Chapter 144
The people
who worked with Nick in Los Angeles were not happy to see him turn up on Monday
with the left side of his face shiny and swollen.
“You have a
photo shoot tomorrow!” his publicist, Juliette, screeched furiously. “Do you know how much work it’s going to take
the makeup artists to cover this up?!
And what about Kimmel on Wednesday??”
Nick took
her scolding without complaint, but with a slight smile on his face. Though he knew his timing was terrible – with
the single out, he would be caught in a rush of mad promotion until after the
album’s release in October – Nick didn’t regret it one bit. In fact, he was very proud to have kicked
Jamie Turner’s ass. He’d relived the
fight the whole plane ride back to LA, smiling in triumph at each punch he’d
thrown into Jamie’s smug face, the way he’d shoved him and thrown him off, the
kick he’d sunk right into Jamie’s gut, taking his breath away, and more than
anything, the look on Jamie’s face as he’d finally trudged away, his tail between
his legs. And Nick had done it all in
the sand, on the not-as-sturdy prosthesis that substituted for his real leg.
All of that
was more than worth a swollen and painful left cheek, though, of course, his
managers and publicist didn’t see it that way.
“Are you
sure your cheekbone’s not broken?” Juliette’s voice rose in concern as she took
his face in her hands, turning it for a closer look at the left side. “I don’t want to attract even more questions
by taking you to the doctor, but we might want to get this looked at…” She gingerly touched his cheek.
Wincing,
Nick twisted away. “It’s bruised, not
broken,” he said, then shot her a wide grin, ignoring the wave of pain that
shot through the side of his face as it was stretched back. It now seemed even more fitting that “Bruised
Not Broken” was his first single.
“Cute,”
said Juliette, smiling in spite of herself at his pun. “But that still doesn’t help us for the shoot
tomorrow. There’s no way this bruising
is going to be gone-” She stopped talking
abruptly, an odd expression coming over her face.
“What?”
Nick asked, watching her closely. She’d
either just had an idea or was about to have a stroke.
“I think
I’ve got an idea,” Juliette said slowly, and Nick was relieved it wasn’t the
latter. “We might be able to use this…”
As she told
Nick her idea, speaking in rapid tones, he rubbed the tender side of his face,
which was slowly stretching into another smile.
***
Across the
country in Clive, Iowa, a suburb of Des Moines, Jamie was sporting a shiner
that looked, if anything, more painful.
He’d woken up on moving day with his eye swollen almost completely
shut. He could see out of it again now,
but it was still puffed up and heavily bruised.
“You better
hope all that color has faded by next Monday,” Claire said warily, looking at
the inflamed mess of black and blue around his eye. “Your new boss is gonna wonder about you if
you show up looking like that.”
Jamie, his
arms full of the shower curtain he was supposed to be hanging, turned to her in
annoyance. “Thanks, dear, for
reminding me… again,” he said sarcastically.
“You’re
welcome!” chirped Claire, smiling to herself as she went back to drilling the
screw holes for the new towel bar.
Slowly, but
surely, the new house was coming together.
Right now, it was heaped with boxes and mismatched furniture that the
movers, paid for by Jamie’s company, had brought in. But one by one, the rooms were starting to
take shape, as Claire and Jamie worked together to unpack and put in place
their various possessions. When they
were done, the house would look very nice, Claire thought.
She was
happy with the place so far. She’d been
pleasantly surprised to find that it was slightly bigger than it had looked in
the pictures Jamie had sent, the rooms more spacious. She had been impressed, especially
considering the whole house had cost less than a small condo in Tampa would
have. One perk of moving to the Midwest
was that the cost of living there was lower than in Florida, particularly near
the coast. At the same time, Jamie would
make more in his new job than he had been at the old one, which would make a
difference once they started buying things for the nursery they were going to
set up in one of the three bedrooms.
Still, it
had been hard to leave Tampa. She hadn’t
slept well the night of the going away party, but sleep or no sleep, morning
had come, and she and Jamie had driven up I-75 in his beige Ford Taurus, which
was packed with suitcases and boxes and, locked in a cat carrier, Jamie’s cat
Bright, whom he’d had sedated for the long car trip ahead. With stony silence from Jamie, who had
apparently still been humiliated about Nick’s beatdown of him the night before,
accompanied by Bright’s lethargic yowling and the Oklahoma! soundtrack,
Claire very much wished she at least had her own car to drive to Iowa. But her beloved yellow Volkswagen was
currently sitting at a used car dealership in Tampa.
