Page 14

She exhales slowly and nods. “We should get this over with before I chicken out entirely.”

I don’t know why this is so hard for her, but I do know she’s a logical, rational person.

If she’s scared, there must be a reason.

I push the door open and let her go first. The waiting room is packed, but Patch is at the receptionist’s desk, leaning over to read something on her screen.

He glances up and smiles when he sees me.

He says, “I got your text. Come on back, this shouldn’t take long.”

I hustle her to the side door, which he opens and leads us to the back where his exam rooms are located. We chat on the way back about how quickly my arm healed.

Patch is wearing dark green scrubs with a white lab coat. He takes her vitals himself, asking pointedly, “Are you staying for the full assessment?”

I’m taken aback because I’ve just been on autopilot. However, by all rights, Heather should have privacy for her medical evaluation. “No, I’ll go and wait in the waiting room.” When I go to step back, her hand shoots out to grab mine.

Her voice trembles a bit when she asks, “Could you stay, please?”

I grasp her hand more tightly and nod. “Yeah, of course. If that’s what you want.”

She just nods, biting her bottom lip.

Patch checks her vitals and says, “Up onto the exam table if you please.”

I help her step up and sit with her legs dangling over the side.

He glances at Heather and his voice softens. “You’re pale and dehydrated. Ghost said you’ve been nauseous, throwing up a lot, shaky, and seem unsteady on your feet at times. Is that true?”

“Well, yes. I’ve also been thirsty. My urine is dark, and I’ve lost a little weight. I thought something serious might be going on until it occurred to me that I might be pregnant. I took a pregnancy test that came back positive.”

Patch looks thoughtful. “It’s probably related to the dehydration.

I’m going to run some tests, but I’m going to tell you right now that you’re displaying a textbook combination of symptoms that point straight to hyperemesis gravidarum.

It’s like morning sickness but worse. It usually peaks around the start of the second trimester, but in some women, it can continue throughout the entire pregnancy. ”

“Is it serious?” Heather asks.

“It can be. Especially if you’re dehydrated.”

Heather begins to tear up. I rush to her side and put my arm around her shoulders. “Your bedside manner sucks today, doc.”

Patch looks up. “I just want you both to understand the seriousness of the situation. It can be serious, but with antiemetics—and IV fluids if needed—it is treatable. I’m going to have my phlebotomist do a blood draw so we have an idea exactly how many weeks pregnant you are, and my medical assistant will give you instructions on getting a clean-catch urine sample for us to test. It’ll take an hour or so for most of the results to come back. ”

“I don’t understand what I did wrong to make this happen,” Heather states quietly.

“It’s nothing you did. We don’t fully understand what causes hyperemesis gravidarum. It just happens for some women.”

Heather hesitates and then speaks with a trembling voice. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save my baby.”

“Don’t worry,” Patch tells her. “You’ve come to see me early, some women try and battle it out thinking it’s just regular morning sickness. As long as you follow my instructions, the probability of a safe pregnancy is high. I’ll go and arrange those tests right now.”

After he slips out the door, Heather lays her head on my chest and I hug her tighter, using both arms. “Sorry about that. I hope he didn’t scare you, Patch is a good doctor. I promise you that.”

She turns her head to look up at me. “I know I’m probably being an annoying patient, what with showing up without an appointment after waiting too long to seek help. It’s the brain fog, I think. It’s been bad the last week or so.”

“Whatever is causing this, we’ll get you sorted.”

Before she can answer, a woman knocks and then walks in with a blood draw kit. She’s happy and smiling. I step back and she makes polite conversation and before we know it, she has three vials of blood drawn.

After the phlebotomist is done the medical assistant comes in with a urine cup and a couple of alcohol wipes. Then she proceeds to explain what a clean-catch urine sample is and how to go about making sure it’s clean. It is fascinating information in that TMI kind of way.

Heather returns from the restroom wearing a gown and carrying her clothing. I quickly take the clothing from her and help her back onto the exam table.

I rummage through a nearby cabinet and give her a clean blanket. She quickly wraps it around herself, and I pull up a chair next to her. For the next hour or so I make casual conversation while we wait for her lab results. The time flies by for me, and before I know it, Patch walks back in.

“We got your labs back and it looks like you’re almost nine weeks pregnant. Judging by the symptoms we talked about before and your labs, I’m giving you a diagnosis of HG.” He quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I’ve managed a lot of these kinds of cases.”

