Page 156 of Unspoken Words
“Considering your ejection fraction and the deterioration to your left ventricle at present, yes, you will need heart surgery.”
Dr Webb took in a deep breath just as the door to my room swung open and another doctor entered—a middle-aged woman with short, brunette hair and navy rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. She smiled at Dr Webb, my family, and then at me.
“Eloise, this is Dr Goodman. She’s a Perinatologist—”
Mum gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide as she turned to my father. He furrowed his brow, confused, as did the rest of us bar the doctors.
“Wh … what’s a Perinatologist?”
Dr Webb stood up and allowed Dr Goodman to take his place in the seat beside my bed.
“Hello, Eloise, my name is Megan Goodman, and a Perinatologist is a fancy name for an obstetrician who specialises in high-risk pregnancies.”
*
After shakingmy head forwhat could have been seconds or minutes, I glanced at Connor who’d turned as white as his knuckles. “I’m sorry, what?”
She sighed, smiled, and nodded to herself. “I take it you weren’t aware that you’re expecting?”
“No,” I choked out.
“Okay. I know this is a lot to take in, especially after what you’ve just been through, but blood tests were conducted while you were in the coma, and they tested positive to elevated levels of hCG, a pregnancy hormone. We also performed an ultrasound and estimate gestation to be nine weeks.”
“I’m pregnant?”
“Yes, Eloise. And baby is strong like his or her mum.”
My hand moved to my stomach while Dr Goodman explained that pregnancy for sufferers of HCM was generally well tolerated; however, a subset of patients did experience significant complications and that I was part of that subset because my HCM was present before conceiving, but more so because of the extent the disease had deteriorated my heart muscle.
“Hang on a minute,” Connor said, standing up. “So what you’re saying is that if Ellie goes through with the pregnancy without surgery, her risk of dying is far greater?”
“Unfortunately, yes, that’s what we’re saying.” Dr Webb confirmed.
“Is there anything we can do to minimise the risk?” Mum asked.
“Because Eloise’s ejection fraction is so low, it puts her at a very high risk of arrhythmia and subsequent cardiac arrest—”
“Which is what already happened, right?” Connor massaged his temples, and I could tell he was struggling.
“Yes, but as the foetus grows, so, too, does the expectation of Ellie’s organs, namely her heart. It will work overtime—”
“But it’s barely working at all,” Connor interrupted again.
“Which is why, going forward, we see only two options, one of which would be a last resort.”
“What are they?” Dad asked.
“Long term: a heart transplant.”
Mum burst into tears. “But she’s only twenty-three years old.”
Dr Webb clutched my chart to his chest and offered Mum a sympathetic look. “HCM isn’t age sensitive, Mrs Mitchell.”
“Connor,” I said, tugging his hand.
Everyone stopped talking and looked my way, but I only had eyes for Connor. I only had words for Connor.
“We’re having a baby,” I sobbed, my eyes filling with tears of joy. It was what we’d always wanted. A family, together. Him and I, not him and Lilah. I guided his hand to my belly. “That’s you and me in there.”
