Page 45 of Prognosis Temporary

CHAPTER EIGHT

The steady, rapid rhythmof a foetal heartbeat filled Sebastian’s office and Callie smiled down at Ginny, who was reclined on the couch, her shirt pulled up to expose her taut eight-and-a-half-month pregnant belly.

It was a noise that Callie had heard very regularly over the last five months. Luckily it hadn’t affected her again the way it had the first time she’d heard it during the ultrasound.

Ginny’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so sorry to be a bother.’

Callie smiled at her client who was wiping at an escaping tear. ‘It’s no bother,’ she reassured her as she switched off the hand-held Doppler.

‘It’s just that I’ve been so busy getting everything ready for the baby since I finished work and now everything’s done and...What if something goes wrong? I keep thinking of all the things that could go wrong and I then I saw this documentary the other day about ana—anaceph...oh, I don’t know how to pronounce it.’

‘Anacephaly?’

Ginny nodded vigorously. ‘That’s it.’

‘But, Ginny, your little girl has a perfectly formed head. You’ve had three ultrasounds — one of them 3D — and she has a beautiful head.’

Ginny sighed. ‘I know. I know that. I guess I’m just... What if I’m...going nuts again, Callie?’

Callie reached for a tissue on the nearby coffee table and wiped at the gel she’d applied low down on Ginny’s belly then she took her client’s hand.

‘You are going through exactly the same thing that thousands of pregnant women go through towards the end. You’re anxious.’

‘Other women are like this? Not just me?’

Callie smiled and squeezed Ginny’s hand. ‘A lot of mothers-to-be are anxious. What you’re going through is normal.’ She squeezed again. ‘Perfectly normal.’

Ginny relaxed and even gave a half smile. ‘I suppose so. I guess when I realised that I hadn’t felt her move for a couple of hours I just panicked.’

‘Remember what the midwife said?’ Callie reiterated. ‘Decreased foetal movements are common in the last few weeks. There’s not much room to move inside that belly at the moment,’ Callie joked, giving the round expanse a gentle poke.

The baby, obviously objecting to the nudge, kicked back and Callie watched the corresponding belly movements as the baby seemed to roll from one side to the other.

‘Of course she’s been moving around like a jumping jack ever since I walked in here,’ Ginny said, absently rubbing her belly. ‘I should have waited.’

‘No.’ Callie shook her head. ‘It’s good to be in tune to these things and if you do ever feel that she’s not moving as much then come here or ring the community midwife.’

She pulled Ginny’s shirt down and helped her into a sitting position. ‘It’s better to be cautious.’

Ginny left five minutes later, much calmer than when she’d arrived and Callie stood in the doorway watching her go. She smiled as Sebastian, who was in the glass-panelled group therapy room, waved at Ginny on her way out.

Her gaze stayed with Sebastian as he ran his teen group therapy session. He was in blue jeans and an olive T-shirt that complemented his eyes and the red-gold of his hair and sat snugly across his biceps and pecs.

He was leaning forward, both feet planted firmly in front of him, his elbows on his knees, his hands, loosely interlinked, hanging between his legs. Even from across the room she could see his absolute focus as he engaged Bree, a fifteen-year-old anorexic.

Callie glanced at the painfully thin teenager who was smiling shyly at Sebastian. A nasogastric tube used for night feeding was taped to her cheek and marred features that would have been pretty had they not been so gaunt.

Bree hated the tube. She hated the sessions. She especially hated the weekly weigh-ins. Or she had anyway. But for the tenth week in a row she’d gained weight and she taken delight in the progress instead of seeing it as a failure and another reason to hate herself and her body. She had a spring in her step and a smile on her face instead of her usual sullen frown.

And Callie didn’t doubt for a moment that Sebastian was a large part of the teenager’s recovery.

Sebastian’s focus shifted to Eric, the fourteen-year-old boy beside Bree, who had been referred for self-harming. But Callie kept her eyes glued on the girl. Prior to her turn-around Bree would sit in these sessions with the typical fidgety movements of those suffering from profound anorexia nervosa.

She’d tap her toes repeatedly, jiggle her thighs and drum her fingers against her crossed arms. Exercise in any form was important to anorexics. Even seemingly passive they could keep their metabolic rate up and burn fat.

So movement, any movement, was good. Being idle was the enemy.

But now she sat still, listening attentively. She laughed, smiled, joined in the conversation and even engaged the newcomers who were reluctant to contribute.

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