“Mm-hmm,” I moaned. “And you haven’t even shown me the other half of it yet.”
“It’s all yours, Mrs Whittaker, now and forever.”
“Good to know you won’t get tempted by bikini-clad hussies trying to seduce you, Dr Whittaker,” I teased, drawing his face down to mine and stopping before our lips touched, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
“No chance – you’re more than enough woman for me.” Harry closed the gap and then rose out of the water.
I lowered my feet to the ground. “Do you have to get back?”
“Not until the morning, but I’ve got somewhere I’d like to take you.”
“Will there be food?” I asked following him onto the sand.
“Do you even know me?” he joked.
The next week was a beautiful reminder of our time in Kenya. Our long separations while he saved the world, followed by memorable nights wrapped in each other’s arms. I spent some time at the clinic, my time helping Libby coming in handy, and some time exploring the island with Harry’s island friends. He was treated like royalty, and as the woman who had stolen the heart of the doctor they loved, so was I.
Saturday, I woke with a start and rushed to the bathroom, emptying my stomach into the toilet while gripping the bowl for dear life as painful exhaustion ripped through me with violence. Harry had already left for the clinic, so I was alone in my misery.
I considered the seafood chowder I’d eaten the night before, and a fresh wave of nausea hit me when I tasted its remains on my tongue. For the next three days, I was laid up in bed with a suspected bout of food poisoning. Harry organised one of the locals to stay with me, even though I tried to deter him. Our departure flights came and went as did the joyful celebration of our reunion.
When I made my way out of the bathroom – pale and weak – on the fourth day, I found Harry pacing, his expression tight and guarded.
“You don’t think it’s food poisoning, do you?”
Harry’s face darkened before he had the wisdom to hide his suspicions. “We need to get you home, Ave.”
I slid onto the couch beside him and laid my head on his shoulder.
The fear in his eyes seeped into my spirit. It wasn’t long before I heard the voice, and this time I didn’t have the strength to tell it to get lost.
55
“But how could this happen?”
I stared wide-eyed at Suzanna. Harry had contacted her from the airport, while we waited for our bags, and booked an appointment for the following day. We’d had all the appropriate tests done and were now seated in her office, waiting for her to make sense of it all.
“Well …” She paused. “It’s one of those things I can’t explain to you medically, Avery.”
I glanced at Harry, trying to gauge his response, while my own disbelief was blocking all other emotions from making their presence known. It’s a mistake. It has to be.
Harry held my gaze for a second, his own eyes glistening. When my silence turned to doubt, he turned back to Suzanna.
“Are you telling me we’re having a baby?”
It’s a false positive. Hello! How is it so hard to understand: I … cannot … get … pregnant?
Suzanna smiled, oblivious to my thoughts. “That does tend to be the result of a pregnancy, Harry.”
Harry turned back towards me, his eyes brimming with tears, tangible relief releasing the tension, which had been building for days. How could I tell him she was wrong? How were we even back here? I’d told him at the beginning … I couldn’t have babies.
“I’m infertile,” I announced. Then I turned to Harry, a compassionate tilt to my head. “Babe, I’m sorry, but she’s wrong. The tests are wrong. I tried to have a baby for years before my diagnosis. I was so desperate to be a mother, I was willing to do it on my own, but I couldn’t. Nothing worked.”
Harry’s eyes widened. He turned back to Suzanna, desperation sounding in his voice. “Could they be wrong? Could this be something else?”
Suzanna stood, moved around her desk and perched on the empty chair in front of us. “No, the tests are not wrong – I had the team run them twice. Avery, I don’t know how this happened, but you, beautiful lady, are most definitely pregnant.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Babe, look at me.” Harry twisted towards me, then raised both of my hands to his lips. “It doesn’t matter how or why this happened.”
I shook my head.
He adjusted his chair so he was facing me, cupped my face with his palms and brushed the tears from my cheeks. Then he whispered the words I’d dreamed of hearing my whole life. “We’re having a baby.”
