by Aiden Bates
I was really worried about what had happened at the ultrasound appointment, and what that blackout meant for me.
23
Charlie
I kept telling myself everything was fine.
When I started getting morning sickness early because twice the babies mean twice the pregnancy hormone, it was fine.
When Papa found out and basically attempted to set up camp in our living room until I’d called Dad and begged him to take him on a trip to get him out from under foot, it was fine.
When between all of that, I had to navigate finishing my commission while trying not to vomit all over myself or drown under the weight of grand-omega fussing, it was fine.
But when Pedro had grown steadily quieter and more withdrawn over the last few days, things were not fine. I’d felt like I’d missed a step going down the stairs.
We’d talked about him not hovering so much while we were at the doctor’s, and then, from the moment Dr. Lemon had pointed out there were two babies in there, Pedro had pulled back. Initially, I thought it was shock. I was shocked, so I could understand that reaction. But, if anything, it had gotten worse as the days went on.
The lack of a lurking Pedro had been welcomed at first, and I’d managed to get a lot of work done on my commission, and even my own comic. After four years it felt like it was coming to a conclusion, though I still wasn’t sure what that was yet. Today, after Pedro hadn’t done much but sit on the couch, I was concerned about what was going on.
It was hard to keep from panicking. Was Pedro having second thoughts about the babies and me now the initial excitement had worn off and there twice as much expected burden? If not that, what else? I tried to imagine everything Pedro might be struggling with, but I was sort of drawing a blank on what it could be. Pedro was still looking for work, but as he’d said before, he had his retirement check and we weren’t really struggling to make ends meet. He was dealing with the aftermath of his coma, but that was constant, and he seemed to be doing better lately. He’d been working hard with Camden, and Pedro’s mobility was getting better and better every day.
So, the only thing that had really changed over the last few days was learning about the twins, but that was something I honestly couldn’t believe would cause this reaction in Pedro.
Maybe it was simply that Pedro needed some time to come to terms with it, and I shouldn’t push him or question him. Despite the knot in my stomach I knew it was only fair I give him the same courtesy of space I had asked for. I didn’t like it, but I felt I owed it to him.
Deciding that was the best course of action, I knuckled down to continue working on “Sirocco”, surprised when Pedro came in and kissed me on the cheek.
“I’ve got some errands to run,” he said, pulling back a little. “Might drop off some of those applications, too.” He’d been putting in a few applications every time he went out to try and find work. He’d buckled down slightly after our conversation at the doctor’s office, and was looking a little more thoroughly than he had been before.
“Oh, okay!”
Too enthusiastic, Charlie. But it was hard not to be. I felt like we’d hardly spoken in days, and I wanted to encourage the contact. However, he hadn’t even noticed how overenthusiastic I was. Somehow that was worse.
“Think I’ll stop by the Chinese place and get some food.”
“Ooo, can you get me some of the—”
“Some of the fried dumplings.”
“Yeah, with—”
“Extra dipping sauce.”
“Please? Growing babies is hard work.”
That earned me a weak smile, at least. “Sure thing, angel.”
“Great. Thanks, sweetheart.” I leaned up and kissed him properly before my worry got the best of me. “Are you okay?”
That question was so many questions all rolled into one. “Are you okay, right now?” and “Are you okay, in general?” and “Are we okay?” and “Am I doing this okay?” and “What the hell does okay mean, anyway, and if you are it, can you tell me if you aren’t?” It was actually amazing how many questions you could fit into three words.
“Nah, I’m fine. Just a little tired these days. No big deal. Don’t worry, alright? You’ve got enough to deal with right now.” His eyes darted away from mine. Not the whole story, clearly.
Pedro left, and after I heard the door close, I tried again to get into the zone with Rig and Javier. But every time I tried, no one would cooperate. Rig kept demanding that Javier be more open with him, and Javier was being stubbornly quiet, which not only was out of character, but totally out of place in the story arc. Sometimes, art imitating life was okay, but watching my art play out the dramas of my life was irritating right now.
Eventually, I gave up and started pacing instead. The apartment wasn’t very big, so there wasn’t a lot of space for it. Besides, I’d never really been the brooding type. That had always been Teddy. Next, I tried a bath. I’d dumped half a bottle of lavender bubble bath in the tub and then sat in there uselessly as the bubbles slowly dissipated. The hot water felt nice on the strained muscles of my back and shoulders, clenched from bending over my tablet all day, but I’d never really been the indulgent type. That had always been Mitch. I tried to find something to snack on, but I didn’t want to completely ruin my appetite. I’d settled on some bland almonds, which were inoffensive to my bubbling stomach, but not really comfort eating. That had always been Silas. Finally, I’d sprawled on my couch and tried to play a game and then scrolled on my phone for someone to call up to chat. But that would probably just send whoever I called over here in a panic wondering when, exactly, I’d been replaced with an alien. I’d never been the social one. That was always Bennet.
In the end I asked, “What would Charlie do?” And what Charlie would do was worry, not distract himself with pacing or food or baths and cell phone games. So, I did what Pedro asked me not to, and worried.
