"Yeah, this isn't fucking weird at all," I mumble to myself as I adjust my laptop screen. I scoot back on the bed and make sure I'm in frame before smiling. I'm not entirely sure how else to start this, so I begin with the formalities. "Hi, sweet thing. I'm your mommy."
It still sounds so strange to say, but my small bump proves it's real. I'm going to be a mom. I'm going to be a mom, and I might not get the chance to raise my baby. It's breaking my heart to think about — to think it might not know me or how much I love him or her. I want to leave something as proof. I want my child to play a video and know how much I wish I could be there.
"I've loved you from the moment I found out about you," I say, grinning as I rub my bump. "You're my miracle baby and the most precious gift life has ever given. I can't feel you move yet and I don't know if you're a boy or a girl, but I know how much I love you. I wish I were there, baby."
Tears form in my eyes, but I try to hold back. I don't want my child to see me cry. I want this to be something happy — a wonderful way to remember me.
"I may not be right beside you, but I'm with you. I'm the soft breeze, the scent of lavender, the first snowfall, and the warm sun. When you experience these little wonders, remember it's me saying I love you. You are my beautiful, wondrous child and I'll always be your momma. I hope I have many, many years with you, but if that doesn't happen, all you need to know is that you, my dear, are worth everything."
I can't hold the tears back any longer after that, so I turn off the recording before it gets ugly. I didn't think this would be so hard, but I shouldn't be surprised. If my child ever sees this video, I'll be dead. I won't be here to wipe away the tears or hold him or her. I won't be able to say the right things — the things it needs to hear. This is a nice idea, but it's not what I want. I don't want to plan for my death just yet. I need to at least get to know my child before leaving it.
"Bella?"
I hear Edward's voice downstairs and wipe away my tears. I quickly shut the laptop screen as he's walking up and try to look like I wasn't just sobbing. Then again, it isn't entirely unusual for me to cry for no reason, so I can probably play this off.
"Hey," I say as he steps through our bedroom doorway. "You're home early."
"Uh, no . . ." he says, perplexed. "You have a doctor's appointment in a half hour, remember?"
"Oh, shit!" I completely forgot. He reminded me this morning and it's even on the calendar in the kitchen, but I spaced it. "I forgot. Um, let me get dressed. Sorry, I've been . . . pregnancy mood, brain, stuff." I wave my hand around my head as he smiles softly.
"It's fine, beautiful," he chuckles as I slide off the bed in front of him. He dips his head, capturing my lips as I almost walk past him. I quickly stop and relish his kiss, feeling his calm wash over me. Hell, I almost forget about what I just recorded for a few moments. "Now get dressed," he adds, kissing me softly once more.
I hurry into the bathroom, putting on a little mascara and freshening up before changing into jeans and a sweater. It's absolutely freezing outside — more so than any other February I've experienced in Chicago. The brutal cold is almost painful and even with a sweater, jacket, and a fucking parka, I'm still struck with shock of it when I step into the garage. I almost run to the passenger's side of Edward's car, which is thankfully still a little warm thanks to his drive home.
Fuck this winter.
I love winter, but fuck this one.
"Holy shit," I sigh, turning the vents toward me and hitting the seat heater button the moment the car's on. "How cold is it?"
"Seven degrees," he says, shaking his head. "Do you want the blanket for now?"
He reaches into the backseat, pulling up the blanket we put in here for emergencies — not every day driving. It was in the trunk, but I had to get it out a couple weeks ago. He lays it on my lap and I tuck it around my legs as he opens the garage and backs out. There's still snow on the ground, which is quite possibly left over from last month because nothing has melted. In the last week alone we've gotten ten more inches, but the bile is much higher than that.
"This car should warm up instantly," I say, shivering as I duck my head closer to the vent.
"I'll let Volvo know you're dissatisfied," he laughs.
"Please do. It's not that your car isn't lovely, but Momma doesn't do single digits so I'm a little grumpy that I haven't even actually been outside and I'm frozen."
He glances over at me at a stop light, smiling softly. "Momma."
"Daddy." I smirk. "There's a bump under this somewhere and I'd rub it if I could."
"Later." He winks. "But really, I'm loving the sound of those names. I think they fit us. An adorable little voice will be saying them soon."
"And until then we can just practice."