It was as if I was a deadlock, and his words were the key; as they entered my consciousness, that big old rusty infertile chain that had wrapped itself around my life fell to the ground.
My eyes flicked to Suzanna’s, then back to Harry as he repeated the words. Something in me shifted as I grasped the miracle that had taken place in my womb, and the shock of it sounded with a gasp. “I’m having a baby?” I asked, desperate for someone to confirm it just one more time.
“You’re having a baby,” Harry and Suzanna sang in unison.
Tears burst their banks; I was overwhelmed by the immeasurable joy flooding through my body.
“We’re having a baby,” I echoed, as Harry launched out of his seat, lifted me out of mine and spun me around before slapping me with a triumphant kiss.
Suzanna nodded, her eyes leaking unapologetically.
I breathed in her confirmation then turned back to Harry whose face had been my light when my world was dark, even in these last few days when we’d both secretly feared the worst. “It wasn’t the cancer! You knocked me up!”
Harry’s laugher filled the room, and I knew what I’d said after the wedding wasn’t true. It was possible to love him more. This was proof of it.
I don’t know how long passed before we made it back to our seats, but I looked up to see Suzanna ground herself then wipe fresh tears off her cheeks.
“I guess you don’t get much of this in here,” Harry said.
“Pregnancies?” Suzanna asked. “No.”
“No. I meant miracles,” Harry corrected, squeezing my hand. And I knew he was right. Suzanna had said it herself. This cannot be explained medically.
Suzanna’s eyes lightened, then she exhaled a smile. “Not as many as I’d like, but I think this one will keep me going for a while.”
“So, what do we do now?” Harry asked.
Suzanna opened my file on her desk and handed me a card. “Dr Patrick will look after you in regard to the pregnancy, unless you’d like to choose your own obstetrician?”
Harry answered for both of us. “No, Kim is good.” He turned towards me. “I’ve worked with her before; she specialises in high-risk pregnancies.”
His words landed in my gut with a thud. “High risk?”
“Officially, you’re still under oncological care, so we need to make sure we keep a good eye on you and bubs. Don’t be alarmed – it’s just a precaution.”
Harry wrapped his arm around my shoulders and echoed her words.
“Now, who would like to see a baby?” Suzanna asked.
“What, now?”
“Right now. Dr Patrick is waiting for us.”
I launched out of my seat, my heart soaring. “I do.”
Harry followed my lead.
I’d come in feeling defeated, expecting the worst, and instead, I was about to meet the baby I’d always dreamed of and never thought I’d ever have a chance to have. I couldn’t wait another second.
“Left, or right?” The words flew out of my mouth with urgency when we reached the door. I had no idea where I was going; I just knew I was going as fast as humanly possible. They’d better keep up.
“Right!” Harry and Suzanna answered in unison as they stepped up beside me.
56
Sally cornered me in the lift after work two weeks later.
“So, when are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“Don’t be coy. You’re pale, you’ve been vomiting, you’ve postponed appointments.” She used her fingers to bullet point her list. “And don’t think that concealer hides anything from me—”
“Sally, I—”
“No.” She raised her finger. “You don’t get to lie to me anymore. This is not food poisoning or the flu. You’ve run out of excuses, and you know it. At first, I was hoping in the fantasy, but since we both know that’s an impossibility for you, I’ve been going out of my mind, fearing the wor—”
“Sally … ” I took hold of both her shoulders.
“Avery, please … tell me the truth … are you sick again?” she pleaded.
Of course she went there. I went there. I was a terrible friend.
“I’m so sorry, Sal. I didn’t think you’d … we should’ve told you. I just wanted time to be sure it would—”
“Sure it would what, Avery? Oh my god!” Panic laced her features. “How bad is it? Please tell me, I can’t handle—”
“No, Sal. I’m not sick. It’s okay.”
