I do not own Bates Motel.
But, in some ways, I do own a Dylan. And I love him so much.
Yeah, Whatever
Doctor, Doctor
"Are you ready to hear the heartbeat?"
Emma had been weighed, blood pressured, and temperatured.
On this, her month two prenatal visit.
Dylan with her because . . .
"Will you come with me? I can get it scheduled for after work."
Is this even a question?
"Yeah, of course."
. . . it was his baby too.
And now . . .
"Yes!"
. . . the moment had come.
To prove that there was something, someone . . .
"This is a fetal Doppler to hear the heartbeat . . ."
. . . actually in there.
The nurse squeezed out some . . .
Hey, I know what that stuff is, well, not anymore-
Ahem.
. . . clear gooey stuff onto Emma's lower stomach . . .
"We may have trouble hearing it; it is common. So don't be disappointed, the fetus . . ."
Baby. It's a baby. It's our baby.
" . . . is very small; sometimes they hide . . ."
. . . pressed the little medical sonar to her skin.
"Whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump . . ."
And instantly the sound of slightly muffled galloping horses filled the room.
Dylan felt his own heart stutter to a halt, his breathing hitch.
And his entire being crashed to a full stop.
And restarted anew.
Emma's whisper was lost to him as the sound of his child's heart beating filled up every pore of his being.
"Dylan . . ."
But her hand gripping his, squeezing almost painfully, brought him back to her.
Her eyes were overbright, shimmering with tears he felt in his own.
The baby's heartbeat was strong and steady . . .
"Hey, I'm strong, I'm here, I'm ready to go, I'm super tough, don't worry about me, I got this-"
. . . very very fast.
Still holding onto Emma's hand, Dylan Massett turned to the nurse.
"Is, uh, is the heartbeat supposed to be that fast?"
The nurse, a matronly (real matronly, not fake Norma Bates matronly but someone who actually cared, he could tell) brunette woman with patient, kind, knowledgeable eyes checked the read outs on her little machine.
"One hundred forty beats per minute. Right in the middle of where we want it. Regular. Nice and strong. Just right."
Just right.
The baby was okay, just right.
Dylan nodded.
"Okay."
And kept listening.
". . . vaginal probe if we can't see anything from this try . . ."
Hang on, what? Don't . . . don't go in there yet. It's still mine for a while.
". . . but let's try the regular ultrasound first."
Thank you.
Emma lay on her back, slightly elevated in the dim of the ultrasound room, big TV screen listing her identifying information and waiting to show them their first sighting of their child.
"Okay, this should be nice and warm . . ."
More gloopy stuff squirted out over her still flat, three month pregnant belly.
". . . and let's see what we can see."
Instantly the monitor gifted Dylan with a black and white Doppler readout of the inside of his wife's uterus.
Whoa. This is awesome.
Complete with . . .
"There's your baby!"
. . . a vaguely humanoid shaped . . .
Oh my god . . . we're having an alien.
. . . creature.
Which was . . .
"Oh Dylan!"
. . . moving.
Kicking and squirming away deep down in Emma's body.
Dylan sat holding his wife's hand.
Transfixed by his little otherworldly creation.
And listening . . .
". . . heart, four chambers . . ."
. . . to the technician . . .
". . . lungs . . . stomach cavity . . ."
. . . tell him all about . . .
". . . kidneys . . . full bladder cavity . . ."
. . . his baby girl or boy.
" . . . nope, just emptied . . ."
And clack, clack, clacking away on that little keyboard when something new was uncovered.
And he loved it.
"Emma," he whispered. "Look, she's got hands."
Month four.
" . . . of your blood test."
And they had taken vials and vials and vials of Emma's . . .
Hey, leave her some.
. . . blood.
Testing for every little thing imaginable.
". . . negative for Down's Syndrome, sickle cell anemia . . .
They had even done a . . .
". . . amniocentesis results . . ."
. . . test Dylan didn't think he'd ever forget.
Watching the nurse come at his pregnant wife with a big, long needle . . .
Hey, watch where you're pointing that thing.
. . . to poke right into her beautiful, round stomach.
Wait, don't hit the BABY!
Just to prove once and for all that . . .
". . . cystic fibrosis, negative . . ."
. . . everything about the baby was normal and healthy.
Emma nodded calmly, thanked the doctor.
And promptly burst into tears of vast and overwhelming relief.
And her husband held her.
And at the end of all the testing when they knew everything else they needed to know about the baby, the doctor . . .
". . . . about it. Except . . ."
. . . asked the most important and least important reasons of all.
"Would you like to know the sex?"
Hardly a glance passed between the expectant mother and her pins and needles husband.
"Yes."
The doctor smiled.
"It's a girl."
Girl.
She's a girl.
Wow.
Preeclampsia.
". . . of hands or feet . . ."
Gestational diabetes.
". . . thirst or hunger . . ."
Infections.
". . . fever or discharge . . ."
Spontaneous abortion.
". . . bleeding or pain . . ."
And of course, rejection of the transplanted organ.
". . . difficulty breathing . . ."
The laundry list of dangers for Emma's pregnancy was almost too much to handle.
He would have to put it all in his phone.
"Dylan . . ."
If he didn't die of a stroke first.
He watched her all the time, worried about her all the time.
"Dylan . . ."
Worried about the baby.
"Dylan, it's okay. I feel fine."
And he would look at her, unable to comprehend how . . .
"How are you not scared?"
. . . she could be so brave in the face of all this.
And Emma, beautiful, amazing Emma, the frickin' warrior smiled more gently than he had ever seen her smile in all the time he had known her.
"Of course I'm scared, Dylan," she confessed. "I'm scared all the time."
He felt a wave of some emotion he couldn't quite identify.
Relief that she was normal too seemed too weird.
And Emma continued talking.
"I know something could happen to one or either of us at any time. I know."
She raised both hands to cup his bearded face.
"But I'm okay right now. And every minute I'm okay and she's okay brings us a little closer to having Katie in our arms."
Katie.
Kate.
Kathleen Lillian Decody Massett.
As an act of hope, they had named her.
Well, Emma.
A full proud, beautiful name for a girl who would live to be unleashed on the world just as her mother had been.
If they lived.
Emma shrugged, still holding her smile.
"So I'm going with that."
And Dylan Massett found that he could not speak, only hold her.
I can't even imagine. Well, I can a little.
Anyway, thanks to WordWeaver81 for your generous reviews!
See you next weekend!