She didn't stay awake.
At around the one hour mark, as Dean methodically tried to knead the knots out of her shoulders, he felt Sophie's head slump against his chest and her breathing slow down. She was out cold. Dean leaned forward, went to pull up something different on his laptop. Then realized she might wake up and thought better of it. So he kissed her forehead and leaned back and watched the rest of The Big Year on his own.
Sophie roused, rubbing her eyes, not five minutes after the credits rolled.
"I fell asleep didn't I?" She asked groggily.
Dean nodded.
"I was right," he said, cracking a smile.
"Who won?" Sophie asked.
"Owen Wilson," Dean replied, "Now sleep."
"Thanks my love," Sophie murmured, nuzzling into his chest.
And finally she slept through the night.
Dean could hardly believe it when their alarm went off in the morning.
"How are you feeling?" He asked as Sophie sat up and stretched beside him.
"Not good," Sophie said, "But better than I have in a while."
"Migraine?" Dean asked.
"None at this moment. Though I'm sure it's coming soon."
"Seizure aura?" Dean asked.
"Not at all. I think sleeping helped. And having food in my stomach," she said, "Can you help me bake today? Jody said I could use the kitchen and I have a couple ideas for things I can keep down."
"Absolutely," Dean replied enthusiastically. He'd agree to anything she was up for at this point. They had three days left before she saw her first specialist. And he would do whatever she needed to get that time to go quickly and uneventfully.
Sophie sat on a stool at Jody's kitchen counter, scale and mixer in front of her - she'd brought the scale from home. Dean was digging through Jody's pantry looking for ingredients. For the first time in days, Sophie was dressed and she'd put on makeup. Maybe she just needed air and light and room to breathe, Dean mused, like a houseplant.
"What are we making again?" Dean asked.
"Pulla," Sophie replied, "It's Finnish Christmas bread. I know it's August - for the record - but strong spices seem to help with the nausea and simple carbs too. Get the cardamom for me?"
"No dice," Dean replied.
"Nutmeg will work," Sophie told him, "And then yeast. That's the last thing."
Dean instinctively opened the freezer and looked for a mason jar.
"It'll be in the cupboard," Sophie said, "Normal people buy it in packets."
He dug through the cupboard and tossed a roll of red foil packets on the counter.
"That is all," Sophie smiled. She was so much better, Dean thought, and then he saw that distant look pop into her eyes. He caught the packet of yeast as it slipped out of her fingers, then gently guided her head onto the countertop. It wasn't a bad seizure, Dean reminded himself. She'd always had this kind frequently. She'd be fine. She had to be.
But apparently fresh air and space weren't quite enough. She finished the bread. She laid on the couch in Jody's living room and read parenting books for three hours while Dean read the news and cleaned his guns. She made it through dinner without her stomach trying to turn itself inside out. But she had a bad seizure late that night and then spent the better part of the next morning throwing up anything she put in her mouth, including water. While she was still better than she had been that awful day after the hospital in Lebanon, Sophie certainly wasn't doing great when Dean helped her out of the car at the Sanford Medical Center.
"We have an OB first, then your neurologist, then another two OBs," he said, checking a scrap of paper with the next few days' schedule scribbled across it.
"Yep," Sophie sounded nervous.
"They're gonna help, baby," Dean assured her, "Promise."
And they did. Nobody asked Dean to leave the exam room, for starters. They ran legitimate tests, recommended additional specialists, and offered plenty of advice without any trace of judgement.
Sophie's neurologist switched her to levetiracetam and recommended a naturopath to get her other options for managing the migraines beyond the exceptionally ineffective Tylenol. The first two obstetricians were nice, but it was the third one just, clicked.
Dr. Johnson was an older, Native American woman with a bright smile and a crucifix on her wall. Dean and Sophie both liked her immediately. She first looked over the thick file of medical tests and papers Sophie handed her, then came around her desk and gave Sophie a quick physical exam.
"You had an ultrasound earlier," Dr. Johnson said, "And the baby is healthy as can be. But you, you're not. Are you?"
Sophie shook her head, gripping Dean's hand nervously. Everyone they'd spoken to today had been a delight. It was a dramatic shift from their last two visits back in Kansas. But Sophie was still skittish. Being told you were drug seeking would do that, Dean figured.
"I have it written down," Dr. Johnson said, "But I want to hear from you, both of you, what's going on. Okay?"
And so they told her everything. Dr. Johnson spent near an hour listening and taking notes.
"I can put together a treatment plan with your neurologist and your naturopath that should make things far more manageable Sophie," she said calmly, "No need to worry. It won't solve everything. You'll still be dealing with some symptoms. But it'll be a largely normal and healthy pregnancy. You've nothing to fear."
And then she asked the question that, inadvertently, sealed the deal.
"I don't mean to pry, but I noticed your current address is in Lebanon, Kansas," she commented, "That's almost six hours from here. Why do you want to have the baby in Sioux Falls?"
"I…I tried to…" Sophie stammered. She trailed off, swallowed hard, and looked to Dean for help.
So he told the story. About trying to get an ultrasound and being handed an abortion flyer instead. About trying to get pain medicine and being told off for drug seeking. About the doctor insisting on a c-section under general anesthetic. As he spoke the expression on Dr. Johnson's serene face shifted, growing more and more irate by the second.
She took a deep breath and composed herself before she spoke.
"I'm so sorry," Dr Johnson said.
"We're just glad we had friends in the area and were able to come up here instead," Sophie said, rubbing her hand gently back and forth across her belly.
"I'd like you to stay in the area for the next month," Dr. Johnson said, "We'll do some follow up testing. Make sure the treatment protocol is working. Then we'll have you up here for your prenatal visits. And I'd recommend coming around 38 weeks to stay until the baby's born. Then staying four to six weeks after that."
"Works for us," Dean agreed immediately.
"Now," Dr. Johnson said, "Tell me about your birth plan."
Dean looked nervously between them.
"No judgement here," Dr. Johnson assured her, "From either of us."
"I'd like every pain med you can give me that I can still get up and walk," Sophie said, "And I want to push her out myself."
"Her?" Dean asked, startled.
"I don't know if it's a her," Sophie said quickly, "Cas didn't tell me or anything. But I just think it's a her…"
"Mom's are often right about that sort of thing," Dr. Johnson said with a smile, jotting notes on her stack of paperwork, "We'll get a treatment plan drawn up and you'll be feeling better in no time."