She looked up at me incredulously. “Of course you’re sick; I can see it. I’ve heard it with my own ears.”
I smiled and took her hands in mine. “Nothing is wrong, Sally. I’m not sick, and it’s not an impossibility.”
Her expression transformed from concern to relief, to confusion, to elation, and then to disbelief all in a matter of seconds. It was like an emoji photoshoot, and I fought to hide my amusement.
“What do you mean it’s not an impossibility? You’re infer—?” She cut herself off, glanced down at my flat belly then back up at my face.
I confirmed our news so imperceptibly that only she, the person who knows me better than anyone, would have seen it.
Tears pooled in her eyes, then overflowed down her cheeks as my news reached her heart. Sally’s hand whipped up to cover her mouth, and then dropped. She launched forward to hug me, then froze mid-flight, emojis taking control of her face again.
“Sal, are you okay?” I touched my hand to her elbow.
“You told me you … wait …” She shook her head and held her palm up between us – to gain her bearings – to stop any more crazy talk coming out of my mouth or maybe simply to give her heart a second to digest the news. “I don’t understand how. Avery, are you sure?”
I took her hands in mine. “I know this is crazy. Trust me, I know. I’ve only just got my head around it myself, but yes, the reason I’ve been sick … and pale … and tired all the damn time … is because I’m growing a baby.”
Sally’s gasp filled the elevator just as it dinged and opened on the ground floor where Harry was waiting. Sally looked between us, her eyes wide and glistening with joy.
“She’s in shock.” I exited the lift, kissed Harry, then turned to face Sally.
She’d followed me into the foyer and watched as Harry wrapped his arm around me and rested his palm on my abdomen.
“There’s a baby?” she breathed, her eyes darting between ours.
Harry flexed his muscles. “Yup – I’ve got the goods.”
Hysteria took the place of shock as Sally registered the truth and launched herself into our arms. There was laughter and more tears and mumbling about nothing being impossible and miracles and prayer and other things I couldn’t make out.
“We need to start writing all this stuff down,” she said pulling back and squeezing both of our hands.
“You do that, Aunty Sally.”
Sally squealed again before announcing we had to go out to celebrate. Then, without allowing us a chance to accept or decline the invitation, she started demanding every last detail.
I haven’t forgotten about you. I heard the dark whisper. His voice had taunted me, day and night, since the scare in Samoa. But standing at our favourite bar, admiring Waitemata Harbour, celebrating my precious miracle with two of the people I loved most in the world – three of the people – I refused to allow him to gain a stronghold.
I placed my palm on the tiny bump hidden beneath my clothes and focused on Annie’s words.
“You will not get me,” I whispered vehemently into the darkness, just as Harry and Sally appeared with drinks.
“You okay, babe?”
“Perfect,” I lied, placing my mocktail on the table and pressing my lips to his, willing to do just about anything for that blessed silence.
57
When the warmth of the sun, fresh from its hibernation, woke me on a Sunday morning three and a half months later, a new wave of gratitude washed over me. Life and everything in it had changed in the last three years. I dressed in my favourite bikini and silk wrap-around kimono we’d picked up in Thailand on our way back from Kenya, brewed my tea and ate a bowl of acai, yoghurt and fresh fruit while watching the beautiful west-coast ocean crashing into shore.
Harry had been in Samoa for a week, and I was already missing him. He’d asked me to go with him, but I’d declined. I had enough on my plate with full-time work commitments and getting our lives in order since moving into our dream home overlooking Muriwai Beach.
I swung the doors wide and stepped into the wild. Why would I want to go anywhere when we’d found our own slice of paradise right here? I closed my eyes and raised my face to the sun, inhaling a deep breath of the crisp spring air.
My swollen belly contorted as our daughter woke and stretched, her perfect limbs pressing out against my hands. I massaged her tiny foot and was rewarded with a double tap.