Hopefully I'll get to hear that voice, but if not, it's at least wonderful hearing Edward say it. I'm going to try to prepare a little better for my next video — maybe talk about Edward so the dying thing isn't at the forefront of my mind. As hard as it is to think about, the idea is good and I want to leave more for my child. I want to tell him or her about their daddy. There's a chance he won't be the same man after I'm gone — still incredible, I'm sure, but after losing someone you love . . . you're not the same anymore.
After my mother died, my father changed drastically. We went through a horrible time after her death because he couldn't cope with the loss. Hell, there were days he couldn't even look at me because I reminded him of her. I know Edward won't go down that path of soothing his pain with alcohol, but I still worry. Of course my father got through it, became an amazing single father, and never picked up another bottle, but it took near rock bottom for him to do so. I never want this baby to feel like I did — to worry what pain it causes Edward when he looks at him or her.
I have no doubt Edward will be the most wonderful father, but I want this baby to know the love that created it — to know how amazing its father truly is. He's made me the happiest woman alive and I want to share that.
"The appointment was at one, wasn't it?" I ask as Edward pulls into his spot in the hospital garage.
"Yeah, but I already texted Garrett," he says. "He's taking his one-fifteen first, so we're good."
I nod, feeling a little bad that I wasn't ready when he got home to pick me up. This appointment isn't really all that big of a deal, though. Garrett's just being cautious and wanting to check up on me throughout the pregnancy, so it's nothing more than a routine exam and blood work. Truthfully, though, I could have cancer again and nothing but a CT would show it right now. If I had physical symptoms, I'd be way too late to do anything — not that I could do much now anyway.
I'm really only doing this to appease Edward.
"All right, straight to the elevators," Edward says as I pump myself up for the inevitable cold.
"Warm beach, warm beach, warm beach," I chant, throwing my hood up. "Let's do this shit."
He turns off the car and then quickly gets out, rushing around to my side. The bitter cold crept inside the moment his door opened, so once mine's open just enough to squeeze out of, I jump out and grab onto his arm, trying to absorb his body heat. Thankfully his assigned spot is only about twenty feet from the elevator, but we still run to it.
. . . . .
Garrett is still in with his other patient when we sign in, so instead of freezing my butt off in a cold exam room, Edward and I wait in his office. We just got a few wedding portraits back, beautifully framed and all, so Edward brought three in for his office. This is the first time I've seen them hung, and they're absolutely gorgeous. One is a candid of our first dance, one of our kiss as actual husband and wife, and one with our family. They hang behind his desk, framed by the large bookcases on both sides.
"I need this one again for the house," I say, pointing to our first dance. "And holy fuck, why do you still have this out?"
I pick up the old photo and shake my head. It was taken after my most terrifying surgery. I'm in a hospital bed and Edward is laying beside me, holding me as we talk about something — I don't even remember what, to be honest. Alice took it, I think, and Edward loves it for some reason. I'm bald, covered in tubes and wires, and look almost deathly, so I don't see what's so great about it but he does.
"Because it's one of my favorite pictures," he says, smiling as he takes it from me. "This was the moment I knew you'd beaten all the odds and done something miraculous. You woke up so damn feisty and I just . . . knew."
"I punched a poor nurse," I laugh. "Oh, I still feel bad."
"To be fair, it was more of a light tap. You didn't have much strength behind that one, which was good considering it was intended for me."
I don't exactly remember what happened when I woke up from surgery, but everyone else does. I was intubated and obviously did not enjoy that, so I wanted the tube out of my throat. The meds made me a little a bit agitated, so when Edward said no, I swung. To be honest, it was his fault for undoing the restraint on my wrist — which was there for that very reason.
And so I didn't pull the tube out on my own, which I apparently also attempted.
"You should have taken the tube out faster." I smirk as someone knocks on the door.
It opens and one of the nurses, Sue, pops her head in. "He's about ready for you, Bella," she says before her eyes light up. "Oh my god, I can kind of see it!"
"Really?" I grin, turning to the side. "It's tiny, but it's totally there!"
She seems to forget about taking my vitals and comes in the office. Sue is probably my very favorite nurse here. She's been a nurse for thirty-some years and has always been incredible to me. In fact, during my very first appointment with Edward, she was my nurse. It was just as much fun telling her about the baby as it was the family.
"You look beautiful, sweetheart," she says. "I'm so excited for you both. When do you find out what you're having?"
