What Matters in Mayhew (The Beanie Bradsher Series Book 1)

by Cassie Dandridge Selleck

“Crap.”

  “Bubba John…”

  “Sweet, you said you’d give me until Christmas. Stop trying to trip me up.”

  “Good Lord…”

  “Humor me, Sweet. If you were going to get a new car, what would it be?”

  “Well, I always wanted a Corvette,” Sweet grinned.

  “Right,” Bubba John said. “And how would you fit five kids into a Corvette?”

  “Good point,” Sweet said. “And the way it’s looking now, it could be six. Could you pull over? I think I’m going to throw up.”

  Ten minutes later, Sweet was fine and Bubba John was nauseous. He knew Sweet had not been feeling well, but he thought she was just tired. They were back on the road before Bubba John found his voice.

  “How could this happen?”

  “Same way it happened all five times before,” Sweet said.

  Bubba John was silent.

  “Look, let’s wait and see what the doctor says. It could be a stomach bug, but I want to make sure.”

  “I love our kids, Sweet…”

  “But you don’t want any more. I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m not trying to get pregnant,” Sweet said carefully, “but, I would never change what God brings to us.”

  “I’m worried…”

  “Yeah, me, too. But let’s not spoil this day worrying. Let’s go look at cars.”

  Sweet patted her husband’s thigh and smiled. Bubba John relaxed and breathed deeply for a moment. He was a lucky man and he knew it. If another child was coming into their lives, so be it. He reminded himself in a few hours they would be millionaires. That in itself was a load off anyone’s mind. He almost broke down and told her right then, but he was too excited about his plan. He wanted to see his wife’s face when he pulled down the long dirt driveway and revealed the best Christmas gift ever.

  After checking out a host of minivans and two SUV’s, then grabbing breakfast at Hardee’s, Bubba John dropped Sweet off at the doctor’s office, promising to pick her up in two hours.

  Sweet signed in at the front desk and sat amongst the throng of people in the waiting room. It was a busy place, but she felt at home there, and no wonder. She spent many an hour in this room over the years. She loved watching the other women. Some were obviously pregnant – tired, but excited, too. The larger they were, the sooner the reward for all that suffering. She knew it was wrong, but Sweet made the time go faster by playing her favorite mental guessing game: Why is She Here?

  The ones who were trying to get pregnant were all business. Their partners were with them, and there was usually a notebook or reference materials in one of their hands. The ones who hoped they weren’t pregnant were alone and nervous, or brought a mother or a friend along. They spoke in whispers and rarely laughed. Those who were hoping for a positive test spoke the loudest and laughed the most often. They already had an inkling and were happy to tell everyone. The women who were there for a checkup were either bored or relaxed. And then there were the women like her, unsure and a little nervous. Something just isn’t right.

  “Sweet Lee Atwater?”

  The nurse’s voice cut through Sweet’s reverie and she stood.

  “Hey! Gloria! You’re back!”

  Sweet smiled at the tall, gorgeous woman whose skin contrasted so starkly with her white uniform.

  “Long time, no see,” Gloria replied and hugged Sweet warmly before ushering her through the office door.

  “Gosh, I know, I haven’t seen you since before you joined the ranks. How’s that baby doing?

  “She’s almost three now. It has been awhile. You know the drill, weight first.”

  “You took some time off, didn’t you?” Sweet asked, stepping onto the scale and setting the caliber weight automatically on 100.

  “A little bit. I think I was out when your last baby was born. Wait, that’s not right…” Gloria said, peering at the scales.

  Sweet looked, too. The lower counterweight was pushed all the way to the left and the top bar still had not moved. Gloria adjusted the scale and looked again.

  “Ninety-eight pounds.”

  “Well, I thought my jeans were a little loose, but that’s just crazy.”

  “Let’s finish up your vitals and I’ll get your history in the room. You’ll be in Exam 2 today. Any chance you might be pregnant?”