“You should
sell it. That way, we only have to worry
about getting one car to Iowa, and we can buy a second one once we’re
there. A more practical one,” Jamie had
advised her.
“Practical?”
she had sniffed, not taking well to his insult of her cute little Bug. “And what do you mean by ‘practical’? A minivan?”
“Well, um…
yeah? A family vehicle anyway, something
more suitable for three car seats.”
He’d had a
very good point, and in the end, she had reluctantly taken the Beetle to the
dealership, knowing that once her triplets were born, she would be doomed to
drive a gas-guzzling van or SUV for the next two decades. And there would be no more listening to
System of a Down in said gas-guzzler, which was exactly the music she’d craved
as Jamie had driven her further and further from the palm trees of Florida and
ever closer to the cornfields of Iowa.
She’d wanted something loud, something angry, but instead she’d had to
endure hours of Jamie singing, “Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a
beautiful day, I’ve got a lovely feeling, everything’s going my way…” Music was not something they’d ever agreed
on. Jamie had always said it was because
she was tone deaf and, therefore, not a good judge of it. But Nick had liked her taste in music…
They
compromised by listening to the Rolling Stones as they worked around the new
house together, finishing up the bathroom fixtures and moving on to the living
room.
“Don’t
touch that!” Jamie ordered, as she made her way to the couch. “I told you, I’m moving all of the
furniture. You shouldn’t be pushing
anything heavy.”
“Good,”
Claire replied promptly, “because I wasn’t going to move it. I was just gonna sit down for a few.”
“Oh.” Jamie relaxed. “Well, yeah… you should rest.” He nodded pompously, as if it had been his
idea all along.
She sank
down onto the couch with a sigh, exhaustion quickly creeping up on her. She had been on her feet most of the day, and
she was definitely feeling it now. She
lifted her legs and saw that her feet looked puffy, her ankles thick and
swollen. She swung them around onto the
couch, stretching out so that she was lying across it, her head propped up
against the arm. Her hand went
instinctively to her stomach, gently massaging it.
“Are you
okay?” asked Jamie, giving her a concerned look.
“I’m fine,”
she replied with a tired smile, “just worn out.”
“Everything
feels okay though? With the babies?” he
questioned her.
She
nodded. “Seems fine.”
She had an
appointment with her new OB later that week, to consult and check up on the
babies. Dr. Valerio had said at her last
appointment in Tampa that she would probably be able to see them moving on her
next ultrasound. She was looking forward
to that. She often pressed her hand to
her belly and held it still, trying to determine if she could feel any movement,
but she knew it was too early; according to Dr. Valerio, she probably wouldn’t
feel anything for another few weeks.
Jamie gave
a satisfied nod in return and started moving the furniture, arranging it under
her direction. “How about that chair under
the window?” she suggested, pointing.
The words came out with difficulty; she barely had the breath for them.
“Here?”
asked Jamie, once he’d slid the armchair across the carpet.
Claire
didn’t answer right away. She felt
strange all of a sudden. Her chest had
grown tight and felt as if there were an invisible force pressing down on
it. The effect made it hard to breathe;
her lungs felt too constricted to take in enough air. She didn’t think she could speak. She felt fatigued and weak, and moving even a
little seemed like a huge effort, but she had to relieve the crushing pressure
in her chest.
She
struggled into a sitting position, but the movement was too fast. Immediately, she felt light-headed, as all
the blood rushed from her brain. She swayed
and slumped against the back of the couch, grateful for its support.
Jamie,
turning around to see why she hadn’t answered him, caught the moment and
immediately rushed over. “Are you
okay? What’s wrong?” He pelted her with questions as he knelt beside
the couch, hovering anxiously over her.
Claire held
up her hand to keep him at bay, still trying to figure out what was wrong
herself. She’d felt fine a few minutes
ago, just a little tired, and now she could barely catch her breath. It was a little easier to breathe now that
she was sitting up instead of lying flat, but in exchange, she felt dizzy and
weaker than ever. The mere effort of
sitting up made her feel as if she’d just done a thousand sit-ups in rapid
succession. For no logical reason, her
heart was racing and palpitating, giving her the feeling of a cluster of
butterflies imprisoned inside her chest, their small wings fluttering rapidly
as they tried to break free.