"Next month," I sigh. "I probably shouldn't want time to fly by, but I really can't wait to stop calling her or she, 'it.'"
She laughs softly, nodding. "I understand. I was surprised with my first, but I couldn't wait with the other two. It makes it a heck of a lot easier to decorate, too."
"Is it just me or did you have an incredible urge to paint, too?" I ask, genuinely curious. I really, really, really want to paint and decorate and smell baby blankets. I want to fold little clothes and organize. I know this is a thing — nesting, that is — but I thought it wouldn't kick in until closer to my due date.
"Oh my god, yes," Sue says. "I loved decorating. During my second pregnancy, I redid the entire house and my husband was pissed, but couldn't say a word. Remember to use that against Dr. Cullen. He'll agree to anything for you right now." She winks.
"He always has," I laugh.
"I'm wrapped around her finger," Edward sighs, softly chuckling. "So, how about those vitals?"
I narrow my eyes at him, wanting to put off this as long as possible. Of course Sue takes me right down the hall after his reminder, but I suppose it isn't all that awful. We keep talking about the baby as she wraps the blood pressure cuff around my arm, and I tell her about the things I've already found — adorable onesies, cute blankets, and even a high-tech baby monitor that connects to our phones, iPads, and laptops. That's pretty fucking awesome, if you ask me.
"Blood pressure and pulse are a little elevated," she says, pulling the pulse-oximeter off of my finger. "I'm going to check them again before you leave today, okay? I'm sure you're just nervous."
I nod. "Like always."
She pats my hand before tucking the piece of paper in her pocket. She's barely gone for a minute before Garrett walks in, but it's enough time for Edward to find my hand with his. He stands close to me as Garrett comes in, holding his hand out to me.
"How are you feeling, Bella?" he asks, nodding at Edward.
"A little nervous and cold, but otherwise wonderful. Oh, and a little rounder. See?" I show off my bump, bringing a smile to his face. "Miracle baby is doing just fine, so don't find anything wrong with me, please?"
"That's certainly my hope," he says, walking over to the sink to wash his hands. "Edward kept me up to date about your morning sickness. Has it resolved now that you're in your second trimester?"
"Yep, for the most part. A little queasy sometimes, but it's usually because of a smell. Honestly, it was nothing compared to chemo treatments. I feel better than ever."
Okay, that's not entirely true, but I mostly feel wonderful. It's really just the minor inconveniences like peeing entirely too often, having to rig my jeans by using a hair-tie for extra room, and not being able to sleep on my stomach. The little aches freak me the fuck out, too. Those things aren't so wonderful, but the reason for them is completely worth it.
And I definitely don't feel cancer-y.
"I'm so happy to hear that," Garrett says, walking back over to me and starting his exam.
His trained fingers move along my jaw and down my neck slowly, carefully checking for any swelling of my lymph nodes. The room is so quiet that I'm afraid to even breathe wrong. Edward's eyes are on his friend's face, watching closely for any miniscule sign of concern. It's unnerving, and I can't stand it.
"Is Charles too outdated to be a middle name now days?" I muse, laying back and lifting my arms. "Would you be okay with that, Edward?"
My husband nods, eventually breaking his stare and looking at me. "Yeah, I think it'd be a great way to honor your father, but what if it's a girl?"
"My mom's name instead?"
"Or Charlotte," Garrett suggests. "You can sit up, Bella."
Edward pulls on my hand, helping me do so. Garrett pulls his stethoscope from his pocket next and the silence returns. I can't even break it now because his concentration needs to be solely on my lungs. I steal a glance at Edward as I breathe like I'm instructed and I swear that if he could, he'd be sharing earbuds with Garrett.
My husband can somehow make a routine exam intense, but thankfully it doesn't phase my doctor.
"All clear," Garrett says, pulling the buds from his ears and tucking the instrument back in his lab coat pocket.
"So we're good?"
"Your lungs sound perfect and there's no swelling of your lymph nodes," he says. "Of course we'll do blood work as well, but you don't need to stress yourself out. I know it's impossible not to worry some, but I'm quite sure your blood pressure has never been so high before."
"It hasn't," Edward says. "Would you mind taking it again?
"Telling me not to stress and then telling me something's wrong kind of defeats the purpose of telling me not to stress," I say. "How high was it?"