“Good morning, beautiful girl. You want some sun?” I tapped her back – our own private version of Morse code – then wandered over to our lounger and made myself a nest for the morning.
Since the wedding, Sally and I had found our rhythm and built up a new client base in the practice – most of whom were under the age of thirty. On top of that, our working group for the resilience programme now included doctors, specialists, educators, community workers and politicians from all over New Zealand. We met every few months to discuss issues facing our young people, brainstorm solutions and inform policy. Our recommendations were handed to the health and education ministers by Joanne since she’d been sworn into Parliament following the recent national election.
“Hey, sexy mumma.”
I raised my bikini-clad body off the lounger when I heard Sally’s voice ring out around me and leant back on my hands. “I couldn’t resist.”
“And neither should you.” She pulled her maxi dress over her head and collapsed onto the lounger next to me.
“You got my text then?”
“Sure did. How’d you sleep? Any more pain?”
“A little,” I lied. The sudden sharp pains that started a few weeks ago come frequently, sometimes rolling through me with such force I have seconds to grab something for support before my weakened legs give way.
“Have you told Harry?”
“No. He needs to focus on the clinic. I can manage. I’m sure it’s just a normal part of pregnancy, Sal.” It’s not.
“Probably, but you know your body, Ave. If something doesn’t feel right, you need to see a doc. Okay?”
“Yes, Mum.”
Sally turned towards me and challenged my rebellious swipe. “Don’t be a jerk about it, Ave. If it doesn’t feel right, go and see the doctor.”
I reached over and laid my hand on her arm. “I will, Sal. I promise. Right now, it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
You think you can handle me?
“Now shh, and enjoy the sun.” My voice was calm, but inside I was engaging in an epic internal battle of wills. I grabbed the dark voice by its throat and shoved it head first into an ironclad chest in my mind, slammed the lid shut, locked it and threw away the key.
Shut your damn mouth! I roared, all the while holding a well-rehearsed, neutral expression.
For the next two weeks, I was on vigilant watch over that chest as debilitating waves of nausea and exhau
stion flattened me. Pain continued on a journey around my body, radiating through my bones and muscles at unsettling intervals, but I could still feel bubba moving, so I put on my armour and soldiered on – not that it was much help when the enemy was on the inside.
By twenty-five weeks, I had days when the pain was so severe, I could barely get out of bed. I finally admitted to Sally the pain was much worse than I’d let on and allowed her to accompany me to the obstetrician. After doing a maternal and foetal exam, Dr Patrick directed us to sit and leant forward in her own chair. “Talk to me.”
As much as I didn’t want to give my fear a voice, I did. I laid it all out for her in vivid detail, while Sally stiffened beside me. When Dr Patrick determined I’d finished, she asked a few pointed questions and then told me, while all my symptoms were common in pregnancy, their intensity and rapid onset was worth investigating.
By the time I was standing at the airport waiting for Harry a few days later, I was an emotional wreck. Suzanna had called and booked an appointment for the following day but hadn’t volunteered any information, even when pressed. The chest had broken open, and I was cowering in the corner, rocking back and forth with my hands over my ears, fear taking the place of my strength.
When Harry rounded the corner, my legs and heart took off running. I hit him with force and wrapped myself around him. I couldn’t stop the torrential onslaught of grief that rained down on me, dragging me into its depths. Despite my refusal to admit the truth, I’d needed my husband so desperately in the last few weeks, and now, finally, he was home, holding me.
“I’ve got you, Ave. I’m here, babe. I’ve got you.”
The rest of the afternoon flashed by in a haze. Somehow, we gathered up Harry’s belongings, drove home, had dinner and climbed into bed, but I don’t remember any of it.
Harry held me fiercely as I sobbed against his chest.
“Avery, talk to me,” he asked again when the well had run dry. I tried to tell him, but every time the words formed on my tongue, they got jumbled, and I swallowed them painfully.
Then She Roars Page 27
