One thing that stayed uncertain in this limbo I’d entered was the state of my baby. I could sense an intelligence along the outer rim of my comprehension, but nothing concrete. I couldn’t interact with it or get to know it better. I couldn’t determine its gender or even if it planned to stay.
And this frightened me to no end.
So when I was finally able to gather up all my resources and march back through the veil, as it were, it felt like debarking from a carnival ride that had been going too fast. I had one whopper of a headache, dizziness, and a tinge of nausea. Also, the effort of speaking felt like swimming through mud. At first, even though I was back, I couldn’t seem to summon enough energy to do it.
But with practice, I got some momentum going. It was enough—at long last—to say my first word.
“Romeo…” It came out as faintly as the scrape of two pieces of fabric rustling together, and since my exhausted husband was lightly napping, he didn’t respond. He looked as if he’d been ill. His suit appeared wrinkled as if slept in, and his complexion was gray with pewter half circles under his eyes. His longish curly hair had become more unruly than I’d ever seen it, and his customarily well-maintained scruff had grown out into an unkempt beard. But I needed to talk to him, so I tried again. “Romeo…”
“Mmm,” he said to the marginally higher volume of my voice.
Well, at least that was something.
“Please wake up.” Had my vocal cords morphed into sandpaper or what? “Come on…”
His head wobbled on his neck, and as if he’d come up against the same wall of resistance as I had, his eyelids barely slitted open. Those eyes appeared dry but also noticeably bloodshot. And then, they went wide.
“Lucia?”
“Yes, husband, it’s me.”
He tightened his hold on my hands, and I squeezed back like I’d been trying to do for what seemed like eons. Beaming at me with sheer joy, he scooted up to my bed so he could wrap his arms around my shoulders. Then, as soon as I embraced him back, he burst into sobs.
I held him as his body shuddered and shook, releasing all the things he’d been keeping at bay. It poured out of him without pause, unfettered and messy, and the noise of it drew our famiglia’s attention. I watched as one by one they went by the door, clear relief on their faces when they saw me but showcasing a variety of reactions when they caught sight of Romeo.
Surprise from my brother Giorgio. Sympathy from my sisters Chiara and Alessandra. Awkward unease from Romeo’s brother Marcello. And shocked disbelief from both his brother Savio and his sister Natalia. Tears in my own eyes, I waved briefly at all of them in turn, knowing I would need individual moments with many of them, but observing the recognition from them that now wasn’t the time. They were bearing witness to an intensely intimate moment between a man and his wife, and all of them, without exception, departed to give us the time we needed.
Even the medical staff offered us a few undisturbed minutes once I mouthed at them that we were okay. But eventually, one of them breached our bubble to check my vitals, dispelling the illusion that we were insulated from the outside world. Interestingly, I recognized the man who came to stand at my bedside, even though I couldn’t quite bring his name to mind.
Romeo sat up abruptly once he realized this, mopping his face with his hand and valiantly trying to regain his composure.
“Mrs. Cavetti?” the man said, and after getting over being called this for the first time in memory, I answered in as cognizant a manner as I could.
“That’s me.”
“Dan Shapiro.” He reached for a box of tissues sitting on the counter and handed them to Romeo without fanfare. My husband left my side, but only went as far as the nearby window. “I’m the attending assigned to your case. Can I ask you some questions?”
“Yes, of course.”
He retrieved my chart from a plastic file pocket mounted on the wall. Then, he proceeded to ask me general information like the day, the month, the year, my birthday, the name of the current President of the United States, and so on. I had no trouble giving him my replies, and he nodded as he made notes.
“Are you experiencing any pain?”
“My head hurts, yes.”
“On a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst, how bad is it?”
“Five or six, maybe. But I think I’m okay.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Are you hurting anywhere else?”
“My back is sore along my ribs. I’d put it at about a four.”
“Experiencing any vertigo or other symptoms?”
“When I woke up, I felt pretty dizzy. And my muscles are, I don’t know…” I stretched out my arms. “Stiff, I guess. How long was I out, anyway?”
“Eighteen days,” Romeo intoned from a few feet away, his tone somber.
“What about the baby?” I asked when I couldn’t take the suspense any longer. “Is it okay?”
As though sensing that I needed him, my husband returned to my bedside and took my hand in his. The physician’s expression became carefully blank.
“Well, what our team will be doing next is evaluating and examining you. We’ll share any answers or recommendations we collect afterwards.”
They wheeled me out of my room and proceeded to scan, poke, and prod at me for the ensuing hour and a half. None of this phased me much until they returned me back to my empty room. I didn’t see Romeo, but a middle-aged blonde woman appeared, pushing a cart.
“Okay, honey, I’m Dr. Alison Basinger. I’m going to do an ultrasound on your tummy to check the status of your pregnancy. Your records report you to be at seventeen weeks, is that correct?”
Was that right? I guessed it must be. “Yes.”
“Let me just shut the door—”
“Can you see if my husband is in the waiting room? Romeo Cavetti?” I interrupted her. Whatever the ultrasound showed, I wanted him with me.
Before she could even call his name, he appeared at the threshold, his gaze seeking and locking onto mine. I reached out for him and he answered my silent plea by striding over and threading our fingers together.
Dr. Basinger offered us a kind half-smile. “Ready?”
Still maintaining eye contact, we replied in unison. “Ready.”
The doctor lifted my hospital gown, fastened a sensor low on my abdomen, and smeared KY jelly over my baby bump. She flipped a switch, and suddenly a sloshing sound filled the room, rhythmic and regular. Touching a wand to my belly, she dragged it along, and an image appeared on the screen of her monitor.
“Let’s see,” she murmured. “There’s an arm and a hand.” As I stared, I recognized five teeny little fingers. “There’s the curve of the head and the mouth. Cute nose.”
“So, it’s okay?” I asked.
“Oh, yes.” Dr. Basinger said with confidence. “That sound you’re hearing is the fetal heartbeat. It’s nice and strong.”
I tore my eyes from the screen to glance at Romeo, whose face displayed unadulterated awe.
“Want to know the gender? I’m getting a good butt shot, so we should be able to tell.”
“Yes, that’d be great,” Romeo told her once I nodded.
She dragged the wand around, then held it still, hitting a button on her machine. “Do you see what I see?”