"One-forty-five over ninety-five, and yeah, I was planning on checking it again once she was more settled. One high reading doesn't really tell us much, Bella. I do want you to keep an eye on it, but I think in your case, it's probably stress. Edward's told me you have trouble sleeping."
Of course he has. "Sometimes, I guess. It seems like I constantly have to pee, so I'm up and down a lot."
"And you toss and turn all night," Edward adds.
I shoot him a glare as Garrett pulls the stool over and sits in front of me. "We do have options to screen for cancer," Garrett says. "I know you want to be as safe as possible for the baby and avoid CT scans all together, but if we just do your chest, there's very little risk to the baby. We'll take every precaution."
I shake my head. "I don't care how little the risk is. There's still a risk, so I don't want to take any chances unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm stressed, but I'm fine. Yeah, I'm scared of the cancer coming back, but . . . I'm dealing."
"Throwing yourself into projects isn't exactly dealing," Edward says. "You haven't been to a support group since we've been married and you don't like talking about it."
"And you think I want to talk about it here?" I ask, suddenly feeling set-up.
"I think you need to talk about it somewhere, and we're your two best resources," he says. "I'm scared, too."
"But you'll be here," I sigh. "You'll get to raise our baby, hold its hand, wipe its tears, kiss the booboos, and read it books before bed. It's not cancer I'm afraid of. I'd go through the hell of treatment every day of my life if it means I get to see our baby grow up. I'm scared of what I'll miss, Edward, and I think it's perfectly reasonable for me to be."
He squeezes my hand as he nods. "It is, but you're not in this alone. I'm absolutely terrified of doing all those things you mentioned alone. They're what my nightmares are made of, but I don't keep it bottled up. We communicate so well usually, but we haven't been lately — not about this. I can tell it's eating you up inside."
Tears well up in my eyes and I try to blink the burn away, but it's no use. "I guess I've been kind of . . . closed off a little — in my own head, you know?"
"I know, but you don't need to be."
"Your concerns are legitimate, Bella," Garrett says. "We can't tell you the future, but we can prepare and plan for it."
"I didn't realize you're also a therapist, Garrett," I say, wiping my tears.
"Jack of all trades," he teases.
"It kills me to think I won't be here and our baby will grow up without a mom, like I did. It was hard, and I don't want this baby to ever know that kind of pain — especially not so young. I'm afraid I'm going to die before she'll remember me and nothing can make that painful thought go away."
Edward pulls his hand from mine and wraps his arm around my waist, holding me close to his side as I cry. "I'm afraid I won't do your memory justice," he admits. "And I'm afraid I won't be a good father without you. The thought of living without you has always destroyed me, but raising our child without you? I can't fathom it."
"You'll be an amazing dad no matter what."
"I hope so, but I know in my heart I'll always be better with you by my side. The thing is, though, we don't need to worry so much about those what ifs. You've overcome every obstacle put in front of you, so who's to say you won't continue to do so? We can always discuss these what ifs and even try to plan for them some, but they shouldn't be our focus. Our focus should be here." He rests his hand on my stomach and kisses my temple. "Your health is a major part of hers, though. I think Garrett's right about a chest CT. I would never put you or this baby at risk, beautiful. If I truly thought it were dangerous in the slightest, I wouldn't suggest it. For now it would just be a CT, not a PET scan with a tracer."
"It won't tell us as much as a PET scan, but it'll give us some peace of mind," Garrett says.
"Do you really want me to, Edward?" I ask, looking up at him as he wipes my tears.
He nods and I know he truly believes it's for the best. I would feel better knowing. Stressing myself out isn't good for the baby, so it's kind of like picking the lesser of two evils. They say ignorance is bliss, but I'd rather not die without some kind of heads up.
"Okay," I sigh. "I'll do it."
Edward and Garrett both smile and I somehow already have an appointment at three o'clock for a chest CT. We still have plenty of time and radiology is just a few floors down, so we continue to talk about my worries for a bit longer. My blood pressure is still up when Garrett takes it once more, but it's not quite as high this time. I'm told to check it twice a day and if it stays elevated, to call Kate.
Not my best appointment, but not my worst either.
. . . . .
The preliminary report — meaning Edward — says my lungs are clear, but we'll get the official report from a radiologist in a few days. Edward thinks I'm okay and that's all I really need to feel a little lighter. I relax against him on our couch, putting my feet up on the coffee table and slowly spoiling my dinner with chocolate truffles.
