‘Hold on.’ Nick leaves the room, returning with his medical bag and a stethoscope in hand. He helps me sit up while he listens to my heart. I go to speak but he raises a finger to his mouth. Instinctively, I touch my belly. Nick’s expression sharpens, the way it sometimes does when he is on the phone with colleagues asking for advice or if patients need to report specific symptoms to him.
‘Are you feeling any pain?’
I shake my head.
‘I’m taking you to the ED,’ he says finally, pulling my pyjama top down.
‘What? Wait. What’s wrong? Do you think—’
‘I’m just being cautious.’ Nick pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins searching for a number. He keeps his eyes trained on his phone as he scrolls through his contact list.
I turn my body so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I need to get dressed.’
‘No, Paige. Car. Now.’
‘What?’ My hand flies to my mouth, tears forming in my eyes. Nick’s jaw is tightly clenched, his eyes dark with concentration.
‘You’re worried! You’re worrying me. So, if there’s something to worry about, tell me. And if there isn’t anything to worry about—’
He kneels down in front of me and takes my hands in his. ‘I need to rule out a few things. Okay?’
I can see he is trying to be calm and professional with me, but Nick’s quick to get up. His body turns away from me briefly as he runs a hand over his face.
‘Nick…’
‘Everything’s under control.’ He takes a deep breath and reaches out to help me up. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Nick secures my seat belt for me, slams the passenger door closed and races to the driver’s seat. He dials Dr Sanders as we turn the corner from our safe and quiet cul-de-sac. One of the street lights needs a globe replacing. The car is emitting a desperate beep, urging Nick to put his seat belt on. He fastens it as we pull out into the main road.
‘James, sorry to bother you at this hour. I’ve got Paige in the car with me and I’m taking her to the hospital. Would you mind meeting us there?’
‘Uh, yeah, sure. What are we dealing with?’
Nick glances at me briefly and squeezes my hand before answering him. ‘Orthopnea, dyspnoea, tachycardia, unexplained cough, pitting oedema…’ He hesitates, drawing a breath. ‘And reduced foetal movement.’
‘Remind me, how many weeks is she?’
‘Thirty-four.’
‘I’ll see you soon,’ says Dr Sanders.
His voice cuts off and I sink deeper into my seat, gripping the edges of it, practically gasping for air.
Nick has already run two red lights and is about to run another.
Dr Sanders, my obstetrician and a good friend of Nick’s from university, is already waiting for us in emergency. He shakes hands with Nick, who asks whether Victoria has been paged.
‘She’s on her way,’ responds Dr Sanders.
I have no idea who Victoria is, and before I can ask, a nurse is standing beside me with a wheelchair. My body sinks into the seat, slumping against the backrest, my eyes closing without me willing them to. Hours ago I was putting finishing touches on a baby nursery, and now I’m a patient about to be evaluated in a hospital emergency room. I want to turn back the clock, go home, bypass this blip in time. Come back tomorrow.
‘Hey, Paige, how are you feeling?’ asks Dr Sanders, turning his attention to me. He smiles the way he does during our normal appointments together, which isn’t at all necessary now, but I know it’s out of politeness, to help me stay calm.
‘Not great.’ My hands hug my belly tighter. ‘I’m worried about…’ I’m struggling to speak in full sentences. I close my eyes and gulp for air and try again. ‘The baby.’
‘We’re going to check you both out now.’
A nurse wheels me through a corridor while Nick and Dr Sanders forge ahead, discussing my symptoms. Everything becomes a blur once we reach the cubicle in emergency. Nurses and midwives come in and out, hooking me up to oxygen and a pulse oximeter. Someone takes my blood pressure while one of the midwives, who introduces herself as Jo, straps a foetal heart rate monitor to me and sets up an IV.
‘Nick?’
When he doesn’t answer, I tug the bottom of his jacket.
‘Where’s Victoria? She needs an echo and a plasma BNP test,’ Nick says impatiently, directing his question to Dr Sanders, who is performing a pelvic exam to make sure I’m not dilated. In this moment, Nick isn’t the guy who’s my husband, the one who holds me when I need him. No, as midwives and nurses come in and out of the room, Nick is the guy who’s the doctor – the guy who’s away eighty per cent of the time dealing with patients.
‘Let’s sit you up a bit higher,’ says Jo once Dr Sanders confirms my cervix is long and closed. She guides me up. ‘Is that better? Easier to breathe that way?’
There’s a marked difference in how much easier it is to breathe in this position. I nod.
‘Here I am,’ says a female doctor, poking her head through the gap in the curtain. She smiles at me. ‘You must be Paige. I’m Dr Bridgeman – you can call me Victoria. I hear you’ve been feeling a little short of breath lately?’
‘Yes,’ I reply.
In language that sounds almost foreign, Nick updates her on his assessment of me, to which she nods and responds with things like, ‘Right,’ ‘I see,’ and finally, ‘Okay.’
‘How far away is the echo tech?’ asks Dr Sanders.
‘Too far,’ says Nick. ‘We need Luke in here right now for a bedside echo.’
Within moments, another doctor – Luke, who introduces himself as an anaesthesiologist – squeezes lubricant on my chest and starts sliding a Doppler around until he finds the correct placement for it. And then it dawns on me. Echo. The Doppler isn’t on my belly. I glance over at the screen, trying to get a better look, but Victoria distracts me by asking me a series of questions about my symptoms – when they started, what brought them on, when they got worse. Every now and then Nick’s eyes dart to the monitor.
‘How long have you got to go, Luke?’ Victoria says, her eyes glued to the monitor, a stony look on her face. She turns to one of the nurses. ‘BNP as soon as you can.’
I question Nick with my eyes.
He wraps his hand around mine. ‘We need to check your heart.’ He tries to reassure me with his eyes, but they dart back to Luke’s screen.
‘But the baby. Why are you… why are they checking my heart?’
Victoria explains this is for a brain natriuretic peptide test to check the amount of BNP hormone in my blood. In other words, to show her how well my heart is working.
‘What about Max? Is Max okay?’ I ask Nick.
‘Luke,’ prompts Nick, with a tone of urgency in his voice.
‘Almost done,’ he replies without lifting his gaze from the screen.
Nick is grinding his teeth, something I’ve never seen him do, and at this point I don’t know where to look.
‘We need to deliver this baby,’ says Dr Sanders, finally breaking the silence. He mentions something about there being significant heartbeat deceleration to sixty bpm. Sixty beats. What is it supposed to be? Eighty? Ninety? One hundred and twenty? I can’t remember.