25
Emily’s Saturday radio shift had started like any other. Three hours in the hot seat, just her and the console. The waves of pain had been rolling through her for days, but she kept telling herself she was perfectly fine.
‘That’s Gotye, “Somebody That I Used to Know”,’ she said into the mic, voice too bright.
‘You’re with Emily this Saturday on Melbourne’s number-one hit music station.
If you’re near Highpoint, the street team’s out there handing out Red Bull and Donut King freebies.
I know, I should be out there too, but someone’s gotta hold the fort. ’
She was trying so hard. Every word measured, every pause calculated.
‘If there’s a track you want to hear, give us a call: fourteen-sixteen-twelve.’
Had she already said that? Her brain felt thick, thoughts swimming through the cramps that kept stealing her breath.
Emily hit play on ‘Call Me Maybe’. Another wave of pain twisted through her abdomen, sharp enough that she gripped the desk edge. The leather chair squeaked as she shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt.
The sushi from Tuesday. It had to be. Or stress. New shifts, no sleep, living on vending-machine coffee and whatever was left in the prize cupboard. Her body always did this when she pushed too hard.
By the time she pre-recorded the final break, Emily was folded forward, barely holding it together.
‘All right, thank you for hanging out with me today,’ she managed, forcing brightness into her voice. ‘Scotty and Dan are back Monday morning from six, and I’ll catch you next weekend, same time, same place.’
The second she pushed back from the desk, the next wave hit. Hot. Deep. Worse than anything before.
‘Shit.’ Emily doubled over, one hand with a death grip on the desk edge.
‘Whoa, are you all right?’
Tahlia stood in the airlock doorway. She was one of the newer promo girls in her branded hoodie, sunglasses pushed up into blonde hair. She must’ve come looking for leftover prize sheets.
‘Just cramps,’ Emily said, forcing a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. ‘Think I’ve pulled something.’
Tahlia looked at her. Really looked. Clocked the sweat on Emily’s forehead, how she couldn’t quite straighten up.
‘You look terrible.’
‘Thanks.’
Another wave hit, stealing Emily’s breath completely. She grabbed the desk again, her knees threatening to buckle.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Tahlia said. ‘Hospital. It’s five minutes away.’
Emily wanted to argue, but the pain was too much now, radiating through her lower back. And Tahlia’s face was a mix of worry and determination that meant she wasn’t taking no for an answer.
‘Yeah. Okay,’ Emily managed to say.
The drive was a blur of vanilla air freshener mixing with the metallic taste of pain. Tahlia talked the whole way, nervous chatter about some guy from sales, while Emily pressed her forehead against the cool window and tried to breathe.
The emergency department smelt like overcooked vegetables and floor cleaner.
How normal it all seemed. The cracked blue vinyl chairs.
A guy with his thumb wrapped in a tea towel.
A teenager curled around her phone. An older woman knitting, needles clicking in steady rhythm.
The PA system calling for a doctor to ward three.
Everyone looked like they belonged there except Emily.
Tahlia perched beside her, knee bouncing. ‘You okay?’
‘Yep. Probably just pulled something. Or period pain on steroids.’
When they finally called her name, Emily waved Tahlia off. Told her she’d get a cab home. Tahlia didn’t look convinced, but Emily promised she’d text when she was done.
The triage nurse had that particular brand of efficiency that comes from years of sorting actual emergencies from people who’d googled their symptoms.
‘Abdominal pain?’
‘Yeah. Last few days. Kind of low down.’
‘Any nausea? Vomiting?’
‘No. Just the cramps.’
‘Have you had this before?’
‘Not like this. But I’ve been run down. Working weird hours.’
The nurse grabbed a plastic jar from the drawer. Standard yellow lid, patient label already printing. ‘We’ll get a urine sample first. Third door on the left. Pop it in the hatch when you’re done.’
Then, casual as asking about the weather, she said, ‘Any chance you might be pregnant?’
Emily actually laughed. ‘No. I’m on the pill.’
‘When was your last period?’
‘I skip it. Haven’t had one in…’ Emily tried to think back. The pill pack in her bathroom cabinet, the routine of it. ‘I don’t keep track.’