  “I’m still on birth control, but knowing me, I’d say I need to pee in a cup to be sure.”

  An hour later, Sweet was buttoning up her top and waiting for the doctor to return. She was concerned, but not overly worried. The exam was uneventful as those things go, but the pregnancy test was positive, so he ordered an ultrasound. If this was one of the physicians she knew - Dr. Palomino, who delivered three of Sweet’s babies and had children of her own, or Dr. Desmond, the incredibly handsome older man who put everyone at ease with his calm, friendly demeanor – Sweet might already know what to expect. But this was a new guy, young and serious, and a little on the nervous side, Sweet thought to herself. He said little during the test, but pointed occasionally at the screen and directed the technician to print certain views.

  Dr. Anderson came in as Sweet put her shoes back on.

  “Hey, Doc,” Sweet grinned, determined to make him smile. “What’s the good word?”

  “Is your husband here?” Dr. Anderson asked.

  “Not at the moment,” Sweet said. “He’s picking me up, though. What’s wrong?”

  “I just think you may want him here to discuss this – your situation.”

  Nervous was one thing. Patronizing was a whole different matter.

  “Where’s Gloria?” Sweet asked.

  “The nurse?” Dr. Anderson looked bewildered.

  “Yes, Gloria. Your nurse. Where is she?”

  “She’s with another patient, why?”

  “Because I think you may want her here to discuss your situation.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “I can see that,” Sweet said. “And I don’t mean to be rude, Doc, but you’re definitely confused if you think I can’t discuss my body without my husband at my side. I have given birth to five - count ‘em, Doctor, they are all right there in the chart you’re holding - five children without having my husband at a single appointment. Just tell me, for heaven’s sake. What is wrong with me?”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “Well, for crying out loud, why didn’t you say so? You scared me half to death.”

  “That’s not all,” he said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Atwater, it’s not viable. We need to do surgery immediately.”

  13

  The Risk You Take

  Bubba John Atwater was on top of the world. On his way from the Lotto Headquarters to the doctor’s office, he could barely contain himself. At every red light in Tallahassee, he popped open the glove compartment of his truck and patted the check atop the owner’s manual therein. Just before he reached the office, he noticed a SunTrust bank on his right and, flipping on his blinker, turned quickly into the parking lot. He was certain Sweet would be in no hurry for him to get to the office. She’d told him it would take at least two hours. It didn’t occur to him a check like the one he was carrying would cause such a stir, but it did. By the time he spoke with the new accounts representative and made an appointment to meet with a trust officer later in the week, Bubba John was well over thirty minutes late to pick up his wife. He was relieved she wasn’t in the waiting room when he arrived.

  Gloria caught his eye through the glass window and motioned for him to come on back. Bubba John noticed the frown on Gloria’s face.

  “Hey, Gloria! Long time no see,” Bubba John said as he came through the patient door.

  “Hi, Mr. Atwater,” Gloria said, still not smiling. “Sweet is talking with the doctor right now. She’s been waiting for you.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Well, not exactly, but it’s best if you go on in. Last door on the left.”

  Aw, hell, Bubba John
thought to himself. I shoulda known better than to stop at the bank. Sweet’s probably mad as a hornet.

  Bubba John peeked his head in the door, expecting to see an examination room, but it was not. The office was large and a little on the dark side, despite the light coming through two windows on the west wall. Sweet sat in one of two chairs facing an imposing desk, with a wiry, bespectacled man in a lab coat at the other side. The man rose immediately, offering his hand as he spoke.

  “I’m Dr. Anderson,” the man said. “And you are?”

  “Bub…, uh, John Lewis Atwater. Sorry I’m late.”

  Bubba John sat in the chair beside Sweet. Something was not right, he could feel it. Sweet sat too stiffly, too tall. It wasn’t like her.

  “Sweet?”

  “We were discussing some options for your wife’s condition,” Dr. Anderson said. “I hope you can help us make a decision here.”

  “Condition?”