I was about to put my phone away when I scrolled past Marcos’s contact. Well, there was one other thing Charlie would do. Charlie would be nosey.
“Cuñado. Que pasa?”
“Hey Marcos, is now a good time?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
“Yeah, yeah, sure. I just dropped Juanito off with Mami for her weekly nieto time. So, you’re in luck.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Absolutely. He’s starting to try to talk, which means screaming as far as I can figure.”
“So much to look forward to.”
“Honestly, I feel sorry for you, but I can’t wait to watch Pedro have to deal with all the joys of fatherhood,” Marcos replied. I could hear the brotherly grin at the notion of a sibling’s torment from here, indicating he wasn’t in the least bit sorry for his baby brother.
“Speaking of Pedro…” I said.
“Yeah, what’s he done? I’m sort of surprised it’s taken you this long to lodge a complaint.”
“No. No. He’s not done anything. It’s just, well… Have you talked to him in the last few days?”
“Nope. Not for a week or so. Why?”
“I don’t know. Marcos, please don’t say anything. It’s kind of an embarrassing thing to be calling about, but he seems a little…moody lately?” I winced. This was stupid. I knew it was stupid and now Marcos did, too. I sounded ridiculous.
Marcos didn’t say anything. Not at first.
“Marcos?” I asked, checking my phone to see if the call had dropped.
“Oh, sorry. So, uh, has he been forgetful lately? Has he been taking all his meds?”
What? What did that have to do with Pedro being weird.
“Yeah. Yeah, he has, but why would he be forgetful?”
There was another awkward silence. This time, I waited.
“Well, it’s just…”
“Just what, Marcos.”
“Aw, shit, Charlie. Look, I think you really should ask Pedro. This is a conversation you and he need to have, and as a man with two husbands, I know better than to get in t
he middle of folks.”
“How enlightened of you,” I said, dryly.
“Yeah, haven’t you heard. Oliver says polyamory is all about communication.”
“Is that what he says? Just last week he said it was all about laundry.”
I knew better than to push Marcos any further. Marcos wouldn’t betray Pedro’s trust about whatever this was, and Pedro wouldn’t appreciate me putting his brother in an awkward position when I should have just talked to him.
“Hey, I understand, Marcos. I’ll talk to him about it. Thanks anyway,” I said.
“Anytime, cuñado.”
I hung up the phone and contemplated just wallowing on the couch. There was a flight simulator game that didn’t seem too terrible. That was what I should have done.
What I did do was go to the medicine cabinet. Five minutes later, I had all Pedro’s bottles out and my laptop open checking and double checking the spellings of his medications.
24
Pedro
“Pedro!” Dr. Smith called brightly as the nurse left and he came into the room in her place.
“Hi, Dr. Smith.”
“Uh-huh,” Dr. Smith said noting my tone. I wasn’t trying to be rude or anything. It’s just that, as hard as I tried—and I was trying very hard—I wasn’t embracing the general pre-baby, pre-twin happiness and excitement that everyone else seemed to feel. Not that I wasn’t excited for the babies, or “the nuggets” as Charlie now said to indicate the twins. I was just also concerned with the little hints and signs that had been cropping up more and more over the past few weeks. Hints that maybe things weren’t okay. That, maybe, something in my head threatened to interfere with Charlie and me, or the babies and me, or with me in general.
So, I’d made an appointment with the VA, and here I was sitting by myself on Dr. Smith’s table, hoping I could get this all taken care of as quickly and as quietly as possible. The last thing we needed was something else to worry about on top of everything Charlie and I were having to do to get ready for the twins’ arrival. The last thing Charlie needed was someone else he would have to baby as well as the actual babies.
I wasn’t sure whether it was a sign in and of itself, or whether I was just mad I was having signs or symptoms in the first place, but recently I had found myself easier to annoy and more protective of my space. I still loved Charlie to pieces, of course, but I just… I just got tired easily, and it seemed like everything was making me tired these days. Sometimes it was all I could do not to interrupt Charlie telling me about his comic, or Charlie talking about possible baby names, or Charlie doing something in the kitchen, and just beg him to let me be quiet, to let me lay in my room in the dark, and to let me be alone for a little bit.
“You’re going to get devil lines,” Charlie had said, without looking up from his tablet as he sat on the couch doodling something.
“What?” I asked. I had been reading, or at least pretending to. In actuality, I’d read the same sentence over and over again, trying and failing to make myself concentrate on it.
“Devil lines. Forehead wrinkles. Your face is going to get stuck like that, looking like a grump.”
“Oh, Ha ha,” I had said, offering him a weak, half-hearted laugh.
Charlie had seemed to notice that something was off but said nothing. As weird as it must have been to go from unsolicited foot rubs, teas, back rubs, warm baths, and all the other nice things I was trying to do for him to almost nothing, he didn’t say anything.
I felt guilty at not having enough energy to give him anything. That had been the real deciding factor in making this appointment.
I let Dr. Smith shine the light in my eyes to see my pupils constrict and dilate. I followed his finger with only my eyes and reported when I could hear the vibration of the tuning fork. I walked in a straight line or as straight a line as I could, and demonstrated how hard it was to stand on one foot. When Dr. Smith had finished the physical, he crossed his arms and glared at me in concentration.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” I asked from the table.
