Page 157 of Unspoken Words
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his foggy eyes.
Dad hugged Mum to his side. “And what about short term?”
“We would fit a pacemaker.”
“When?” Connor asked.
“We’d like to schedule surgery for the pacemaker as close as possible to the beginning of her second trimester.”
Everyone’s voices became white noise as I honed my senses on the tiny life growing inside me. My baby. Connor’s baby …Ourson or daughter.I’m going to be a mother. Me: Eloise Mitchell.I smiled and caressed my lower belly, completely blown away that Connor and I created something so pure of our love. A miracle. An angelic McCutesy Baby Head. The heart attack, my diagnosis and prognosis … none of it mattered, because I would protect this little life I created with everything I had. Every breath. Every fight. Every ounce of energy.
“What threat does this surgery pose to my baby?” I asked, interrupting their conversation about me, my body,mylife.
“With any surgery during pregnancy, there is a risk of maternal and foetal mortality. But I must stress that—”
“No!”
“No?”
Both Dr Webb and Dr Goodman exchanged a look that appeared to be resignation, as if they’d predicated my response, as if they weren’t strangers to it.
“Eloise.” Dr Webb stepped forward and placed his hand on my leg. “If you don’t have this surgery as soon as possible,yourrisk of mortality increases substantially.”
“I won’t put my baby at risk.”
“But, Ellie—” Connor tried to move his hand but I held it there.
“No,” I said, my eyes beseeching his. “We protect what’s inside here. No buts.”
His eyes glazed over and his head drooped. “I can’t lose you. Not ever.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
Dr Webb lifted his hand and nodded toward Dr Goodman. “This is all a lot to take in. No decisions need to be made right now. Let’s just focus on your initial recovery over the next week and revisit this discussion then, okay?” He scanned my chart one last time and scribbled down some notes.
I didn’t answer him, and I didn’t argue, because I didn’t need to. My decision was final and it wasn’t going to change.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Connor
Ellie drifted off to sleepshortly after Dr Webb and Dr Goodman left the room. Both specialists asked to have a word with Beth, Roger, and me in the corridor, their advice, once again, to reaffirm that surgery was the best way forward but that keeping Ellie calm and stress-free was the priority. Anxiety and stress increased her chances of heart failure, so it was imperative we offered support and not resistance, which was easier said than done when walking a tight rope and Ellie and our baby were the only ones who could fall.
Our baby …
“Shit!” I said, my head in my hands as I sat on a wooden bench in the hospital garden, desperate for fresh air. The past forty-eight hours had been a vivid, horrific, blur, and I needed a moment to let it all sink in.
Ellie died right in front of my eyes. She has a life-threatening disease. She’s carrying our baby. They can both die if she does or doesn’t have surgery.
“Fuck!” I muttered, blinking back tears.
“You can say that again.”
Looking up, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand to see Chris take a seat on the bench opposite me, his big muscled frame sagging.
“You all right?” he asked.
