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While I’m waiting for Polly to return with my sandwich, I try to ignore the thumps and thuds filtering through the thin ceiling.

Mostly, it sounds like people walking around. I learn to distinguish Hank’s heavy footfalls from Polly’s lighter steps. Occasionally, I can hear voices, but they’re extremely muffled. I can’t make out any words, just that one voice is male and the other is female. They sound tense.

And then there’s a loud crash.

I don’t know what’s going on up there, but I’m certain those muffled shouts and swears are coming from Hank. I brace myself, waiting for a female scream, but nothing comes. I suppose Polly is used to Hank yelling at her. God, I hope making me that sandwich hasn’t gotten her in trouble.

When Polly returns with the tuna sandwich, the smile on her face is strained. She sets the plate down on a tray next to the bed. I’m absolutely famished, but unfortunately, there’s a much more pressing need right now.

“Polly,” I say meekly.

“Yes?”

“I…uh…” I avert my eyes. “I have to pee.”

Polly steps back, her intelligent eyes assessing the situation. It takes her half a second to recognize how hard it would be for me to get to the bathroom. “I’ll grab you a bedpan.”

It’s absolutely mortifying for Polly to help me with the bedpan, but she is professional about it, which makes it easier. She’s obviously done this before. I thought it would be difficult to pee without gravity helping, but my bladder is so full, it doesn’t end up being an issue.

“Thanks so much,” I say when we’re done. “I…I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she says firmly. “It’s not your fault.”

As she helps me get repositioned, that familiar squeezing sensation grips my uterus. I’m barely eight months pregnant, but I’ve heard trauma can trigger an early labor.

“Are you having a contraction?” she asks.

I consider the question as the contraction subsides. It doesn’t feel any different from the ones I’ve been having for a while now. “No.”

Her shoulders sag in relief. She’s probably glad she won’t be forced to help me deliver a baby tonight. You and me both, Polly.

She readjusts my legs in the bed, and I can’t help but notice my knee seems swollen too. When she moves my left ankle even a millimeter, I clench my jaw to keep from crying out. There is no way my ankle isn’t broken. I’ll probably need surgery to fix it.

“Polly,” I gasp. “Do you think… Could I have something stronger for pain? The Tylenol…it’s useless. I might as well be taking sugar pills.”

“You’re pregnant,” she says kindly.

“I know, but…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “You have no idea how bad this pain is.” I swallow a lump in my throat. “I don’t even know how I’m going to be able to sleep at night. And having this weight on my abdomen… I can’t even try to reposition myself.”

“I can help you. Do you want more pillows?”

“No. No .” My words come out sharper than expected, and Polly jerks her head back in surprise. “I’m sorry, but this is my baby, and it’s my choice. If you have something stronger, I want to take it. I’m going to lose my mind if I have to lie here like this all night.”

Polly is quiet, looking at me thoughtfully.

“Please, Polly.” My voice breaks as I imagine the endless night ahead of me—trapped in this bed with my giant belly weighing me down, my ankle in agony. “I’m begging you. Just…just one pill. You have something, don’t you? You must…”

“Yes,” she finally says. “I do.”