Page 100 of Unexpecting

Mom left after giving me several heartfelt hugs, and I was left with a warm and fuzzy feeling. It was not often I’ve made a difference in Terri’s life, but she seemed so happy that I agreed to be at her wedding, I couldn’t help but be glad too.

After about an hour, though, the nice feeling wore off. Not for any particular reason, but I just started to feel sick. Today, though, it was worse than usual. Different. I tried making myself throw up, which sometimes helped, but not this time. By three-thirty, I was feeling so ill that I had to leave work early. Along with my perpetual nausea, today I had heartburn, a nasty backache, and a cramp in my neck. A nice lie-down would fix me right up, I decided, and I might even have time to watch a little T.V. when I got home. I had PVR-ed Downton Abbey and had gotten a few episodes behind.

The lives of Victorian-era gentry had faded from my thoughts by the time I reached home. Literally dragging myself there, I’d never felt this awful during the whole pregnancy. I even had to jump off the subway twice because I was convinced I was going to vomit. I didn’t, mainly because I had no desire to lean over the disgusting garbage cans on the platform and heave my guts in front of tons of people. Then with the thought that some fresh air would help, I got off a station early, but I was so tired and my back hurt so much, I had to stop at least half a dozen times before I made it home. I should have called someone to pick me up, or at least gotten a cab. I kept looking for one as I stumbled home, but they’re never around when you really need them. And, of course, I’d let my battery die on my cell phone.

When I finally opened the door about forty-five minutes after starting out, I was so relieved to be home I felt tears spring into my eyes. And I’m not a crier.

″Casey? Is that you?” Emma called from the kitchen. “What are you doing home so early?” She came to the top of the stairs to see me leaning against the wall, unable to take my shoes off. “OhmyGod! What’s wrong? Is it the babies?” In a flash, she was down the stairs, with Cooper and J.B. right after her.

″You need to lie down.” Cooper pushed open the door to my apartment and steered me inside, his arm firm around my shoulders.

″What’s wrong? You look horrible. Is it the babies?” J.B. asked from my other side. I’d never seen him look so worried. I opened my mouth to speak and found I couldn’t. I had to vomit, right then. I pushed Cooper away and lurched forward. The contents of my stomach spilled noisily onto the ceramic floor inside the door. After it all came up—it feels like it took forever—I was still kneeling on the floor, still retching. And I was crying for real now. J.B. had his arm around me, which I usually can’t stand when I’m throwing up, but today I couldn’t care less who was touching me. Emma was pressing a cold cloth to the back of my neck, and Coop was nervously hovering. I give him credit for staying—I know he’s a sympathetic puker.

″Sorry,” I mumbled to no one in particular after my stomach stopped heaving. Then everything started to go dark, and my eyes rolled back in my head. My last thought was that I hoped someone caught me before I landed in the puddle of my own vomit.

Chapter Forty-Four

“It’s important for the expectant mother to be aware and mindful of her health, as a minor ailment can easily become more serious when carrying a child.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

It took a fewminutes to realize where I was when I finally woke up. In fact, I honestly didn’t know and did the whole “Where am I?” mumble.

″The hospital,” J.B. said from the chair at the side of my bed. “We brought you to the hospital. You kept throwing up, and then you passed out. How are you feeling?” He took my hand.

I wet my lips. “Thirsty.”

J.B. found a glass of water somewhere in the room and handed it to me, first positioning the bendy straw for me. “Just take sips,” he instructed. “I don’t want you to throw up again.”

After I took four tiny sips, he took the glass away from me. I leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes, feeling J.B.’s warm hand on my clammy forehead, smoothing away my hair.

″You’re so pale,” he said.

″How long have I been here?” I managed to ask with some effort. I still felt horrible. Then an even more terrible thought: “Babies?” I gasped.

″They’re fine,” J.B. soothed. “They put you on some sort of monitor, and everything’s fine. So don’t worry. It’s almost six now,” he continuedas he checked his watch. “I think it was about four thirty when you got home. You came to in the car on the way here, but you were still pretty out of it, and then you passed out again when we got here. I’ve never seen Em drive so fast,” he laughed. “It was fucking scary!”

That got a weak smile. “What’s wrong with me?”

″Why don’t you tell me?” he countered back. “The doctor checked you and the babies out, but you weren’t exactly helpful, just lying there.”

″Sorry,” I said.

J.B. leaned over and pressed his lips on my forehead. “You scared me,” he muttered almost inaudibly. “Don’t do that again.”

I scrabbled on the covers for his hand, and clutched it. I could feel my eyes closing. “I don’t want to miss our date,” I moaned. Then I fell asleep.

When I woke up again, J.B. was still there. It turned out I was suffering from extreme dehydration. Like the time on Survivor, when those guys kept throwing up and you saw their eyes rolling back in their head. Like that. That was me. The doctor read me the riot act, and to piss me off, decided I needed to stay overnight for observation. Apparently, all of the throwing up I’d been doing had made me severely dehydrated. He gave me strict orders to take the pills the doctor prescribed, no matter how tired and bitchy I became. And he used the word bitchy, too. I promised Dr. Bode I’d start taking them again. I much preferred this guy to Dr. Morrissey. He thought my pelvis was just fine! Plus, he was young and not bad-looking, which was weird thinking about when he was giving you an internal exam.

The only time J.B. left me was when he went and told the nurse I was awake, and once to go to the bathroom. But he made sure Libby was with me then. Cooper called her as soon as they got me into the hospital, and she came right over. It took a couple of hours until I was feeling human again. I had an IV (I was so grateful I was unconscious when they stuck that in me!) pumping some stuff in me, and the nurses kept sticking their heads in and telling me to take little sips of my juice. That was all they’d let me have.

It was after eight by J.B.’s watch by the time I noticed Coop and Emma were getting antsy. Luckily, I’d been put into a private room, but with four people, plus me and the bed, it was getting quite crowded. I was impressed Coop had managed to last this long—ever since his sister had cancer, he’s avoided hospitals like the plague. I was telling them it was all right to go home when the faint sounds of a cell phone interrupted.

″No cell phones in here,” J.B. said irritably, looking from Cooper to Emma to Libby.

″It’s not mine,” Emma retorted, checking her purse.

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