Faith Sullivan - Meant for Me

“What the hell is going on?” Eric demands, dropping my hand as he approaches the doctor.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just wanted my colleague to confirm my suspicions. I don’t like to treat these kinds of cases lightly.” He pauses, removing the wand from inside of me. “Unfortunately, an ultrasound usually can’t confirm a placental abruption because most of the time they’re too small. But it appears as if, somehow, a portion of your placenta has already detached, but not all the way. See this line here? It’s hanging, suspended in the amniotic fluid. The initial separation is what caused the bleeding the first time. As the baby grows and begins to move, the placenta doesn’t remain stationary. I believe the second time it almost ruptured but didn’t. It’s still attached, but only by a thread. If it breaks off completely, it will put you and the baby at great risk.”

“But will it break off?” I grab the sides of the exam table, willing my hands to remain steady.

“In all likelihood, yes. There is a slight possibility that the placenta will heal itself and eventually be able to slough off that portion like a scab, or it might remain attached throughout the pregnancy, but the chances of either of those scenarios aren’t very good.” His eyes are sad when they meet mine, like he’s failed me somehow.

“What course of action do you recommend?” Eric asks, not wasting any time.

“We could take the overly cautious route and abort the pregnancy before the baby gets any bigger. But I’m hesitant to do that, and I’ll tell you why.” Dr. P. scoots his chair closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong. It’s not in distress. Ivy’s bleeding has stopped. She made it through the week. Those are all encouraging signs not to give up just yet.”

“But if that flap rips off, that’s it?” Eric questions.

“That I can’t tell you,” Dr. P. responds. “And that’s the frustrating part. If the baby continues to grow at a normal rate, then it means that the placenta is providing it with the nutrients it needs. There’s no hole, so to speak. But with growth comes increased movement as the available space in the womb gets more and more restricted. The baby could inadvertently rip off the flap and severely damage the placenta. If we make it to twenty-two weeks, I can do an emergency C-section, but if we don’t and it ruptures, we could be endangering both of their lives. It’s a tough call.”

“What causes something like this to happen?” I inquire, staring mournfully at the monitor.

“There are a variety of factors—smoking, drinking, drug use by the mother. Physical trauma, high blood pressure, and so forth,” Dr. P. rattles off.

“What about stress?” Eric questions.

“As the sole reason? No, but it doesn’t help matters,” Dr. P. admits, removing the latex gloves from his hands.

Eric sighs in relief, but he’s letting me off the hook too easily. He’s forgetting about the night I went out drinking with Sophie. The night I called him drunk, ranting about Cassidy’s shirt. It was not even twenty-four hours after we’d had sex, the critical time in a woman’s body right after conception. There’s no way that Dr. P. can tell me for sure, but this could very well be my fault, not Lauren’s.

“I wouldn’t advise making any rash decisions. Mother and child are stable for now. Think it over and get back to me. Either way, I’m here for you. I’ve handled many high-risk pregnancies before. Nothing quite like this, but I assure you I’ll keep an eye on things,” Dr. P. says, helping me lift my legs out of the stirrups. “The minute you see any bleeding, you call me. The minute you feel any pain, you call me. Do not leave the area for the remainder of the pregnancy. Stay close to home. I know the particulars of your case, and I’m usually here or at the hospital. I’d hate for you to end up in an out-of-town emergency room wasting valuable time bringing them up to speed.”

“Understood, Dr. P. Do I still need to stay in bed?” I try to remain upbeat as the frown on Eric’s face deepens.

“The less movement, the better. I’m going to have the receptionist set you up with a schedule of weekly appointments. Things can change quickly and I want to monitor you closely. If that’s what you decide to do,” Dr. P. remarks, writing on my chart before handing it to the nurse.

“And what if we don’t?” Eric asks, confirming my worst fear.

“Then I would recommend moving ahead with the termination as soon as possible. The larger the fetus grows, the more difficult it is to remove.” Dr. P. isn’t taking sides, but I can tell abortions are a part of the job he doesn’t enjoy.

“Thank you, Dr. P. We’ll be in touch.” I extend my hand, and he shakes it warmly before moving on to Eric.

