Beauty Series: Beauty From Love Part 19

Dr. Sommersby laughs. "Well, Mr. McLachlan, you're going to be feeling a lot of different things when you see your baby on this ultrasound. He or she is going to look a lot different than when we looked at six weeks."

L pushes the waistband of her bottoms down and the good doctor begins the scan. It takes a minute for me to get my bearings but then it becomes clear. "Look, L." I laugh-maybe even sort of giggling. "It's a hand-and I can see all of the fingers." I watch the screen, mesmerized by what I'm looking at because it's so much better when it's your own child you're seeing.

I'm not sure I blink for fear of missing something. It's moving so much-she hasn't mentioned feeling anything. "Do you feel those somersaults?"

"Maybe little flutters here and there-nothing I registered as the baby moving. I thought it was gas bubbles or something." She giggles.

Dr. Sommersby moves the probe and we get a perfect shot of the face so she still-frames it. "This is a nice one."

"Look at that. It has to be a girl because that little face looks just like you."

Laurelyn doesn't take her eyes from the screen for a moment. "I don't think so. That's definitely your nose and chin so I think it's a boy."

"Do you want to find out who's right?"

Neither of us answers because we've been having this discussion for weeks. She's dying to know and wants to have everything purchased gender-specific and ready to go when the baby arrives. It's killing her that Addison already knows she's having a boy. But I want to be surprised. I think nothing would be more special than seeing your baby for the first time and hearing it's a boy or it's a girl.

"I've seen that look before. Can't agree, huh?"

L shakes her head. "Nope, and no one is budging."

"I can always write it down and seal it in an envelope for the one wanting to know."

I'd rather be told now rather than her know and let it slip in casual conversation or me find out when I see a nursery painted pink or blue. So I give in, pus.h.i.+ng aside what I want just as I always do with L, because I love her so much and want her to be happy. "It's fine. You can tell us."

"Let's see if this little booger will cooperate and shows us." She moves the probe across L's belly. "I make it a habit to not look until I've been given the go-ahead so I don't let it slip." I hold my breath, waiting to hear the verdict. Do I have a son or a daughter?

"No, don't tell us." L looks at me and squeezes my hand. "I'll know what the baby is when it gets here and I can buy all the clothes I want then. You deserve to have this surprise."

I don't want her to give in-that's my job. "But you're dying to know."

"It's okay. I have the rest of my life to know if it's a boy or girl, so let's enjoy the angst of not knowing."

I lean up to kiss her. "Thank you, love."

"All right, then, we'll move on to measurements." Our fun is over as the diagnostic part of the ultrasound begins-no more cute shots of the baby's features. "Laurelyn, have you been having any contractions?"

"Not that I know of." She laughs but then sees the concerned look on Dr. Sommersby's face. "I'm a.s.suming that's something I would recognize, wouldn't I?"

"You're a first-time mom, so you might not. Any cramping at all?"

"No, nothing. Is something wrong?" I hear the panic in her voice and it sends my heart to racing.

"Your cervix length is shortened and you appear dilated. The membranes are hourgla.s.sing through the cervix."

"I don't know what that means."

Dr. Sommersby stops the exam. "When a mother goes into labor, her uterus contracts and over time, this is what causes her cervix to shorten, or thin, and dilate. The contractions start out mild and gradually become more intense, but that's not the case for about one percent of pregnant women. They have weakened cervical tissue, for one reason or another, and the weight of the fetus causes dilation without any contractions at all. It usually isn't diagnosed until the mother has had at least one second-trimester miscarriage. I'm afraid that's what is happening here."

I hear the word miscarriage and I'm confused. I thought we were beyond that risk. "How serious is this?"

"Critical, I'm afraid. You're at least two centimeters."

She's too early. I already know it but I ask anyway. "What about the baby?"

"Viability is considered twenty-four weeks but even then, survival rate at that gestation is around fifty percent and the lifelong deficits can be devastating."

"That's at least five weeks away." Laurelyn looks at me, her face pained. She doesn't have to say the words-I doubt she could if she tried-because we both comprehend what the outcome will be. Our baby won't survive being born now.

"We have two options: let nature take its course and allow the pregnancy to terminate on its own, or do everything possible to maintain it."

We look at one another but don't need time to talk it over. "We want everything possible to be done."

