Chapter Twenty-One
Iwasn’t sure how much more of this I could take. Given that I was only mid-first trimester, that was saying something. Because logically, I had months and months of this left to go.
To be fair, it had way less to do with my body changes and early pregnancy symptoms and a whole lot more to do with the man I shared my life with. Because—and yes, I’d been aware of this ahead of time—Adam was a lot.
A lot.
And expectant father Adam was just over the top extra.
For example, suddenly I was drinking disgusting green kale smoothies. He’d bought a special high-end blender and got the recipe from April.
We’d chosen not to tell anyone until the end of the first trimester—which was over a month away still, so I had nobody to rant to about any of this.Not even Heath, my usual go-to.
And the green smoothies? I’d choked the first one down when he’d made it for me and managed to keep it down—miraculously. But it hadn’t been a pleasant experience all the way around.
Since then, morning sickness had hit with a vengeance and keeping those fuckers down was not so easy. I’d been puking them up for days.
It had gotten so unpleasant so quickly that I’d started taking them in a to-go cup “to drink on the way to work.” And then I’d promptly dump them down the drain upon arrival at the hospital.I didn’t like doing it, but keeping my stomach calm was the top priority.
And what idiot had called it morning sickness, anyway? Mine lasted all day.
Most of the time it didn’t go as far as my stomach rejecting its contents and was more just a constant queasiness. Happy times.
The only thing worse than morning sickness, though, was hiding it from my skittish partner.
Adam was barely holding it together over all this. He fussed over the organic and thrice-washed fresh ingredients he insisted on putting in the damn smoothies. Kale, pears, mango, almond milk, chia seeds, and banana. Just the thought of trying to choke yet another one down made my stomach do a flip.
Food was the last thing I wanted to put in my stomach. But dried ginger slices and soda water? Those were my friends.
Since it was common for women to lose some weight in early pregnancy, I wasn’t worried. I also knew that the baby was getting the nutrients they needed from my body regardless of whether I was or not. In pregnancy mode, a woman’s body prioritized the embryo first when it came to all survival needs.
Days and even weeks passed like this. I congratulated myself on my success in keeping my husband calm. But one day, when I was ten weeks along, I realized, too late, my mistake.
I’d been feeling off for a few days and, admittedly, not putting enough into my body as a result. I should have been taking an anti-emetic, for which I could easily call my obstetrician or even prescribe for myself. But even the thought of taking a pill, and having to keep it down, was unappealing. I’d been focusing on my patients and ignoring my own discomfort, trying to forget how miserable these early pregnancy symptoms were making me.
I was in the middle of my cards rotation one morning. Four of us residents and an attending physician stood in a semi-circle around the patient lying in bed. Dr. Smith, our attending, greeted the patient and, instead of opening the chart, like attendings normally do, turned to me. “Dr. Strong, fill us in on this patient, will you?”
I blinked, not expecting to be on the spot with the entire report rather than just the update. I rattled off a brief description, medical history, and current symptoms, monitor and blood panel results.
As I talked, I felt more and more lightheaded. By the time I’d finished my spiel, the attending had pulled up the chart on his tablet to quiz me.
Which annoyed me, even if I did know the answers and responded accordingly.
“Are you okay?” A fellow resident nudged me. “You look pale.”
I arched a brow. “I’m fine. Just nervous.” I don’t have any memory of what happened next. Only that my legs suddenly gave out and I started tilting, making a grab at the rails on the patient’s bed to keep upright.
But there were arms around me and the cold floor underneath me right after that.
And then, I lost consciousness.
I don’t think it was long, but it was long enough for the residents to load me onto a gurney and wheel me down to the ER. They were in the middle of this trip when I came to, staring at the acoustic ceiling and glaring fluorescent lights above.
Dr. Ochoa—Maria, a fellow resident—peeked down at me from beside the gurney as the nurse’s assistant guided us around the corners. “Hey, you feeling okay?”
I blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you taking me to—? I don’t need to go to the ER.” I put my hand on the railing as if that would stop this surreal ride.
Maria shook her head. “No can do—hospital policy. You need to be checked out before you’re cleared. But I am calling typical intern-year resident fatigue on this one.” She arched her brow at me. Maria, a ripe old third-year resident, spoke from her vast experience, obviously. “You aren’t the first one this year to have gone down, so at least you can feel good about that.”
My eyes rolled up into my head as I closed them. Even the motion of the fucking gurney was making me nauseous. But to have lost it so much that I’d passed out? That wasn’t just resident fatigue, obviously. Almost certainly, it was due to low blood sugar.
And that was completely and solely my own fault.If only I’d choked down that fucking disgusting kale smoothie Adam had made me yet again this morning, maybe I wouldn’t be here on the roll of shame to the ER.
Thinking back, I’d had little beyond a few crackers and some water in the last twenty-four-hour period. I’d obviously been neglecting my body’s needs, so this was bound to happen sooner or later.
Stupid, stubborn me.
“We need to take your vitals. Then you need to go home for some rest. Someone called your husband to let him know. After—”
“What?” I nearly sat up then before the nurse’s assistant gently pressed on my shoulder to lie back down. “No! Don’t call my husband,” I gasped.
Shit.
Once we got into an examination room, Dr. Ochoa brought in a medical scribe, Shelley, to handle my chart. And I had to spill the beans.
“I’m ten weeks pregnant.”
Maria’s eyes went wide like saucers. “First Bluth and now you? What is in the water?”
Aside from Adam, Maria was the very first person to know. And even though I knew I was protected under HIPAA from her revealing that info to anyone else, I had to make her swear not to breathe a word to anyone.
She shook her head, frowning. “Of course not. I promise. It’s between you, me and the chart—and any attendings who might walk in here to check on you. I’m pretty sure Smith will probably be down here to see how you’re doing once he’s done with the morning rounds. He was really worried about you when it happened.”
I blinked, suddenly awash with guilt.
I suspected that was going to be even worse once Adam got here. My poor husband. I could only imagine what was going through his mind right this very second.