Wicked

Chandler pushed open the door to the hotel room, stepped aside, and placed his hand on the small of Monica's back; guiding her first through the entranceway in front of them. "Check it out! Does your husband deliver or does your husband deliver?"

Monica looked around the spacious hotel suite and clicked her tongue. "You do have your moments." She bit her lip and tried to suppress a smile; she wanted to hold back and not reward Chandler with too much exuberance so soon, knowing he would be impossible to deal with for the rest of the night. Yet, she could not deny that the Sofitel was every bit as gorgeous of a hotel as she was led to believe. Even just from standing in the doorway, Monica could tell that this room was special. More important than that, she could tell It was clean. "Do we really need a suite though? We are only staying for one night."

"I know, but these rooms have a great view." Chandler rushed past her on his way to the window and pulled the curtain back, revealing the gorgeous Manhattan skyline, with the Chrysler building bathing in the setting sun as the star attraction. "Tada!" He waved his arms around as if he were a magician who conjured up the picturesque image before them. Monica shook her head and exhaled a laugh as she finally allowed herself to smile. "And, I even made dinner reservations at the French restaurant downstairs. We will eat something that you will love and I will be totally grossed out by, go to the show and then tomorrow morning, we can partake in what I have been told is the best brunch in Midtown."

Monica folded her arms and playfully raised one skeptical eyebrow at her husband. "You really are proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"Like you said, I have my moments."

Monica slid her purse from her shoulder, placing it on the desk as she walked over towards Chandler. She smiled widely as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you." She lifted herself up on her toes to meet his lips with her own and let a slow kiss linger between the two of them.

Chandler waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Well, you know, we could try out that big bed in the other room before dinner." Monica pulled back and pursed her lips as she squinted her eyes at him. In response, Chandler rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You have to unpack first, don't you."

"Well…."

"And you want to call your parents and check on the two little dictators."

Monica nodded and allowed a sheepish smile to spread across her lips. "We do have time now. Dinner isn't going to be for a couple of hours."

Chandler sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Fine. Let's go unpack and call your parents."

Monica clapped her hands together as Chandler wheeled their two bags into the bedroom. She followed him and then laid her suitcase down flat on the floor and opened it. She took a moment to admire her packing job and then turned to look at her husband. "They should give out awards for stuff like this. No one can pack a bag better than me."

"I thought you made yourself a medal for that out of tin foil? Isn't it hanging up in our bedroom?"

"That wasn't for presentation. That was for my record setting time. Oh man, I had that bag packed so fast!"

"What did I marry into?" Chandler chuckled to himself and shook his head. "You know what I don't understand? Why do you make me pack my bag if you are just going to redo it yourself anyway?"

Monica turned to face him and folded her arms. "How else are you going to learn how to do it right?"

"Babe. We are closing in on four years of marriage. I think you should take the hint about me learning to pack a bag like you."

Monica started to laugh smugly. "Yeah, Like I'd ever expect you to pack a bag like me. I just don't want you to pack a bag, like, well, like you."

Chandler shook his head and put his hands on his hips. "I'm going to make some coffee. Do you want anything?"

"No. I'm fine." As Chandler walked out, Monica sat down on the edge of the bed. She was anything but fine. Ever since Jack and Erica's birthday party, she has been feeling worse with each passing day. Tired, sore, crampy, headaches, nausea, dizzy spells. She brought her hand down to her stomach and gently tapped it. "You have to be more Geller than Bing, because you are kicking my ass."

Monica has refused to use the "s" word all week when trying to figure out exactly why she felt so terrible. She will not allow herself to entertain the idea that she might be getting ill. Instead, she has opted to convince herself that it is just allergies or exasperated pregnancy symptoms. Whatever she could do to deny that she might have a cold. Yet, even as she steeled herself against how she was feeling, she had moments during the week where she was worried that she might have had to cancel this overnight trip to the city. Whenever it felt like it was too much and she was close to saying something, she would think about how she spied her husband thumbing through a booklet that came with the Wicked CD that he was certain no one knew he had purchased. It was all she needed to push through and commit to their weekend getaway, no matter how bad she was feeling. After all, it was just one night, and she thought he was too darn cute as he tried to hide that booklet inside the newspaper he was pretending to read. So, she chose to ignore her symptoms and tough it out.

Monica also felt as though she owed him some type of reward. He had been so great ever since they found out she was pregnant. Always attentive to her needs. Taking the lion's share of caring for Jack and Erica while she dealt with bouts of exhaustion and nausea. He never complained and never seemed to tire. She could not bear to take this weekend away from him or taint this evening by letting him know how terrible she feels right now. She could handle it. It is just one night.