  “I’m pregnant, hon.” Sweet twisted a tissue around her index finger before dabbing it to her nose.

  “Okay,” Bubba John said slowly. “So what kind of decision do you need to make? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure I do, either. Maybe the doctor can shed some light on it for you.”

  Bubba John turned back to the doctor and waited for a response.

  “Your wife has what we call an ectopic pregnancy. This means the egg has been fertilized, but is now lodged in the fallopian tube. There are only two options for dealing with this type of pregnancy which, quite frankly, I personally don’t consider a pregnancy at all.”

  “What are the options?”

  “Well, we can try a round of Methotrexate first, but I’m not sure I recommend it in this case.”

  “Why? Does it hurt the baby?”

  “Mr. Atwater, I would encourage you to use the term embryo, here. I’m not trying to be cruel, but there is not going to be a baby. This is a fertilized egg with no womb to grow in and is, thus, not viable. The only safe thing for your wife is to expel the embryo. We can do this one of two ways. Methotrexate is an injectable drug that prevents cells from dividing further. I don’t recommend it at this point, though I’m willing to try.”

  “So what’s the other option?”

  “I believe surgery is the best choice here. I think we’ve caught it in time, so the surgery can be done laparoscopically, which is a much less invasive procedure.”

  “Sweet? What are you thinking?” Bubba John reached over and took his wife’s trembling hand.

  “I can’t abort this baby,” Sweet said. “I just can’t.”

  “Mrs. Atwater,” Dr. Anderson said, more sharply than he intended, “this is not an abortion. Not by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “If you cut me open and remove a fetus from my body, you are aborting it.”

  “It isn’t a fetus yet. I explained that to you already. We don’t consider an embryo a fetus when it has not even attached to the uterine wall. Mr. Atwater, please understand, if your wife refuses to have…refuses this treatment…she will be risking her life. Plain and simple. An ectopic pregnancy cannot go full term. If the embryo continues to grow and ruptures her fallopian tube, the surgery will be an emergency procedure aimed at saving the mother’s life. Either way, the pregnancy will not continue.”

  “Sweet, honey…” Bubba John pleaded.

  “Look, I’ll try the Metho-whatever, but I’m not having surgery unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “In my professional opinion, Mrs. Atwater, it is necessary.”

  “But you gave me an option…”

  Dr. Anderson sighed and placed his hands, palms down, on the desk. He knew his bedside manner was not the best. He always felt awkward and inept speaking with patients, and he knew he blew it with this one, though his intentions were honorable. The damage was done. Might as well tell her straight, in the same abrupt manner she used with him.

  “This is probably going to be the wrong thing to say, given my earlier faux pas with Mrs. Atwater, but I can’t let you walk out of here without giving you my best advice and it is this…” Dr. Anderson paused and took a deep breath, long enough to make Sweet and Bubba John simultaneously look up.

  “Your wife is stubborn and contrary and way too sensitive, if you ask me, but she is also - obviously - strong and self-sufficient, and that is to be admired regardless of how many feathers she ruffles. However, what she is not is invincible. And, as she was so quick to point out…”

  “Could you please stop talking about me like I’m not here?”

  “Absolutely. As you were so quick to point out, you have five…” Dr. Anderson held up a thick manila file folder and tapped it with his index finger. “…count them, five reasons not to take risks with your life. Now what I want to know is, what is the real reason you don’t want this procedure? Is it really philosophical, or is there something else going on, because I cannot understand your resistance.”

  “Hold up,” Bubba John leaned forward in his chair, as if to stand. “I don’t know exactly what happened here, but I know I can’t let you speak to my wife that way.”

  Sweet put her hand on her husband’s wrist.

  “It’s okay, Honey,” Sweet said and Bubba John immediately relaxed. “He’s right.”

  “So what is the problem?” Dr. Anderson said with gentle, genuine concern.

  “We can’t afford surgery right now.”

  Bubba John slumped and covered his head with both hands.