“Well, no, not necessarily.” He jotted something down on his clipboard. “Maybe you should be the one to answer that. Is there something wrong? Your notes say you came in complaining of—”
“Yeah, I forgot something. The other day I just blanked during a pretty important moment. I didn’t remember where I was or what I was doing or how I’d gotten there. I didn’t even remember who my boyfriend was for a few seconds right before it all came back again.”
Dr. Smith crossed his arms and wrinkled his brow together, not like he was angry but as though he were deep in thought. He leaned against the sink to my right and stared at the floor.
“I thought I could maybe get my meds adjusted,” I said, hoping the statement would push him in the direction of a diagnosis or at least a plan of action.
I watched him watch the floor tiles before he raised an eyebrow, maybe at my request, maybe at something else he had thought of.
“Seizures?” he asked.
“Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “Not for a little over two months now.”
He continued crossing his arms, in deep thought and in silence.
“I’ve mentioned these kinds of issues before. I just want to head it off before it gets worse. I’m worried I’ll blank out again for longer or…” Or, worse, blank out again for good. Could that happen to a person? Who knew? I didn’t. It was already weird to fall into a coma for nearly four years, and it was weirder still to wake up. What else could I expect at this point but more weirdness?
“Well,” Dr. Smith said, uncrossing his arms and beginning to pace around the room, back and forth in front of me. “Any lifestyle changes?”
I snorted. What about my lifestyle hadn’t changed lately?
“Drinking?” Dr. Smith asked.
“I mean, like, a couple of beers on the weekend? I know everyone says it’s only a couple of beers on the weekend, but it really is true in my case,” I said, shrugging.
“Drugs of any kind? OTC? Off-brand use of prescribed meds? Non-prescribed drugs?”
I shook my head. “Nope. That’s never really been me, even before all of this.”
Dr. Smith made a face that pulled the corners of his mouth down, unsatisfied with the lack of explanation for what had happened, apparently.
“Mood swings?”
“Um, I don’t necessarily think so. I think I’ve been good.”
“Hm. Yeah. People’s partners are usually better equipped to answer that particular question. Stress?”
“Not really,” I said, shaking my head again. “My boyfriend’s having twins. That was a surprise. That had been kind of stressful,” I admitted.
“Excuse me? Your boyfriend is having twins and it’s ‘kind of’ stressful?” Dr. Smith blinked at me, wide-eyed and clearly unbelieving.
“Well,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t want to make it seem like it’s a bad thing! It’s a good thing.”
“Uh-huh.” Dr. Smith didn’t seem angry or annoyed at my answer. He almost seemed kind of amused. “But you do know, Pedro, that something can be both a good thing and a stressful thing, right? Like, for example, having a baby, getting married, buying a house. All good things, all very stressful. Do you see where I’m going with this?”
I grunted and nodded once.
“What were you doing when you blanked out? What were you thinking of or feeling?”
“I was…”
Oh. Duh. Yeah. Fine. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The mind-body connection and the impact of stress on recovery. I swore right there and then I was never, ever going to tell Camden about this conversation with Dr. Smith.
“I was at the ultrasound check-in, finding out we’re having twins instead of just the one,” I said, muttering.
It was Dr. Smith’s turn to snort at me.
“But!” I said in protest. “Yes, fine. It is stressful. And the relationship is kind of new anyway so that’s stressful in its own way, too. But I’
ve been doing more of my physical therapy homework and actually taking my medicine on a consistent basis. It’s almost like motivation, you know? Like, I know I have to be in the best shape possible to be there for Charlie and for the babies, so it makes me want to take care of myself. That’s why I came to see you. I was hoping you could readjust my meds, and then, that way, I would know for sure I wasn’t going to blank out like…in the delivery room or something, you know, doc?”
While I’d been explaining all that to him, Dr. Smith had been scribbling along in his folder. My folder, I supposed.
“Well,” he said, clicking his pen to retract the tip, and then closing my folder. “Yes. I completely understand the desire to be there for your omega, and I think it’s very admirable you feel that way. So, please don’t misunderstand me when I remind you that you sustained a considerable amount of trauma to your brain in the attack. You’ve made an incredible amount of progress, but you still have further to go. You have to be patient with yourself. You have to learn to accept that some days are going to be better than others, and you have to see this as an ongoing process. Just because you’re awake doesn’t mean you’re better.”
“It sounds like you’re gearing up to give me bad news,” I said, suspiciously.
“I don’t think it’s bad news, but you might take it that way, yes. I’m going to ask the front desk to schedule you for a scan. We have to get you checked out, take a look inside, just to make sure there isn’t any other explanation for the blackouts.”
“Okay… That doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Well, in the meantime, I don’t think it’s a good idea to change your medication.”
I groaned and covered my face with my hands as Dr. Smith continued. “The dose that works for you can take some exploration, right? You remember the first things we put you on didn’t necessarily work out for you. You don’t want to start trying new doses right before you launch into something as stressful as the latter part of your boyfriend’s pregnancy because what if you don’t feel better? What if you feel worse?”