Monica decided to lay back on the bed and close her eyes for a few minutes. She felt as though this week had gone by so fast. It seemed like it was just yesterday when they were celebrating the twin's birthday. Another reason to be grateful to her husband. One small moment of weakness from her and he jumped into action. Constantly moving in and out of the kitchen; carrying trays, washing dishes, pouring drinks. It was as if he were making up for all the years of dinner parties and holidays where Monica would practically set everything up on her own as the dutiful hostess. He insisted that she sit and relax for the entire day. She would normally bristle at being treated so gingerly, but she welcomed the extra attention she was receiving, and she noted how he was being so sweet and cute worrying about her all day, that she could not help but indulge herself. With everyone fawning over her, it almost felt like it was her party. She sat there in the corner of the room with her two children, eating cake, and opening presents.

It might have even cracked the top five best days of her life if it was not for Chandler's coworker, Dani showing up. Monica scrunched her face up at the thought of her. Red hair, tiny waist, obnoxiously large breasts. The minute Dani had left, Monica shot Chandler a stern look and he stammered before blurting out, "I didn't even know she had breasts." To which her brother replied. "Well I noticed." Earning Ross a well-deserved smack on the arm from Rachel.

Later that night, after Chandler worked himself to near exhaustion, getting the twins to bed and cleaning up from the party, Monica had a slight twinge of guilt at how she reacted. As he began to doze off while sitting on his recliner, she wondered if there was a very small chance that she was being slightly irrational. It was not as if she didn't trust him, and she knew blaming Dani for how she looks wasn't fair or in keeping with Monica's own brand of feminism. It had to be the pregnancy. It was a good enough excuse, and it was also why she did not feel that guilty having a second slice of cake later that evening.

But now, she feels as if she could drift off and sleep for the next twenty-four hours straight. Something else she can blame on baby Bing. As she lay there, in the obnoxiously comfortable bed offered to them in the hotel, she wondered to herself, "Would it be so bad if I took a tiny, little nap?"

Chandler sat down on the bed next to Monica and started to gently shake her. "Hey. Babe. You're going to have to get up soon."

Monica's eyes opened slightly, making them look like half-moons as she stretched and yawned. "Chandler. I just want a few minutes to nap."

"Babe. You've been sleeping for two hours."

Monica shot up as her eyes opened wide. "What? Why did you let me sleep? What about dinner?"

"It's fine. I ordered some room service. It just got here. I wasn't sure what to get you so I got a few different things. I got something called Lorraine. That's a weird name for food. And do you know what cassoulet is?"

Monica huffed out a laugh and shook her head. "Beans, sausage and preserved duck."

Chandler twisted his face up in disgust. "Why don't you come inside and eat? You can have the duck thing."

Monica blushed as she lowered herself back down. "I'm sorry. I know you had this all planned out with us having a nice dinner downstairs. I just can't seem to get through this constant exhaustion."

"That's fine. As long as we are together. I'd rather eat here alone with you than in some stuffy restaurant anyway." Chandler held out his hand, and Monica took it as he helped her from the bed.

"Oh. I never got to call my parents."

"I called. Everything is fine. You mother had to change out the sheets in the spare bedroom because, and I quote, 'Big Jack has sensitive skin.' Is that going to be a thing now? Because I don't know if I feel comfortable calling your dad 'Big Jack'."

"Oh, I think it's cute. He's big Jack and we have little Jack."

Chandler shuddered in response. "Big Jack sounds like a euphemism for a penis."

Monica screwed up her face in disgust. "Yeah. Maybe we don't call him that."

Chandler held his jacket over his arm while he and Monica waited by the door leading into the theater. Monica looked over at the poster for the play and began to chuckle to herself.

Chandler turned and tilted his head at her as an apprehensive smile slowly began to form on his lips. "What's so funny."

"The name of the play. Wicked. It sounds like the musical version of Good Will Hunting."

Chandler raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. "What do you mean?"

Monica started to laugh and turned to Chandler, and began to speak to him with an exaggerated Boston accent. "Cuz he was wicked smaht!" Monica covered her mouth with her hand as she started to laugh loudly and she elbowed Chandler in the ribs. "Get it. Because people from Boston say wicked all the time."

"Oh yeah. I got it. I'm just wondering if we should have a trial separation."

Monica narrowed her eyes as she tried to suppress her smile. Before either one of them could continue, the door opened as an usher shoved a doorstop underneath it to prop it open. He offered to check their tickets and walked them to their seats. Chandler awkwardly slipped him a few dollars as a tip and Monica rolled her eyes as he fumbled with the wrinkled-up bills.

Chandler looked over at her and scoffed as he sat down. "It isn't as easy as it looks."

"The way you do it does not look easy."

As the play progressed, Chandler became totally engrossed in every movement made on the stage. The set changes, the music, the dancing; it all swept him up into the magic of the theater. Monica would sneak a look at him every now and then and she could not help but smile when she would notice him mouthing along with each song. She reached over and slid her hand onto his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Chandler turned and smiled at her as he leaned down and kissed her forehead, only to pull back suddenly. "Mon. You're burning up."

Monica kept her head rested up against him. "Huh?"

Chandler placed the back of his hand on her forehead. "Mon. I think you might have a fever. You are really hot. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine. Well. No. Not exactly." Monica bit her lips as she put her hand up to her face and started to run her hand over her cheek. "I guess I didn't even realize. I'm actually feeling a little chill."