  “You have insurance,” Dr. Anderson said.

  “Yes, but the deductible is high and I still have a 20% copay. I want to try the cheaper route and see. If it doesn’t work, we’ll do the surgery.”

  “I wish you would reconsider…”

  “Sweet,” Bubba John said, “schedule the surgery. Money is not a problem.”

  “Well, of course it’s a problem…”

  “No. It’s not. Doc, do you mind stepping out for a minute. There is something I need to tell my wife.”

  ***

  After a brief discussion alone in the doctor’s office, Sweet and Bubba John spoke with Dr. Anderson a second time. Sweet remained adamant she wanted to try the shot of Methotrexate first, reasoning it would take at least a few days to get the kids squared away. If surgery were necessary, she would at least have things in order. At Dr. Anderson’s insistence, they made an appointment for blood work on Friday. They would monitor her hCG levels closely, he said. If they rose at all, he would insist on performing the surgery right away.

  Sweet was quiet on the ride home. She didn’t know what to make of Bubba John’s news. There was a tiny kernel of joy rolling around her chest, but each time she thought about letting it loose, she remembered there was also a baby forming in her gut and, one way or another, it would not be allowed to live. She could tell herself it was cells – but she kept thinking of the pictures she saw throughout her pregnancies. She loved to gauge the baby’s size from week to week. The tip of a pen, an eraser on a pencil, a blueberry, a grape, a peanut. She estimated seven weeks since her last period. This was the eraser week, with the baby’s head starting to form, but no eyes quite yet. She knew it was irrational, but she kept imagining that tiny thing struggling to find its way to her womb, becoming trapped, bewildered, frightened. She knew the feeling all too well.

  “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Hon?”

  Bubba John’s question was perfectly timed.

  “Just…you know…” Sweet said, unable to put her sorrow into words.

  “I’m sorry, honey. Truly sorry. For everything.”

  “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m just sad, that’s all.”

  Sweet leaned her head against the window and the tear poised to come down her cheek detoured across her upper lip.

  “It’s the craziest thing,” she said, swiping her arm across her face. “I mean, I’m relieved that you’ve decided to sell your grandparents’ old house. It’s the answer to a prayer, really. We can do a lot with
that money, but I don’t know… I guess I always thought we’d fix it up for us, or build a new one on the property. It’s been in your family so long, it’s like selling part of your history, you know?”

  And he did know. It was why he’d never actually considered selling his family home, despite the ruse now. This property was more than sentimental, it was part of his heritage, his legacy. His paternal grandfather was Timucuan, a tribe indigenous to the area between the Suwannee and Aucilla rivers. He had learned the ancestral ways from his father before him and taught Bubba John to farm using crop rotation, and to harvest local timber for building. The home and sixty acres around it had been in his family longer than there was documentation to prove it.

  Every year they paid the taxes, he and Sweet had talked about selling, but neither of them wanted to part with it if they could help it. His wife always dreamed of having a house on the river and he was, by God, going to give it to her. She would forgive him for lying when she saw what he would do with that beautiful old farmhouse she loved.

  “Sweet, it’s going to be all right. You’re going to be all right. Just let me worry about the money and you focus on getting well.”

  “I want to, I do, but I can’t make sense of it. How did this happen? How did I even get pregnant? I didn’t miss any pills at all. I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I, hon. But, I don’t guess it matters, does it? It isn’t really a pregnancy, the way the doctor explained it.”

  “Oh, it’s a pregnancy, Bubba John. Trust me…I’m pregnant. I know my body.”

  “But it won’t produce a baby. Why don’t you have the surgery and get it over with?”

  “I don’t think you understand - I already feel a connection to this life, to this baby’s spirit. I don’t want to just get it over with.”

  “So make me understand, Sweet. What is the point? Are you hoping for a miracle or something?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You heard what the doctor said. If this thing ruptures, you could die. Do you get that?”

  “I do.”

  “And you’re willing to risk your life for this pregnancy?”