"You should know this will be a very long road. We'll make decisions about your plan of care on a daily basis since your condition can change rapidly." Dr. Sommersby picks up the phone to make a call. "I want you transported to the hospital by ambulance. There will be no going back if those hourgla.s.sing membranes rupture."

The shock sets in and Laurelyn begins to cry. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know anything was wrong. I felt completely normal."

This isn't her fault. It's mine. I'm the one ramming my d.i.c.k into her when I should've been keeping it to myself. "I think I did this-last night. I was too rough with you." I knew I'd end up hurting her and the baby.

Dr. Sommersby ends her call. "I'm admitting you to labor and delivery and your orders will be there when you arrive. The nurses are going to be doing a lot of things to you at once but most importantly, you're on strict bed rest in Trendelenburg position. That means the head of your bed will be in the lowest position and the foot will be elevated so you'll almost be standing on your head. It's going to be an uncomfortable position but if we're lucky, the membranes will go back up into the cervix. If that happens, it's possible I can take you to surgery and place a cerclage where I'd weave a suture through the cervix and then pull it closed and tie it shut."

"How long does the cerclage stay in?"

"I'd clip it around thirty-six weeks."

"So there's a chance I could still carry the baby to full term?"

"We have a shot if I'm able to get the cerclage in, but it's tricky because there's risks a.s.sociated with placing it. The needle I'd use to place the suture can rupture the bag of waters. That's why I want you lying with your head down-so it can go back inside the cervix-or I won't even make an attempt."

This is scary as h.e.l.l. I don't recall ever feeling this kind of terror.

"Could I have caused this during s.e.x?" The guilt I feel is killing me and if I did this, I should know I'm the cause.

"No. With incompetent cervix, there's nothing you can do to prevent it. And there's no way of knowing you have it until there's a problem. But the good news is that we know Laurelyn's cervix is weak, so I'd bring her in with her next pregnancy, somewhere around fourteen weeks, and place a cerclage before this happens again."

I hadn't even considered future pregnancies. I've barely had time to wrap my head around this one. "So it's possible for her to become pregnant again and carry the baby to term?"

"As long as the suture is placed in time, she shouldn't have any complications." That's such a relief to hear.

The ambulance service arrives and I can only stand back and watch as they move her over onto the stretcher. "Are you her husband?"

"I am."

"We can't let you ride with her but you can follow us in your vehicle."

I want to argue, tell them they're nuts if they think they're separating me from my wife, but that'll cause an unnecessary delay. "Okay." I kiss her forehead. "I'll be right behind you."

I'm following the ambulance and the harsh reality of our situation hits me-Laurelyn and I could lose our baby. Suddenly, all the problems we encountered along the way to this place seem so insignificant. "Oh G.o.d, please take care of Laurelyn and our baby. I beg you to not take our little one before it's had a chance to live."

L is already admitted to her room in labor and delivery by the time I park and find her. Just as Dr. Sommersby promised, she's already been positioned in a bed with the head down and her feet up. Gravity. It's what we used to get her pregnant and now it looks like we're going to use it to keep her that way.

Several nurses are doing different things to L at the same time-one starting an IV, another getting vital signs and placing a monitor on her stomach, a third asking a long list of questions about her medical history. It's a lot to take in at once seeing so many things done to your wife simultaneously. And I have no control over any of it. All I can do is sit back and hope these people know what they're doing.

An hour later, the whirlwind of getting L admitted and the nurses completing the doctor's initial orders is over. She's settled in-best she can be while almost turned upside down-and we're left alone for the first time since this nightmare began. I scoot my chair to the head of her bed so she can see me and I take her hand. I lean over and kiss it. "Can I do anything for you?"

"Wake me up and tell me it's all a bad dream."

"Everything is going to be okay. Our baby has a fighter's heart. She's part of you so she doesn't have a choice."

"You said she. You're so convinced this baby is a girl."

I am. "You're so convinced she's a boy."

"Why a girl? I thought every man wanted a son."

Too much emphasis is placed on men wanting sons. "When I lost you, I had a lot of time on my hands. I spent most of it thinking about what my future would look like if I got you back. You holding a little girl with long brown curls and your same caramel-colored eyes ... that's what I always saw and I guess her image stuck with me, but I'd be thrilled with any child you give me."

Tears fill her eyes but they run toward her hairline instead of down her cheeks. I reach over and wipe them away. "I should call my parents to let them know what's happening. I'm sure my mum will be in the car immediately."

