tiny hand. “Is it sucking its thumb?”
“Yep!” the tech says.
“That’s good, right?” Alex lifts her chin as if getting closer to the screen will tell her what she needs to know.
“Very good. See that nice strong heartbeat?” He hits a button and then we can hear it. A rapid, rhythmic whoosh.
And I am speechless.
But not Alex. “Can you tell if anything is wrong?”
“Someone from OB will be down to speak to you,” he says.
“But all I see is a healthy fetus that’s positioned correctly.
With bleeding, we always need to rule out an ectopic pregnancy.
But that’s not an issue for you. Hang in there, Ms. Engels.
There are no guarantees. But I don’t think you’re having your heart broken tonight. ”
Her face relaxes for the first time since we got here.
“Before I go, do you already know the sex of your baby?”
“No!” Alex says. “I thought I didn’t want to know. But now I think I do. Tell me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
He chuckles. “It’s a girl. I’m ninety percent sure.”
“A little girl,” Alex whispers, awe in her voice.
“I’ll make an extra print for you. Just try to relax okay?”
She sets her head back and lets out a deep breath. Then she remembers to unclench my hand.
The next visitor is a curt female obstetrician. “I’m Dr. Patel,” she says crisply. “Tell me about the bleeding you’re experiencing.”
“Bright red blood everywhere. It came on very suddenly.”
“Significant cramping?”
“No, just a twinge.”
“And have you experienced bleeding earlier in your pregnancy? Spotting? Red or brown in color?”
“Not a bit. That’s why I panicked.”
“Okay…” The doctor makes a thoughtful face. “I don’t believe you’re miscarrying. The suddenness of your symptoms is a little odd. Most women aren’t aware, though, that twenty-five percent of healthy full-term pregnancies experience some unexplained bleeding during the first trimester.”