She had
felt this sensation before, most notably the time she had fainted in the middle
of kickboxing class. The memory made her
stomach turn over in dread. That was
what it was. She felt exactly the same way
she had then; the same thing was happening.
“Claire?? Answer me!” Jamie demanded, his voice loud
and frightened. “What’s wrong??”
“My heart’s
racing,” she managed to say. She pressed
her hand to her chest, pushing gently, as if she could somehow calm it. But it pounded and thumped unevenly against
her palm, and feeling its irregular syncopation made her even fainter. “It’s another arrhythmia. I think… I think we should go to the
hospital,” she choked, panicked tears threatening. Why was this happening again, now of all
times? What about her babies? What if they were in danger??
Jamie went
very pale. “Are you sure??”
“Y-yeah…
you know how to get there, right?” He’d
driven her around the small town of Clive when they’d first gotten there, but
she had no idea where the nearest hospital was.
Jamie
didn’t answer; he was staring blankly, not quite at her, his eyes looking
rather glazed. The black and blue that
Nick’s fist had put around one of them added a rather frightening effect. For a minute, it looked as if he’d gone into
shock or something.
“Jamie?? You know where the hospital is?” she asked
again more desperately, jarring his attention.
“Yeah,
but…” He shook his head
erratically. “We’re not driving
ourselves. I’m calling an ambulance.”
She didn’t
think an ambulance was necessary when he could drive her there just as fast,
but she didn’t argue. He ran to get his
cell phone, as the phone company hadn’t yet turned on their new ground line,
and dialed 911. She heard the tremor in
his voice as he spoke rapidly to the operator.
“My wife… she’s having some kind of heart problem… it’s happened before…
she can’t breathe... Yeah, she’s
conscious, but please, she needs help.
You have to come quick; she’s pregnant with triplets, please!”
His voice
rose with panic, and she wished she could say something to reassure him, but
she was terrified herself. It wasn’t
just about her now; the triplets could be in danger too.
“My
address?” Jamie was saying into the phone.
“Um, yeah, it’s-” He paused, his
brow furrowing. In alarm, he turned to
Claire. “What’s our address?” he
hissed, his eyes wide and scared.
Later, they
would laugh at the fact that it was she, the one slumped on the couch, trying
hard not to pass out, who had to feed him their new address. “702... Felicity Street.”
Jamie
regurgitated the address quickly into the phone and then said, “Thank you. Please hurry!” Hanging up, he dropped the phone and knelt
beside Claire again. “The ambulance is
on its way,” he said, watching her warily, as if he expected her to drop dead
at any second.
That didn’t
do much to make her feel more reassured.
Knowing it was up to her to calm herself down, she tried to take deep
breaths, willing her heart to slow down and return to normal. As the minutes passed, Jamie didn’t say much,
didn’t touch her, just kept staring at her, his eyes wide and fearful, and
occasionally asked, “Are you okay?”
“Could you
go get my shoes?” she asked him after awhile, mostly to get him out of her
face. She didn’t like him hovering; it
was making her even more uncomfortable.
He nodded,
jumping up, and was back in seconds with her flip flops. He slid them onto her swollen feet and
returned to his watch post at her side.
Claire was
sure they would have reached the hospital already by the time the paramedics
knocked at the door. Jamie ran to let
them in, then stood back, pacing across the living room as the two uniformed
EMTs took over his spot.
From there,
it was a blur of déjà vu: the medics’
questions, her answers, the bumpy stretcher ride into the back of an ambulance,
the burning prick in her arm as an IV was started, the sticky pads that were
stuck to her chest, and the erratic beeping of the heart monitor that followed.
“You have
an irregular heartbeat; that’s what’s making you feel dizzy,” the medic in the
back told her. He probably thought he was
being informative.
“I know,”
she mumbled. “It’s happened before.”
She was
almost glad Jamie was not in the ambulance with her; the paramedics had told
him to follow them in his own car. She
was relieved. She hated having him see
her like this, and she knew he hated it too.
She didn’t
see him again until the emergency room, and by the time the attending physician
would let him in the room, he had already given her medication to slow and
stabilize her heart rate. Everything
seemed fine again, as it had the last time this had happened… but was it?