"Tell her she doesn't have to come. There's nothing she can do but look at me ... like this."

"As if that's going to happen." Margaret McLachlan will be here in less than four hours. I predict it and pity any who gets in her way.

This is going to be miserable for L. Only an hour in and she's already slid toward the headboard so far that her head is pressed against it. "Want me to pull you down in the bed?" Or up? I don't know which you'd call it.

"Yeah, but don't tug on that." She points to a plastic tube hanging on the bed.

"What is it?"

She wrinkles her nose. "A catheter."

Oh G.o.d. "Inside you?"

"Yeah. That's generally where they go."

I didn't see them put that in her. "Why?"

"I can't get up to the bathroom and I think you can imagine why a bedpan isn't going to work."

"Oh, L. I'm so sorry you're the one going through all of this." I would do it for her in a second.

"I can do anything I need to for our baby. I'll forget all about this little bit of discomfort when they place him in my arms."

I lean down to kiss her forehead. "Her."

I help L with repositioning before going out into the hallway to phone my parents. I'm not sure I've ever dreaded a call so much in my life. Mum is going to be devastated.

We do our normal greeting but then the part comes where I have to tell her why I'm calling. I start at the beginning, careful to not leave out any details, and I can hear her crying before I even get to the part about the cerclage. "Listen, Mum. The doctor is optimistic that the membranes will go back inside so she can st.i.tch the cervix closed. There's hope."

"How is Laurelyn handling this?"

"She's okay-willing to do whatever it takes to keep this baby inside for as long as possible."

"I'm packing a bag as we speak. I'll be there as soon as I can."

This is going to be a long road per Dr. Sommersby. "You don't have to come now, Mum. There's nothing you'll be able to do except sit in an uncomfortable chair and look at Laurelyn while she slowly slides toward the head of the bed."

"Then that's what my job will be-not staying four hours away."

I hang up and prepare myself for the other call I have to make to Jolie Prescott. I still haven't forgiven her for making Laurelyn cry, telling her she had made a stupid mistake by becoming pregnant. L didn't tell me so but I wonder in the back of my mind if her mum might have encouraged her to have an abortion. If she did, she's smart for not telling me. I don't think I could ever forgive her for such a thing.

"Jolie, it's Jack. Laurelyn asked me to call you because something has happened."

"Is she okay?"

"She is but there's been a complication with the baby and she's in the hospital."

"Is she having a miscarriage?" Her voice sounds a little too hopeful.

"She could lose the baby but the doctor is doing everything possible to prevent it."

"I need to talk to Laurelyn because I have some great news. Jake and I are getting married."

All I see is red. What a b.i.t.c.h. She finds out her daughter is in the hospital fighting to save the life of her grandchild and her response is to tell Laurelyn about her happy news. Un-f.u.c.king-believable! Perhaps she's mentally ill on some level. No sane person would be so indifferent to their child.

"She's asleep," I lie. I won't allow her to upset Laurelyn. "I'll have her call when she wakes." Or maybe I won't. I'm not sure speaking to her mum is beneficial right now. I think it could cause a lot more harm than good.

I didn't sleep much last night. Even after I was given a sleeping pill, I only dosed in intervals. I don't think Jack Henry nodded off once all night, although I repeatedly asked him to try and get some sleep. The nurse showed him how to turn the chair into a bed but he refuses, and each time I open my eyes or move, he slides to the edge of his seat and asks me if I'm okay. He's like a guard dog watching over me and our baby.

I brush my teeth and Jack Henry helps me wash up. "Did you tell Margaret they're doing an ultrasound this morning?"

He's standing at my bedside wearing his cotton sleep pants and a T-s.h.i.+rt, rubbing his scruff. He has a case of bed head, although he never slept, and he couldn't look more adorable. "Yeah. She wants to stay and watch if it's okay with you."

Of course, it's fine by me. "I don't mind. I'd love for her to see the baby."

"She'll be really happy about that. She never got to be with Em when they did any of hers."

I'm almost afraid to ask about my mom but I need to. "You never mentioned it, but did you talk to my mom?"

"I did."

"What did she say?"

He looks like he's thinking up something to say. "I told her what was happening and that we were going to do everything possible to save the baby."

"What did she say about that?"

"She asked if you were miscarrying and then told me she wanted to talk to you because she had good news. She and your dad are getting married." He looks like he's angry. "I didn't think her timing was appropriate, so I told her you were asleep and would call her later."