“Remember, if you need me, call me,” Dr. P. admonishes before leaving the room.

“You can get dressed now,” the nurse says before following him out the door to give us some privacy.

“Can you hand me my top?” I ask Eric, not wanting to start an argument until we get out of here.

Eric immediately starts in on me. “Ivy, I think we should schedule that procedure before we leave.”

“Eric, didn’t you hear the man? He said to take some time and think it over. We don’t have to jump to any rash decisions,” I respond, sticking my head through the collar before hopping down off the exam table.

“I’m not playing Russian roulette with your life,” he insists, bending down to help me, but I swat him away.

“You’re not,” I reply, getting angry. “Everything’s fine. For now, the baby’s fine.”

“Yeah, for now,” he huffs.

“We’re not having this discussion here, okay?” I slip a foot into one of my Ugg boots, holding on to his arm as I pull it on.

“But we are having it.” He’s determined to get the last word, so I let him. He may think he’s won the battle, but no way in hell is he winning the war. He can badger me all he wants. Unless the placenta ruptures, I’m going to hold on to this baby for as long as I possibly can. I owe it to the kid after starting it off on such a bad note. I don’t think I’ll drink alcohol again for the rest of my life, as long as this baby survives.

“Please don’t turn this into a day I’d rather forget.” I reach for his hand, placing it between mine. “Eric, we just saw our baby for the first time and heard its heartbeat. It was such a magical moment. Nothing should ruin that for us.”

He gazes deeply into my eyes before raising his head to look out the window. It’s like he’s trying to decide what to do. He’s conflicted, but I know what I want, and I’m not going to deviate from it. He’s just going to have to trust me.

“Let’s go home, okay?” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. He shaved this morning and his skin is soft. I let my lips linger, thinking back to the day I shaved him. I’d readily give him anything, but not this.

We created this baby together, and we’re going to see it through to the end—whenever that may be.

Eric

I was planning on driving Ivy out to the Hideaway Cliffs after her doctor’s appointment, but Dr. P. axed that idea.

I thought it’d be the perfect way to celebrate hearing our baby's heartbeat for the first time. I was hoping for the best, but the news we received isn’t good. Ivy could die at any time. And I’m not about to sit back on my heels and wait for that to happen. I need to take action. Sometimes even the best intentions require a change in plan.

My mom advised me to take my time and make my proposal to Ivy special. But that was before. Things are different now. We don’t know how much time we have left together. It could be decades. It could be days.

I have my grandmother’s ring in my pocket. I almost whipped it out in the exam room but thought better of it. I’ve been carrying it around with me since I boarded the plane to L.A. I’ve been waiting for just the right moment, but it just hasn’t presented itself. I’m so ready to pull the trigger and make her my wife that I almost didn’t care that we were surrounded by posters depicting the proper way to conduct a breast self-exam.

I glance over at Ivy, and she’s staring absently through the truck window at the snow flurries filling the air. Her hands are on her belly. I noticed she’s been doing this more and more, as if to protect the life growing inside her that’s threatening to extinguish her own.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, and she looks over at me, a smile forming in the corners of her mouth.

“Actually, I’m starving,” she proclaims, causing me to chuckle.

“I’m glad to see that you’re getting your appetite back.” I exit the parking lot and merge into traffic. “Why don’t we get some McDonald’s and enjoy the first snowfall together?”

“You had me at McDonald’s,” she jokes.

It’s just down the block, so it’s not long before we’re at the drive-thru. I don’t even have to ask what she wants. I already know. Not a big fan of the cafeteria meal plan, she told me this place was her addiction in college. She grew up on Happy Meals since her mother was usually too lazy or too loaded to cook. I learned early on in our relationship that fast food is a source of comfort for her. I don’t know how she’s not three hundred pounds after eating so much of it, but I’m willing to grant her this one indulgence. Even if she can’t cook worth a damn, she sure knows how to feed my hunger in ways that are a lot more satisfying.

“Welcome to McDonald’s. Would you like to try our new chocolate chip frappé today?” the automated voice regurgitates through the speaker. I give Ivy a tortured look and she starts to laugh. We never want what they want us to try.