The nurse smiled, the kind that said she’d heard it all before. ‘Sample first, then we’ll take some bloods.’
The bathroom had those motion-sensor taps that never work properly. Emily stood there, sample cup warm in her hand, staring at her reflection under the harsh fluorescent light. Pale. Tired. But nothing that screamed emergency.
She slid the cup into the metal hatch. No one even looked up.
Back in the waiting room, the blood tech was young, maybe mid-twenties, with kind eyes and steady hands.
He chatted about the traffic on Hoddle Street while he found a vein, something about roadworks near the Eastern.
Emily watched the vials fill, dark red, wondering what they were looking for.
Infection, probably. Maybe appendicitis.
‘We picked up some hormone levels that are a bit unexpected,’ the nurse said when he was done, eyes on her screen. ‘The doctor’s ordered a scan. Just to rule things out.’
Unexpected hormone levels. The words meant nothing to Emily then.
The imaging suite was all dim lights and that particular hospital cold that seeps through the thin gown they give you. Daniel, the technician, had grey hair and a patient smile.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, squirting gel onto Emily’s belly. ‘We’ll just take a look.’
The gel was cold. Emily gasped, then apologised. He pressed the wand against her skin, and she winced at the pressure. She watched his face as he stared at the screen, making adjustments, sliding the wand lower.
Then his expression changed. Just a fraction. A tightening around the eyes.
Emily lifted her head. ‘Can you see anything?’
The machine hummed steadily. Daniel set the gel bottle on the tray with a soft click, still staring at the screen.
The pause stretched. The wand stopped moving. His lips pressed together, and Emily knew in that animal way your body knows things before your brain catches up that something was very wrong.
‘Sit up for a second,’ he said. Too calm. Too careful. ‘You can wipe off the gel.’
The paper towel stuck to her skin, came away streaked with clear jelly. Her hands were shaking.
‘There’s a doctor down the corridor who’ll talk you through the results. Do you have anyone with you today?’
Emily’s stomach dropped through the floor. ‘No. I came from work. Why?’ The words came out high, panicked. ‘Am I dying?’
He actually smiled at that. ‘No, not at all. But you are pregnant.’
The room went sideways. Emily stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for him to say he meant something else, anything else.
‘That’s not possible.’ Her voice cracked. ‘I haven’t had sex in months. Well over six months.’
Leo. Seven months ago. That night before he left.
Daniel’s voice was gentle. ‘The scan puts you at around twenty-eight weeks.’
Twenty-eight weeks. The maths hit like a physical blow. More than halfway. Seven months. A baby that had been growing inside her while she lifted speakers, had a ham sandwich at least once a week, and lived on instant noodles and Diet Coke.
‘I don’t even look pregnant,’ Emily whispered, staring down at her stomach.
Flat under the hospital gown. ‘I haven’t been sick.
Until these cramps. I’ve been at work doing all sorts of stupid hours.
I went to a loud concert. I’ve taken Panadol—can you take Panadol?
I haven’t drunk, well not since that night, that I, we… well you know.’
The words tumbled faster, panic rising. ‘Coffee. I have had coffee, mostly instant. I’m too broke for espresso. Do you think I could have hurt it or…’
The doctor chose that moment to make her appearance, glancing at Emily’s chart she started.
‘Emily, breathe,’ she said firmly. ‘Just breathe in slowly. I’m Dr Chen.’
Emily was hyperventilating. Spots dancing at the edge of her vision. She forced air into her lungs, held it, let it out slowly.
‘Cryptic pregnancy,’ Dr Chen said when Emily had calmed enough to hear her. ‘You’re on the pill, irregular cycles. Sometimes the body just…doesn’t show the usual signs.’
Cryptic pregnancy. Like her body had kept it a secret.
‘I didn’t know,’ Emily said, more to herself than Dr Chen. To the baby she’d been carrying without knowing.
Daniel took his cue to back out of the room.
‘How could I not know?’ Emily asked.
‘You couldn’t have,’ Dr Chen said. ‘But you’re okay. The baby’s okay. That’s what matters now.’