Chandler pressed his chin to her head. "You're really warm and sweating. Mon, I think you're sick."

Monica shook her head forcefully and raised her voice. "No. I'm not sick!" A chorus of shushing rained down on them from all around them and she leaned in to speak softly to her husband. "I'm not sick."

Chandler started to gather his coat. "We have to get you out of here."

Monica gestured towards the stage. "But what about the play. You love it."

Chandler stood up and began to take her by the arm, compelling her to follow him. "It doesn't matter. We can try again another time. I really think we should get you back to the hotel."

As they entered the hotel suite, Monica exhaled with relief. She was happy to be back and could not wait to climb under the covers and fall asleep. Chandler helped her over to the bed and she sat down. "Your eyes are all glassy. Why don't you get under the blanket? I'm going to call that nurse line and see what kind of medicine you can take when you're pregnant."

Monica nodded weakly. "Okay. Actually, I think I might rinse off real fast and change."

"Okay, but then right into bed, all right?" Chandler stepped out of the room and began to search his wallet for his insurance card. He sat down on the couch near the phone, frantically sticking his fingers into each fold. "Honey? Do you have the insurance card in your purse? I can't find it."

Monica stepped out of the bedroom. "Let me check." She started to walk towards the desk where she dropped her purse and began to wobble on her feet. Chandler shot up and reached out to grab her, straightening her back upright. "Woah, are you okay?"

Monica raised her hand to her head. "Yeah, just another little dizzy spell. To be honest, I've been feeling off all week."

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have called Doctor Lopresti."

"I didn't want to ruin tonight, but now I did and now it's all…." Monica trailed off as her eyes fluttered.

"Mon?"

Monica blinked a few times and cleared her throat. "I think, I think. Did you buy bananas?"

Chandler held her other hand and stared at her in confusion. "What?"

Monica shook her head forcefully. "Bananas. No. I can't think of the word. Did I, uh, who called?"

Chandler's expression changed from confused to concerned quickly as he moved closer to her. "What?"

Monica pushed back from Chandler and ran her hand over her face. "I don't feel so good." Her eyes rolled back as her body went limp, causing her to fall to the floor.

Chandler sat on the cold plastic chairs closest to the nurses' station and counted the tiles on the floor. He tried to get any kind of information about his wife from the nurse sitting at the desk ever since he and Monica arrived at the hospital. Yet, every time he tried to get an answer from them, it would just lead to more questions for him. Questions he could not answer. After his fifth attempt to get the nurse to find his wife's doctor, he resigned himself to waiting. Waiting and counting floor tiles.

Forty-five minutes have gone by since they wheeled her behind that door. He looked back down at the clipboard and shook his head. He could only fill out a third of the requested information on the paperwork. Monica was the one who always filled out these forms. She never needed to look up any of the answers. Social security numbers, health coverage member IDs, blood types, allergies, medical history. She had it all cataloged in that amazing brain of hers.

Chandler realized he could not sit and count tiles when he was this frightened. And he was frightened. His wife had passed out almost an hour ago and he had no idea if her eyes had opened back up again. He could not wait any longer, and decided to see if the sixth time asking would have better results.

As he stood up, he noticed a young doctor he had never seen before come out from behind the closed door that they had pushed his wife through. The doctor leaned down and spoke with the nurse at the desk who then looked over at Chandler and pointed at him. As the doctor nodded and approached Chandler, he stood up to meet him in the middle of the room.

"Mr. Bing?"

Chandler barely heard the man. "What's going on? My wife was feeling sick and no one can tell me what's going on or where she is."

The doctor gestured for Chandler to sit, but he shook his head. "Your wife has a pretty bad bacterial infection. Do you know what BV is?" Chandler hardly had the energy to reply, and instead he shook his head slowly in response. "Well, your wife had a bacterial infection that gets caused when there is an imbalance of healthy bacteria and it resulted in endometriosis in her uterus. She also has some internal bleeding. Did she complain to you of cramping or any kind of bleeding this week?"

Chandler shook his head. "Doc. You are a doc? Right?'''

The doctor nodded. "Look, Mister Bing. I know I am throwing a lot at you, but the more we know the better we can treat your wife."

"Just tell me, how is she."

"She is in bad shape right now, we can't do anything until we get her fever down, but we have her on antibiotics and we feel certain we will be able to get the infection under control and hopefully perform a D&C. We will know more in a few hours."

Chandler shook his head in frustration. "I don't know what any of that means."

The doctor put his hand on Chandler's should and nodded as he flashed a sympathetic look. "She's really sick right now, but we feel fairly confident that we got her here in time and we can get her feeling better. As long as there aren't any other complications or unforeseen problems."

Chandler lets out a sigh of relief. "What about the baby?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Bing. Your wife had what we call a silent miscarriage. Probably about six or seven days ago. I regret to inform you that she lost the baby."