She was
more worried for her unborn children than for herself. When she had told the ER staff that she was
expecting triplets, a nurse had immediately asked for the name of her OB. “Her name’s Dr. Gray. Christine Gray, I think, but I’ve never met
her before. We just moved here,” Claire
had answered, tears threatening to overtake her again. She wished she were in Tampa, where she knew
the doctors and the doctors knew her.
“That’s
okay. I know Dr. Gray; she delivers
babies here at this hospital,” the ER physician had spoken up
reassuringly. “Erin, call Dr. Gray, will
you?” he added to the nurse.
While they
were trying to get a hold of her new OB, the doctor had hooked her up to a
fetal heart monitor. All three
heartbeats were present and strong, he had told her, but he still seemed
anxious for the obstetrician to get there.
After hearing her full medical history, he also asked for the names of
her other physicians, and when she referenced Dr. Valerio and Dr. Nnachetta,
her cardiologist, he went to call them.
It was then
that Jamie was finally allowed in. He
looked relieved to see her alive and awake, but even so, he only gave her a
peck on the forehead and proceeded to stand stiffly beside her bed, barely
speaking, jumping back out of the way every time her nurse, Erin, came in to
check on her.
She was
bored and annoyed by the time the woman who introduced herself as Dr. Gray
arrived. Dr. Gray had curly brown hair
and a pleasant bedside manner. She asked
Claire all kinds of questions and listened carefully to her answers. After briefly examining her and checking to
make sure that the babies were not in distress, Dr. Gray said, “Well, I’ve
spoken with Dr. Bergquist, and he and I both feel it would be best to admit you
for observation and some more tests. I’d
also like to have you seen by a cardiologist.”
Claire was
not looking forward to another hospital stay, but for the safety of her babies,
she would do anything. Jamie also seemed
to think it was for the best, and so she signed the necessary paperwork and let
them admit her.
For the
rest of that day and into the next, she was put through a battery of tests and
exams by Dr. Gray and the consulting cardiologist, Dr. Moony. She went through them alone, using the new
house as an excuse to send Jamie home.
“You should go home and unpack some more; then there will be less to do
when I get home,” she would tell him whenever he got to be too clingy or seemed
particularly uncomfortable. He came and
went from the hospital, sometimes with reluctance, other times with relief,
depending on what she told him they were going to do to her next.
Jamie was
there with her at the end of the second day, Dr. Gray came into her room, carrying
Claire’s thick medical chart and wearing a grim expression on her face. Alarmed, Claire instinctively reached for
Jamie’s hand. It was very cold, colder
than hers. She squeezed it, but he
barely squeezed back. She looked over
and saw him staring at the doctor, looking as though he were about to vomit.
So much for moral support, she thought, bracing herself for
whatever news Dr. Gray had come to give her.
Judging from the doctor’s expression and many similar moments throughout
her adult life, Claire had a bad feeling that the news wasn’t good.
Dr. Gray
was a very straight-forward person, and she got right to the point, for which
Claire was grateful. She hated to be
kept waiting with long, drawn-out explanations.
“After looking at your test results and consulting with Dr. Moony, I’m
very concerned about your ability to carry this pregnancy,” the doctor said
with a grave face.
Claire felt
her heart skip a beat, and all the warmth seemed to drain from her body, so
that she felt very cold. “What??” she
whispered in disbelief. She wasn’t sure
what exactly she had expected to hear, but it hadn’t been this. “What does that mean? A-are you saying I’m going to miscarry?” she
asked, her voice trembling. At that
moment, it was the worst thought imaginable.
And yet… it couldn’t be! She’d
just heard the fetal heartbeats; Dr. Bergquist in the ER had said they were
strong! The babies were healthy!
“Not
exactly,” said Dr. Gray. “That’s a
possibility, of course, as with any pregnancy, but in your case, there are
other worries to consider. Pregnancy –
any pregnancy, even with a single baby – is hard on the body. It makes the mother’s organs – heart, lungs,
kidneys – work extra hard, and even otherwise healthy women sometimes develop
complications as a result. Multiple
pregnancies are considered high-risk because they increase these effects,
taxing the body even more.”
