Page 170 of Sebastian's Baby

“You have to eat for the baby, princess,” I say gently.

She looks over at me and then nods. “Of course.”

Lots of calls and messages come through, but neither Lita nor I answer them. I spoke to most of our friends and family last week and told them that we’d gotten bad news but wouldn’t know any more until our next appointment. Lita couldn’t really talk to anyone, so I spoke to her family, too, as well as Becky.

When the time comes to leave, we travel to the doctor’s office in silence, and I keep my arm around Lita, holding her to me for comfort. The echocardiogram is done, and I can hear the arrhythmia that Dr. Wilson mentioned. Lita’s Google searches included listening to examples of them, and now it’s very obvious to me.

So I’m not surprised when the fetal cardiologist, Dr. Sanders, tells us, “So, unfortunately, your obstetrician was correct, and what I’m seeing is a tumor on your baby’s heart. It’s causing an arrhythmia and is larger than I’d like to see for a fibroma at this gestation. We can’t normally see them on an ultrasound this early, which is of cause for concern.

“Our plan is to perform another echocardiogram at the end of the week. It will tell us how the tumor is growing in relation to your baby. The concern is that it seems as though the tumor is causing an arrhythmia in your baby’s heartbeat. If the tumor grows too quickly, it can block blood flow to the heart and cause heart failure.”

I take this in and frown at his words. “What happens if the tumor is growing too quickly?”

Lita is clinging to my hand for dear life and staring, wide-eyed, at the man in front of us.

“If the tumor is growing too quickly, we will need to refer you to a cardiothoracic surgeon, who will perform in utero surgery to remove it,” Dr. Sanders replies.

I can barely breathe at the thought of our beautiful little girl needing surgery. How does that even work? Do they take her out of the womb and put her back in? Or do they cut Lita wide open and perform the surgery? Either option scares the fucking shit out of me.

Lita’s so early in her pregnancy, too. She’s barely past halfway, and this has to be a rare and unusual surgery to perform, because both doctors have mentioned their concern about how early this is.

“Is the surgery done here in Seattle, or do we need to go to Los Angeles or something?” I ask.

Dr. Sanders smiles at me. “It depends on how the tumor progresses. If surgery is required soon, then no, it can’t be done in Seattle, and you will need to go to a specialist hospital.”

I glance over at Lita, wondering how she’ll cope with that. She’s staring at the doctor’s desk and not saying anything, but her hand is still squeezing mine tightly. I look down at her bump, hoping to every higher power that our baby somehow gets through this. My heart feels as though it’s been through a meat grinder, and I don’t know how it’s still pumping blood through my body because all of this is killing me.

The doctor keeps talking and tells us, “We will need to send you to see a genetic counselor, as well. They will obtain a detailed medical history from you both. From here, you will need to see a doctor that specializes in high-risk pregnancies.”

It makes sense, and I can’t help wondering if this is my fault. Was it my DNA that did this to our little girl? I love her so much, and I feel guilty that I couldn’t somehow prevent this from happening to her.

“Do you have any more questions for me?” Dr. Sanders asks, and I shake my head.

I turn to look at Lita and see if she has any questions. She doesn’t say anything as she continues to stare, wide-eyed, at the doctor, and I’m terrified for her. I wish that I knew what she was thinking because she looks like she’s suffering internally, and I hate that I can’t fix this for her.

Dr. Sanders says gently, “I can see that you’re very frightened, Lita. We will make sure that you and your baby get the very best of care.”

I appreciate how kind and considerate he has been. This situation is fucking awful, but he’s been good, at least. Lita remains in a statue-like state in response to his words, though, and I squeeze her hand and stroke her skin with my thumb for comfort.

I turn to the doctor and say quietly, “Thank you, Dr. Sanders. You’ve been fantastic.”

“If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to contact me,” he tells me as he hands me a business card.

I nod and take it off him as he says goodbye to us. Lita remains silent throughout the whole exchange and as I pay for the appointment. When we leave, there are paparazzi waiting for us. Ben and Daryl keep them back as we make our way to the SUV.

“Sebastian! Is something wrong with your baby?”

“Why are you seeing a heart specialist?”

I don’t get angry today, though, because my concern for Lita outweighs any thoughts I have about the paparazzi. I look at her, and she still has the wide-eyed, fearful look on her face. When we finally make it to the car, she slides into the seat but doesn’t make any move to strap herself in. I lean around her, grab the seatbelt, and pull it over her to buckle her in and give her a kiss before strapping myself in.

She still isn’t saying anything, so I ask her, “Are you okay, princess?”

She turns robotically to look at me, and there are tears streaming down her face. She’s still making no noise, and I am truly terrified for her mental wellbeing. But how the fuck could she be expected to be anything less than as affected by this as she is?

She stares at my chest for fifteen seconds, then she turns her face up to look at me with that wide-eyed, fearful look. Our eyes are locked, and I don’t know how to help her. She needs hope. Reassurance.

“You will be okay, Lita,” I assure her. Then, I add, “She will be okay, too.”

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