The walk back to emergency felt like floating underwater. Everything was muffled, distant. Twenty-eight weeks. A baby. Leo’s baby.
Back in those vinyl chairs, a different nurse crouched beside her. ‘Emily, you’re doing really well. I know this is a lot to process. We’re going to monitor you for a bit. The cramping you’ve been experiencing is early contractions. We want to make sure everything stays stable.’
Emily nodded like the nurse had asked if she wanted sugar in her tea.
‘Do you want us to call anyone? Partner? Family?’
‘My mum lives a couple hours away in the country. Same with my dad.’
The nurse checked the chart, then looked back at Emily with that particular expression medical people get when they’re about to deliver news they think might matter.
‘Would you like to know the baby’s sex?’
Emily’s first instinct was no. Keep it abstract. Keep it theoretical. But what came out was ‘Yeah. Okay.’
Maybe she needed something real. Something concrete in all this impossibility.
The nurse smiled. ‘It’s a girl.’
A girl.
A daughter.
Emily sat there, her hands folded over her stomach like she could protect herself from all these emotions she couldn’t control.
Her phone was in her hand before she’d made the decision to call.
Four rings.
‘Emmy! Darling!’ Her mum’s voice, bright and slightly breathless like she’d rushed to the phone.
‘Mum.’
‘Everything okay? You sound strange. Are you at work?’
‘Mum.’ Emily cut through her chatter. ‘I’m at the hospital. I’ve just found out I’m twenty-eight weeks pregnant.’
The silence stretched. Emily could hear her mother recalibrating, rearranging her world to accommodate this information.
‘Well,’ she said finally, and Emily could already hear the shift to management mode. ‘I suppose that’s that then.’
‘Yeah.’ Emily’s jaw tightened, shoulders going rigid.
‘You’ll have to move back home. Obviously. You can’t possibly manage in Melbourne on your own. What are you even earning on those casual shifts?’
Same old Mum, already taking over, already assuming she would fail.
‘I’m not moving home.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got long-service leave coming up. I was planning on a European cruise, but that’ll have to wait.’
‘You don’t have to…’
‘This baby’s going to need proper support. You can’t raise a child on promo work and instant noodles.’
‘I’ve got it,’ Emily said, flat.
Her mother exhaled, that particular sigh that meant Emily was being difficult, ungrateful, all the things she’d always accused her of being.
Emily ended the call. Stared at the phone. Called the next number.
‘Hi, Dad.’
A pause. Then, ‘Emily? Everything all right? It’s late.’
‘I’m at the hospital. I’m pregnant.’
The pause was shorter this time. When he spoke, his voice went flat, closed off.
‘If you’re calling to ask for money…’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘Because if you think I’m going to fund this disaster, you’re mistaken. You made your bed, Emily. Time to lie in it.’
Emily ended the call. Deleted his number before she could think about it. Nothing there worth saving anyway.
She still couldn’t cry. Not when the doctor came to explain about threatened preterm labour, about steroids for her baby’s lungs just in case. They moved her to a bed, hooked her up to monitors.
Dr Chen returned. Emily noticed this time how young she was, maybe early thirties. Her no-nonsense tone somehow made everything feel manageable.
‘The contractions have stopped for now,’ Dr Chen said, checking the monitor. ‘Your cervix is closed, which is good. But we want to keep you overnight. Make sure things stay settled.’
‘So she’s not coming now?’
‘No. Our goal is to keep her cooking as long as possible. Every day matters at this stage.’
After Dr Chen left, Emily walked to the vending machine at the end of the ward. Pressed the button for a long black out of habit. The smell hit, bitter and burnt and familiar. She cradled it in both hands, lifted it to her lips.
Then stopped.
Caffeine was bad for babies, wasn’t it?
Emily set the cup on the windowsill, untouched. Her hand drifted to her stomach. Almost flat. Still no movement. But there was a baby there. Had been there through everything.
The hospital sounds faded to white noise. In that moment, it was just Emily and her baby. No Leo. No parents. No plan. Just the two of them.
‘I’m sorry,’ Emily whispered to her stomach, to her baby, to the future that had just crashed into her present. ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t know you were there.’