Talk about awkward.
I just raised the bar.
“I’m going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins and the receptionist at the front desk will schedule an appointment for next week,” he starts, peeling his eyes away from his computer screen. “There’s just one more thing, I’d like to address.”
“What’s that?”
“On the paperwork you filled out, you mentioned that you take medication for bipolar disorder, but you didn’t specify which one.”
Waiting for me to elaborate, he lifts an eyebrow. The single word gets stuck on my tongue as I stare at him blankly and part of me wonders if I didn’t classify my medication on purpose. Maybe subconsciously I knew my mental illness would shit on my happiness.
“Lithium,” Blackie supplies.
Feeling slightly betrayed and for no good reason, I turn to him. He doesn’t meet my gaze as he plants his elbows on his knees and leans forward.
“Is that a problem?” he asks the doctor.
Dr. Heltzer sits back in his chair and studies us for a moment.
“Lithium is a strong drug, Mr. Petra, and it’s been proven that babies born to mothers who take lithium in the first trimester of pregnancy are at higher risk of congenital malformations,” he reveals, slicing his eyes back to me.
“Then I’ll stop taking it,” I reply immediately.
There is no other choice.
No other option.
I won’t risk my child for the sake of my sanity.
“Lace,” Blackie calls softly, touching his hand to my knee.
“No, Blackie,” I tell him, fixing him with a determined stare. “It’s not up for debate.”
“Lacey, should you stop taking your medication you will be putting yourself at a very high risk of relapsing both during the pregnancy and during postpartum.”
“Baby, we need to think this through,” Blackie argues. “It’s not something to be taken lightly.”
“He’s right,” the doctor agrees.
The rollercoaster of emotions kicks back into gear and suddenly I feel like I’m dropping off the edge, like the cart has veered off the tracks and I’m crashing into a black abyss. I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe. I just want to close my eyes and scream.
“You said the risks are great for birth defects in the first trimester. What if she stopped taking the lithium for the duration of that and then picked it up again after she was out of the woods?” Blackie asks.
“It’s a possibility,” he says. “So is continuing to medicate at a lower dosage. In the end, it’s a crapshoot,” he reveals. “Pregnancy is usually a time of improved stability for most mood disorders. If Lacey decides to forgo treatment, she probably won’t relapse until the time of childbirth or thereafter.”
They continue to talk as if I’m not in the room. Blackie asks him questions and Dr. Heltzer responds, sharing both sides of the coin. Most of their chatter is about me losing my marbles and there is barely any mention of what will happen to the baby. Dr. Heltzer tells us in an ideal situation a person in my condition is weaned off her medication prior to conception. He also stresses that I should be under extreme psychiatric care in fear of causing myself any harm while unmedicated.
Having had enough, I pry Blackie’s hand from my knee and turn my gaze to Dr. Heltzer.
“What kind of birth defects are we talking about?”
“Generally, heart defects would be our biggest concern. I think the best thing to do is to meet with your psychiatrist and see what she or he recommends. I don’t know your case, Lacey. I can’t sway you one way or the other. All I can do is make you aware of the possibilities.”
He goes silent for a minute before pushing back his chair and rising to his feet.
“I have another patient to see to,” he says. “You two look like you can use a minute. Take your time and we’ll talk more about it at your next appointment.” I watch as he extends his hand to Blackie. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Petra.”
He doesn’t congratulate us like I pictured him doing. Instead, he silently excuses himself, leaving us alone. I don’t look at Blackie. I just stare aimlessly at the degrees lining the wall as my eyes fill with tears.
“Lacey, look at me.”
“No,” I defy, shaking my head. “You won’t change my mind, Blackie.”
“Let’s just talk to your doctor before we make any decisions,” he reasons. For some reason that angers me. This baby isn’t just a piece of me, it’s a piece of him too. He should want to put him or her above all else. He should stand with me and not against me.
Rising to my feet, I grab my purse and dump the contents on Dr. Heltzer’s desk. I don’t care that I’ve made a mess and I ignore the concern in Blackie’s eyes as he stands. My hand closes around the orange prescription bottle. Blackie narrows his eyes as I rear back my arm.
“Don’t,” he warns.
Tears roll down my cheeks and suddenly, I’m that little girl standing at the curb watching as a speeding car crushes her little brother. I couldn’t control anything then, but I can now. I don’t have to wait for the pain to hit. I don’t have to be helpless.
“It’s my decision,” I cry, throwing the bottle across the room. “And I choose our baby over everything.”
Over me.
Over you.
Over all.
Chapter Sixteen
Blackie
The dictionary defines the domino effect as a cumulative consequence produced when one event initiates a succession of similar events. In theory, it’s not much different than a house of cards; pull one and the whole structure comes toppling down.
Three days ago, Jack called church and sent my house of cards tumbling down. There was a break in the cartel situation. Mac had seen some guy with the same ink as the men who killed Bas’ brother and Needles, being a tattoo connoisseur was able to identify the assailants as members of the Sinaloa Cartel, a global organization made up of ruthless cocksuckers.
With the help of Cobra’s trusty bounty hunter, we were able to pull more intel—none of it fucking good and soon, Jack was toying with the idea of going head to head with the fucking cartel. The only problem was, even though I was an addict, the club wasn’t in the business of dealing drugs. Guns were our thing and Jack thought if we cut a deal with one of the lower ranking members of the cartel, Javier Santos, we’d be able to draw out the head honcho, Sergio Garcia.
His plan was to supply Javier with guns and in exchange, Jack wanted a meeting with Garcia. Once he was face to face with the head of the cartel, he’d offer the cunt a piece of our territory. A chance to flood our streets with drugs as long as he agreed not to harm Bas’s woman and the kid.
I was all for keeping Bas’ family safe. If these motherfuckers came hunting for them, I’d stand in front of a loaded gun, but offering the Sinaloa cartel a piece of the streets was fucking suicide and everyone at the table knew it. We were no match for an organization like them and we worked too fucking hard through the years to turn Brooklyn and Staten Island into a fucking drug infested war zone. But Jack didn’t give a fuck. He was going to risk it all, our fucking morals and our beliefs, every man with a patch and the consciences attached and there was nothing any of us could do.