AN: Judging from the lack of reviews, I'm guessing you aren't happy with the direction the story's going? School's getting busier and I just want to get this story over with so I've made the decision to abruptly end it. This isn't the last chapter, but I have skipped over a few. But they weren't that necessary, I think. So you might be a bit disappointed with this chapter's ending. Truth is, I couldn't think of anything else, and I did warn you it'd be abrupt.
So anyway...
(Italics are flashbacks)
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With Troy at my side, I stare blankly at the ceiling while the sonographer applies some gel on to my abdomen. This is surreal. We will actually get to see our precious baby in just moment's time, and I cannot wait. Boy, when you're pregnant, you're stuck waiting for home pregnancy test results, waiting for the sonographer to hurry up and waiting nine months whole months before the baby to pop out. Not to mention labour, too. Pregnancy is definitely not for impatient people. I caved not to long ago that I'd wait until the birth to find out the sex, so that only meant more waiting and watching the clock for time to pass.
Then, in a heartbeat, blurry black and white blobs appear on the screen. It is all fuzzy and unrecognizable, but that is our baby that's inside me. Tears threaten to fall as I recall absurd moments where I didn't even want this. God, I must be crazy.
I glance at Troy who's gazing at the image in admiration. The sonographer starts to point out random body parts to Troy and me before something that doesn't look right causes my breath to quicken in alarm.
"What's that?" I yelp, pointing to the screen, "Oh, no, your dad was right, Troy. It does have two heads." I squint again at the two unmistakable curvy things. They look identical and now I'm trying to locate the eyes. I don't know how I'll take it if I count four of them peering right at me.
The sonographer drones, "Mrs. Bolton, that would be your baby's feet."
"Oh...and what wonderful feet it has." I clear my throat, embarrassed and flushing a bright shade of red.
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My first sonogram seems like ages ago as I sit in the hospital bed again for another one, but I still can't get over that miraculous feeling whenever I see our baby.
It has been several months, yet Troy remains clueless about my earlier fears. But I finished my book, Befriending Your Belly, not too long ago, and I think I am prepared for whatever may come. Kelsi and I have been attending prenatal yoga classes every week, and I feel great. Troy and I have also finished the nursery, choosing a nice yellow to paint the walls. I worked myself up for nothing, but now I've overcome my fear all by myself.
"Hm," mumbles the sonographer, moving the small white probe around my abdomen.
Hm? Hm what? Please let the baby be okay. Please let it not have two heads--but I'll still love it if it does. I'm never going to be an abusive mother that won't accept her child, for who they really are, and while the world may shun my son or daughter, they'll always have me to depend on.
"What is it?" asks Troy, voicing my thoughts.
He states, "Your baby is breech."
Breech? "Oh, no," I say gravely, "is that when whales swim too close to land, and they end up getting stranded on the shore?"
"Um, no, Mrs. Bolton. That's beached. Breech means your baby is in a feet-first position in your uterus."
I dramatically whisper, "And can anything be done about it?"
"You shouldn't have to worry. You are only thirty-five weeks pregnant so the baby will still have time to turn, and most breech babies do. There are methods you may want to try at home, and medical professionals could try to turn your baby. Although a caesarean section is usually planned if your baby remains breech, you can deliver it vaginally, too."
Caesarean. That means a risk of infection. I think I might faint.
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In spite of using all my strength, and sucking in my belly as hard as I can, I can't get my favorite shirt to fit over the lump. I curse at my unsightly appearance. None of my clothes fit anymore, and as if stressing about labour wasn't enough, I have to be concerned about losing all my baby fat post pregnancy, too.
I collapse on the floor of my walk-in closet and huff despairingly. Now stuck without anything to wear to work today, I knew I shouldn't have waited this long to avoid shopping for maternity clothes.
"Gabriella?" Troy inquires, sliding open the door, "What's wrong?"
"I'm fat, and I no longer can wear any of my clothes," I moan pessimistically.
He leaves then comes back with an unfamiliar article of clothing. "I saw this on EBay a while ago, and thought you might think it was cute!" He holds the shirt up for me to see. Written at the bottom is: "Meet my little friend"
I gulp at the maternity shirt that's sure to induce mortification. Maybe I'll...find an over-sized sweater or something.
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Troy is always helping me and has been incredibly supportive during all these past months. And now he's assisting me in trying to turn our child around. I called Kelsi for any advice she might be able to offer, but she doesn't seem to be home tonight.
I read that, when turning a baby, you are supposed to elevate your stomach to be above your heart, so Troy has taken an ironing board and propped one end on to our couch for me to lie on.
"Are you sure it's stable?" I ask anxiously, "What if the board breaks under my weight."
"It's secure, Gabriella," he replies, "Come here, I'll help you on to it."
My back is flat against the board, and my knees are bent so my feet flat on the board as well. I hold my breath. This better work.
"Remember to relax," Troy mentions, "and don't be so tense." Then he fishes for the flashlight and flicks the switch on. We've also read that the baby may follow the light if you move it from the top of your belly towards the bottom.
"Do you feel it turning?" he asks, slowly moving the flashlight.
I frown, not noticing any change at all. "No."
"Well, you'll have to do it for ten to fifteen minutes so it may take a while," he consoles the both of us.
I attempt to concentrate on calming down. Darn, just when I accepted that labour was going to be all right, this happens and I'm worried all over again. Whenever I divert from anything normal, my heart rate can't help but go crazy.
-----
This morning we tried again but received no results, yet it was recommended that I do it three times a day, so, nevertheless, I haven't given up hope. I manage a jubilant smile and enter the teacher's lounge, only to be met with several solemn expressions. There's a heaviness in the air that makes my smile falter and finally fade away. Fidgeting nervously, I conclude that it's a 'who's going to break the news to her' moment and wait for someone to speak up.
We all remain motionless for a while and fear starts to clog up my airway. I force myself to take a deep breath, and my hands fly to my stomach, a new nervous habit of mine. Won't someone kindly tell me what it is? Am I fired? Did I wear my bra outside of my shirt today?
"Oh, for goodness sakes," groans Ms. Fitch, throwing her bony arms skyward and rolling her eyes in an effort to portray her exasperation. "Shall I tell her then?"
"Gabriella," Martha feebly says, "we received some bad news this morning."
Fuck. What the hell is wrong? I wish Kelsi were here to tell me already, but for some reason, she's absent today. Martha, the math teacher whose voice is usually loud, booming and inspiring, glances at me sadly with half-lidded eyes.
She starts again, "Kelsi..."
"What about her?" I interrupt, "Is everything okay with the baby?"
Martha nods her head languidly. She speaks in a hoarse voice, "The baby's fine. Kelsi gave birth last night, but there were complications—I don't know all the details—and unfortunately," she paused, "Kelsi didn't make it."
...Oh my God. She's gone. Forever. But she was just fucking there. I can remember her voice and her appearance and everything about her like she was still alive and a phone call away. I feel light-headed, the rest of my body is numb and I struggle to fight off the denial that's racing through my mind, making me want to cover up the truth to pretend it never happened.
But one of my best friends just died.
And in labour.
Something I will have to go through in just a couple weeks time, no matter what.
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AN: If you have any suggestions for the baby's gender or name, please tell me. I'd love to hear them. =)