With a
sinking feeling, Claire began to see where she was going with this. The triplets were healthy… but their vessel,
her body, was not. Dr. Gray was going to
tell her that with all of her medical problems and their treatments, some with
damaging side effects, she was not fit to carry them. They were dependent on her body for life, and
it was failing them. Desperate tears
filled her eyes, even before Dr. Gray continued.
Scooting
closer to her bed, Dr. Gray took Claire’s free hand and looked her right in the
face. “I know this is very difficult to
hear,” she said, “but for you, it would be very dangerous to try to carry three
babies to term. You’re not even quite at
ten weeks yet, and already, this pregnancy has aggravated your heart
condition. Right now, the damage to your
heart from the chemo treatments you had several years ago is minimal, and if
I’m understanding correctly, you’ve only had one other incident where it gave
you symptoms.”
Claire
nodded wordlessly.
“However,”
the doctor went on, “the stress of pregnancy, especially a multiple pregnancy,
could make it worse. Much worse. You will have more episodes like the one you
experienced yesterday, and there’s a good chance that the myopathy could
progress, even to the point of heart failure.
If it got that severe, a heart transplant would probably be the only
option to save your life. Without one,
you would most likely be dead in two years or less.”
The harsh
reality of her words made Claire feel very cold, as if she’d been drenched in a
bath of icy water. “So what are you
suggesting?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“I’m not
suggesting you terminate the pregnancy,” Dr. Gray assured her, and Claire
immediately felt slightly better. “I
think that, under close medical supervision, you could carry a baby safely to
term. Many women with heart conditions
worse than yours do, without major problems.
However, in my professional opinion, it’s not advisable for you to
proceed with three.”
The good
feeling was instantly gone.
“As I told
you, triplets can be risky in any case.
Nowadays, with the technology we have, their survival rates are
generally very high; however, they are almost always born premature, and this
presents its own set of problems. Many
preemies grow up to be perfectly normal, without any lasting effects, but some,
especially those born very early, have lifelong physical and mental handicaps
as a result. There’s almost no chance of
you being able to carry a multiple pregnancy to term, and I’m worried that if
you tried to proceed with it, your body would force a premature delivery to
protect itself. How premature, I can’t
say, but you would face the risk of losing all three babies.
“And then
there’s you to think about. A
multiple pregnancy is riskier than a singleton for any woman, but in your case,
it could mean the difference between life and death. I think your heart could handle carrying one,
maybe even two fetuses, but I’m very concerned that the toll three fetuses will
continue to take on it would be too much.
I’ve overseen many high-risk pregnancies in my career, and
unfortunately, I’ve seen too many women die during delivery or shortly after.”
Claire
tried to swallow, but couldn’t; her throat had gone very dry as she imagined
dying and leaving Jamie alone with three newborn, possibly sick babies. She glanced over at him now, realizing he had
been silent and frozen at her side this entire time, his hand limp in
hers. She found him staring straight
ahead at the blank wall in front of him, his eyes blank, his jaw set. He did not return her gaze, and so she turned
back to the doctor in trepidation.
Dr. Gray
squeezed the back of her hand. “I hate
having to suggest this to couples, but I think your best option would be to
undergo a selective reduction, reducing the number of babies from three to two,
or even one, and giving yourself a better chance of coming through this
pregnancy with you and your children alive and healthy.”
Finally,
Claire managed to swallow. “You mean an
abortion,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
“We don’t
like to call it that. You wouldn’t be
ending your pregnancy; you would just be reducing the number of fetuses. The procedure is done differently than a
standard abortion. We inject the fetus
with a solution, and in most cases, the woman’s body simply absorbs it. There’s no bleeding, and very little
pain. Obviously, it can still be a very
emotionally trying experience for the mother, but you have to realize that by
reducing one fetus, you are giving the others a much better chance at survival,
as well as yourself.”
Claire knew
the doctor’s words were meant to be reassuring, but they only made her feel
nauseous. Beneath the covers, her hand
moved to her belly, massaging it gently.
As she did, a tear finally slipped from her eye and slid down her cheek,
splashing onto the front of her hospital gown.
She stared down at the tearstain as if it were suddenly the most
interesting thing the world, the thin material of the gown sliding between her
trembling fingers as she adamantly rubbed her stomach, trying to avoid thinking
about the decision she knew she would have to make.
***
What should her decision be? Click here!