Missing an Angel's Heart
Chapter 3
On the first day of her sixth week, Kanade put the bell of her stethoscope over her uterus and held her breath. The heart might have started forming by then, and she longed for the breath where she would hear that first beat, in synergy with her own. But she could only her the quiet gargles of her own stomach – near empty because of her intermittent bouts of nausea. Just that morning she'd thrown up the light porridge and slices of apple she'd had.
It had been an unlikely chance, to hear the foetal heart so early…but the time was so close now she was starting to feel impatient. But she also knew patience was an important thing for the both of them, so she moved the bell to over her chest and listened to the slightly quicker than usual pitter-patter of her own heart.
That was an expected thing, her cardiologist explained. The body had to do more work when maintaining a pregnancy on top of all the usual bodily functions, and hers struggled often at the normal load. That was why she was being extra careful, extra diligent – because she wanted that little life forming in her belly to be born.
But maybe, since she thought she would want a child regardless of her own circumstances, she would have been extra careful in the first pregnancy anyway. But she'd have thought about more children, she thought: a large backyard filled with laughing kids, each with a different combination of traits. One with her silver hair. Another with her purple eyes. Another with her short stature. Hopefully nothing with her weak heart – but then again, she couldn't really think about more children until the first was running around and smiling and completely healthy and she was still alive enough to think about more.
But before that, long before that, she wanted to hear that slowly forming heart beating alongside her own. And though it was unlikely she would hear the beat of the heart that early she listened for it anyway. And once she was certain it hadn't yet arrived she tucked her stethoscope away with some melancholy and waited for the next day where the ritual was recommenced. And the next day, and the day after that, until the eighth week and her the time for her first scan came and she still hadn't caught that heart's gentle beat.
But maybe, she comforted herself from the trills of worry sneaking in, the heart was still too young to hear. Who said the song if a foetal heart could be heard as easily as an adult one? She'd never thought to ask, though maybe she should have; she might have been less worried…or more. Her own heart beat was still there: fluttering a little quickly, but still loud, still strong. She longed to hear the child now, now that the heart was, or should have been, forming unhindered within the baby form.
Aside from that, the three weeks passed much the same as the previous ones had. Some mornings she opened her eyes to the too harsh sunlight and felt a strong wave of nausea wash over her. Sometimes the end result would be her leaning over to throw up over the side if the bed. Sometimes it would be anticipated and her husband would rush a container under her chin before the contents came. But she didn't always throw up; sometimes it was just that feeling that made her roll over and bury her face into her pillow again. And then she'd fall asleep again and wake up when the sun was at its highest and sweat clung stubbornly to her skin.
And the heat just became more and more unbearable, even after Kanade asked her husband to take out their portable fan and plug it in for her. The low whir of its motor was distracting, particularly when she had to strain her ears for a beat that had not yet come into being. But the summer sun was burning stronger than ever and her body had never been more vulnerable to it. Not even when she'd run for long hours under the sun. Not even when she'd trimmed her roses until the skin of the back of her neck was burnt.
They were wilting now, those poor roses. She tended to them after the sun went down and it became a little cooler – just a little, because it often seemed as though the ground absorbed all that heat throughout the day and let it slowly dissipate at night. While walking on the paved footpath was like walking through a sauna on coals even with shoes on – and she could never fault her husband for running to and from his car – walking at night was like walking through the sauna with a floor of cooling coals. And she couldn't bring the fan with her either.
Though it would begin to cool again soon, she hoped. Summer was more than half past and her husband had already begun to note the change. Not Kanade though; her body still struggled through the heavy heat. But it was okay. She could sit with the fan and block out its low whir. She could sink into a nice cool bath and let the knots of strain float away. As long as it didn't get too much hotter, those things would be fine. Her heart had taught her the lesson of patience long ago, and now she had another reason to pay it heed.
She put her hand on her stomach, though it was far too early for that, she knew. But still, the feeling of a life forming inside came back to her. It wasn't too early for the heartbeat anymore though, and after a pause it was the slightly cooler bell of the stethoscope that replaced her slick hand. She heard no beat: only the gurgling of her stomach and, much slower, she moved it up until the echoes of air moving through her lungs and then the excited pitter-patter of her heart over that.
She closed her eyes and ignored the whirring of the fan, listening to her heart beat instead until other noises interrupted: the sound of the car pulling in to the driveway, the sound of an oven slamming and some cursing – because her husband was good at making meals but not so much cakes and cookies. A couple of times it was the doorbell as well. Her parents visited. Some co-workers of her husband. More often it was the phone or the fax machine, the latter usually some new paper she was meant to review.
She'd have to call at some point. The work wasn't much, especially during the summer when there wasn't more to do, but it would still be difficult in the aftermath of childbirth…and who knew how long before that. But she hadn't yet. Each day went by as it did: late mornings still in bed, a light but filling breakfast left by her husband, some work around the house and then the hottest time of the day strikes and she'd settle into her chair by the window and gaze the unmoving plants and empty streets and listened to the sounds her own body made. And then things would start to cool and she'd get up again, make herself (and her husband if it was a weekend) do a little with the papers to review, then start on dinner. That took her longer now, since sometimes the smell was nauseating and she'd have to leave halfway, but it would still be ready by the time her husband returned from work. Then she'd tend to her plants, and she'd walk a little down the lane with her husband, then to bed with the thinnest covers to be found because, even late at night, the heat of summer was a strong presence.
And then finally the day came. Surprisingly it was raining that morning but it was still warm, and Kanade strapped on sandals and took an umbrella and climbed into her husband's car. The scenery was clouded by the rain rolling off the windows, but that was okay. Kanade had brought her stethoscope as well, to listen to the soothing sound of her heart besting away. Because the sound of rain in the car's roof was loud and impatient and nor soothing at all – not like when it rolled gently off clear windows and made translucent the garden and road beyond.
She might have been a little more anxious when she arrived at the clinic, but the doctor checked her over and reported nothing ill. And then she was all jittery because the time for the internal scan had come – and then she was terribly disappointed and initially rather worried as well when they had nothing to show her.
The doctor explained that it didn't always mean something, that sometimes it was just that the scan wasn't sensitive enough or the baby was growing a little more slowly than the norm. Come back a week later, he said, trying to be reassuring – and it half worked, because Kanade's husband was put to ease by those words and set another appointment.
But Kanade felt a bitter weight in her heart, as though she'd already lost, that that child had never formed into a viable life. The excited pitter-patter of her heart had faded into a low tired beat that only made her more depressed. Her husband tried to cheer her up, point out the healthy sliver that still lived.
'I'll cheer up when I hear my child's heart beat,' she replied.