I ask worriedly, “What do we need to do to get her better, doc?”

Ignoring me and looking at Heather, he says, “For starters, I’m going to give you an IV to rehydrate you.

I’ll also prescribe you something for nausea.

That should enable you to keep food and liquids down.

Eat and drink as much as you can, even when you aren’t particularly hungry or thirsty.

I’m also going to give you a script for prenatal vitamins that are in gummy form, which should be easier on your stomach than capsules.

If you end up having trouble with those, we’ll try a liquid form. ”

“I can still work though, right?” Heather asks imploringly.

“No reason why you shouldn’t. But I don’t want you doing any strenuous activity for a few days. Do you have family that you can stay with? Once you’re rehydrated the dizziness should ease off, but until then it’s best that someone keeps an eye on you.”

I immediately speak up, “She can stay with me. I’ll look out for her.”

Heather nods absently. Her eyes are downcast as if she’s still trying to get her head around what’s going on. Maybe it’s not how I wanted it to be, but I finally get my wish of moving her out of the garage.

“Any more questions?” Doc asks gently.

Heather shakes her head.

“My nurse will be here in a few minutes with your IV bag of fluids and something for the nausea.”

Heather mumbles, “Okay, thanks for seeing me on short notice. I really appreciate it.”

Patch responds warmly, “Anytime, you need anything, call me immediately.” Then his tone shifts just slightly, shooting a glance my way, he asks. “Will the father be involved? The only reason I ask is because I’ll need a signed release of information signed in order to speak to him with you.”

Heather’s head snaps up and her expression turns something close to terrified. “No. I don’t want him anywhere near me or the baby.”

Doc doesn’t press. But I take notice of her words and something in my gut coils tight.

She didn’t just say she doesn’t want him involved.

She said she didn’t want him near her child.

That answers two pressing questions for me.

She wants the baby she’s carrying and there is something going on with the ex.

That something sounds like it might involve danger because she said it like she’s scared he might try to get to her baby.

Patch talks to her a little more about her condition and what the warning signs are that she needs to come back to see him or get herself to a hospital and then leaves to make room for his nurse, who makes short work of inserting the IV and gives her anti-nausea medication.

I hold her hand while the IV runs. When the nurse comes back to remove the IV, she gives us a discharge sheet with all the instruction Patch gave us verbally, the scripts he talked about and some sample medications to tide her over until we could get the scripts filled.

***

The ride back is quiet. Heather goes back to leaning against the passenger window again, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding in more than just nausea.

Her eyes are open, but she’s not looking at anything.

Just staring out at the blur of trees and storefronts like she’s trying to keep her mind somewhere else.

I let the silence spin out between the two of us. She needs time to decompress from all this. I guess she’s got a lot to deal with.

Meanwhile, my brain is spiraling. Her words haunt every corner of my mind.

He won’t be involved. I don’t want him anywhere near me or the baby.

There was fear in her voice when she spoke of her ex. Heather is a strong, independent woman. That fear in her voice tells me everything I need to know about the man who fathered her child.

He hurt her, scared her. I know all too well how controlling and possessive men like that are. And I’d bet my bottom dollar that whoever he is, he might not as far behind her as she wants to believe.

My grip tightens on the steering wheel. Not enough for her to draw her notice.

And my jaw locks. I don’t like anything about this ex of hers.

I start taking mental notes on how to best protect her while she’s vulnerable.

I’ll keep her safely tucked away in my home with the security system armed.

When I leave, I’m gonna make sure to send a couple of prospects out to my place to keep an eye on things.

Until I figure who this asshole is and am certain she’s safe, she’ll have every bit of protection I can manage for her and her unborn child.

When I pull into the driveway, I do it slowly, so as not to jostle her around. When I turn the truck off, Heather doesn’t move to get out right away. I break the silence.

“Let’s get you settled in my spare room.”

She blinks at me, like I pulled her out of a fog. “I’m sorry you’re getting stuck taking care of me. I’m supposed to be working for you, not the other way around.”

I deadpan back, “I don’t mind one bit. In fact, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to and cook for besides myself.”

She perks up. “I’ll try not to be a burden and move back to the garage just as soon as I’m feeling better.”

“Nonsense. I asked you to move in last night. The offer applies even when you’re feeling better.”

I get out, go around, open her door and help her out of the truck. She’s moving slowly and that worries me. She should be feeling better after that IV, but I don’t think she is.