She grabbed the edge of the mattress, the strange sensation in her stomach making her heart plummet, dizziness swarming in her head. She had been so sure that keeping everything to herself had been the best option. She hadn't wanted to cause any disappointment if she had been wrong at first, and then if things had gone badly as time progressed. It had been easy at the beginning. Before there were any physical signs to point to the secret she kept. When she could still pass things off as just her over active imagination. When she had the concrete proof of her condition, printed in black and white as a test result, she had confirmation that she was not imagining things, but she could still not convince herself to tell anyone. It was a secret she wanted and needed to keep, feeing that hiding it would mean she could protect herself and everyone else at the same time. If they didn't know, and something went wrong, she did not have to feel as if her body's failure was at the crux of shattering everyone's happiness.
Now, as she stood alone behind the thin curtains of the clinic, she felt both justified in her secrecy and terrified of enduring the events alone. Shelagh closed her eyes, dragging in a ragged breath and trying to keep the tears that were welling up at bay. She had been worried about it for ages. Knowing that there was a large chance that something would go wrong – that there would be nothing she could do about it. She had hoped it would have been earlier. Before she got too attached; before it was obvious to everyone around her. She had gotten one wish – that no one knew yet, not even her husband, but she had become attached the moment she realised.
Nineteen weeks.
She had kept things to herself for nineteen weeks. Nearly five months spent in worry that was unfounded until that very moment she found herself in. She couldn't help the hiccupped sob that escaped her, quickly covering her mouth to stifle the sound, the hand that had been on the bed going to her belly. She had worked so hard to keep from placing her palm there the last few months, knowing that it would expose her condition, that she wouldn't be able to keep things to herself anymore if one of her colleagues or her husband caught her taking part in the gesture. But she couldn't stop herself, needing to feel the swelling beneath her hand, if only for a moment.
"Please, no," she whispered.
"Mrs. Turner, is everything all right?" Phyllis asked, popping her head around the curtain when the nurse did not come to collect another patient for a few moments. The sight of the younger woman made her worry and she quickly ducked into the cubicle, crossing the floor until she was standing next to Shelagh, noting how the woman's gaze was fixed on the floor.
"Something's wrong," Shelagh whimpered, her palm sweating as she clung to the fabric of her uniform over her stomach. Her eyes snapped up to Phyllis' face, fear etched in every atom of her features.
"Why don't we get you to sit down and we can figure out what's going on?" Phyllis suggested, wrapping her arm around Shelagh's back as she helped her onto the cot, noting how the younger woman didn't move her hand, her entire body shaking.
"I think I'm having a miscarriage." The words were said with such pain and sorrow that Phyllis halted for a second as she was lifting Shelagh's feet onto the bed. She wanted to ask a million questions, sure that she had heard that the doctor's wife was unable to have her own children, but she reined herself in at the sight of the colour draining from Shelagh's face.
"Stay right here," Phyllis said, darting out of the cubicle, nearly crashing into an alarmed looking Barbara who hadn't anticipated the sudden appearance of the older woman. "Nurse Gilbert, I need you to call Doctor Turner immediately. Tell him that it's an emergency and that he needs to get here quick as he can." She didn't wait for a response, instantly retreating back into the room where Shelagh remained, eyes closed as she leaned back against the pillows, desperately trying to regulate her breathing.
"He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge," Shelagh was muttering, tears streaming down her cheeks Phyllis placed a calming hand on her shoulder, trying to find the best way to start her questions.
"Why don't we get you undressed and I'll do an examination so that we can see what's going on?" When she got no response from the ailing woman save for her continuing to whisper the verses of psalm ninety-one, Phyllis pulled the sheet up, helping the younger female remove her clothes. She left Shelagh's slip on, letting out a slight sigh of relief when she snapped on a pair of gloves but found no traces of blood between the woman's thighs, apologising when she caused the younger woman to wince, the internal exam unpleasant in the best of circumstances.
"What did I do wrong?" Shelagh queried, voice breaking.
"Shh, you've done nothing wrong. Can you tell me what you're feeling? Where does it hurt?" When there was again silence, Phyllis changed tactics. "Can you tell me how far along you are?"
"Nine- nineteen weeks," Shelagh choked out. Phyllis tried not to gawk as she pushed the woman's slip up once the sheet was covering her legs and pelvis, exposing her abdomen and the still tiny bump. The veteran nurse frowned, expecting most mothers to be quite a bit bigger than Shelagh was. She palpitated the skin, feeling the swell of the uterus beneath her fingers, confirming the age of the fetus before she went to grab her pinard.
"Let me just –" Phyllis started.
"Stop!" Shelagh cried, hands covering her belly, her fingers clinging to the flesh there. "Please… please let me have one more moment before… before you tell me –" She couldn't continue, breaking down into sobs, eyes clenched shut. Patrick chose that moment to come barging into the cubicle, his face crumbling at the sight of his wife.
"Shelagh," he breathed, crossing the room quickly, dropping a kiss onto her forehead as he grabbed her hand, pulling it to his chest and over his heart. "What happened?"
"I'm sorry," she rushed. "I'm so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. That everything would be all right but… but then things started feeling off and I just knew I was losing it – losing our baby." Phyllis tried to block out the sobs that filled the room as she finally moved her hand, pressing the pinard to Shelagh's skin as husband comforted wife, ignorant of the nurse.
"It's all right. It will be all right. We'll get through this," Patrick murmured, voice thick with emotion, peppering kisses into Shelagh's hair, holding her head to his chest.
"Oh Love," Phyllis sighed, sitting up and grabbing both Shelagh and Patrick's hands, resting them where her own palm had just been. "You're not having a miscarriage." Shelagh's eyes snapped to Phyllis' face, confusion on her features. "You're just feeling your baby kick." The cubicle fell into utter silence for a few seconds at the announcement, neither nurse nor doctor able to process the words for a few moments.
"It's… it's kicking?" Shelagh asked, unable to keep the hopefulness out of her voice. Phyllis pressed the younger woman's fingers to the exact spot where the tiny movements could be felt, watching the expression that bloomed across her features.
"There is no dilation in your cervix; the baby is a good size, even though you're still a tiny thing, and there is a strong heartbeat. The little one just wants Mummy and Daddy to know he's there," Phyllis smiled. "I'll give you two kids a few minutes." Shelagh kept her eyes on her stomach, barely registering when Phyllis left, Patrick's fingers tangling with her own.
"We're having a baby?" Patrick said, unable to keep the inquiry out of his voice. He felt like an idiot, having never noticed the signs that his wife was pregnant, but his heart hammered with elation at the prospect.
"Yes," Shelagh replied, a watery laugh bursting from her lungs as she felt the tiny shift under her skin again. Patrick ducked down, kissing her fervently, stroking her hair. "Yes, we're having a baby."