"All right, so I'm thinking if she's a, well, he, we name him something badass for a first name," Edward says, continuing to scroll down the list of baby names on his laptop. "We'll keep it classy with Charles for a middle name, but . . . Axel for a first name."
I laugh because I don't think he's serious, but his solemn expression tells me otherwise. "Oh my god, you're kidding, right?"
He finally smirks and I praise the Lord. "I also saw Silas."
"No! And besides, she's a she. A mother knows these things . . . according to your mom. I'm supposed to trust my gut, so I won't waiver."
"My mother didn't know she was pregnant with Alice until like, eight weeks. You cannot trust a word she says."
"Fine. Bet me." I grin mischievously.
He narrows his eyes. "What are your terms?"
"While you're on paternity leave and nights you're not on call, you have to change her diaper if I'm right and she's a girl — no ifs ands or buts. If I'm wrong, I get every poppy diaper no matter what. You're still doing pee changes when you're home."
"I'm not one-hundred percent sure either way and I have been leaning toward girl, but I'll take your bet," he says, holding his hand out. As I shake it he adds, "And if I'm right, I get to pick his first name."
I squeeze his hand and gasp. "I get to veto!"
"You get five vetoes, so chose wisely."
I'm almost ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure I'm right, but if I'm wrong, Edward might pick a name I hate and—actually, no. No, he won't. Edward would never be so cruel to name our child something I dislike, so it's really a no-brainer.
"Deal," I say, shaking again as he smirks.
"You'll really let me pick?"
"I'm not saying I won't give suggestions, but it'll be your decision in the end," I agree.
He leans closer, pressing his lips to mine for a few moments. "I really don't mind dirty diapers, you know? I deal with bodily fluids on a daily basis, so it's no skin off my back."
"Yes, but I'll get to sleep."
He rubs his nose against mine, smiling. "I already planned on devoting every moment of my time at home to helping you."
"Because you're wonderful," I giggle, pecking his lips once more as the thought of the video suddenly crosses my mind. "Hey, can I ask you an odd favor?"
"Anything, sweet girl."
"I, uh . . . well, I kind of did this thing today." I'm not entirely sure how to explain the video without making it seem a bit morbid. "I made a video — of myself. It's weird, I guess. I just wanted to . . . leave something for the baby. You know, something for her to remember me by."
His brow creases. "What are doing in the video?"
"Just sitting on the bed. It's like a short video diary. I meant for it to be longer, but I kind of started crying and I didn't want it to be sad. I wanted it to be a nice thing he or she can watch after I'm . . . gone."
"You mean if you die?" he asks, and I worry he's upset. The lighthearted smile is gone from his face and his express has fallen. It's like I've hurt him — sadness, not anger.
"Yeah," I sigh. "I know it sounds bad, but this fear is getting to me. I had all but accepted death a couple of years ago, but now I'm terrified again. I guess it's a little worse than how I explained it earlier, huh?"
"I understand why you'd want to leave something like that for her, but I wish I could have been there for you. Did you not feel like you could tell me?"
"I didn't want to upset you, and I know how you feel about thinking about . . . my death."
"It tears me apart," he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer to his chest. "But it is something we have to talk about. It's our reality."
"Sadly," I agree.
"I think a video diary is a good idea, actually, but I don't think you should do it alone. I think if you want to leave something happy, we should show the happy. We should show the love that created him or her. I mean, not the actual love."
I about snort as he laughs. "The PG-rated love. We don't want to scar the poor child."
"Exactly." He nods. "What about a little video every week? And if you want to share something in particular, we can turn the camera on anytime."
"The idea doesn't bother you? It doesn't . . . leave you unsettled to think that if our child sees the videos, I'll be dead?"
"A little, but who's to say we won't show them to it together some day? We'll play them at her graduation party or something, so let's make at least one embarrassing one."
I smile as relief washes over me. With his ideas and knowing he'll be by my side, it doesn't seem as morbid. I won't be some distant, faded memory. I'll be right there, next to her daddy — who hopefully she'll be right beside on the other end of the screen.
"You know I love you more than anything, don't you?" I ask.
"And I love you," he says, kissing me softly. "What should our first video be about?"
"I don't know about you, but I'm rubbing in the fact that you think she's a he."
"I just took the bet to be nice," he laughs, holding me tightly.