by Fisher, Kari
I need to sleep now.
Chapter Thirty-Six
But for you, that’s quite an accomplishment,
I must say
Go ahead, now; let me slip away
“How are you feeling?” Oliver asks.
“Not very good,” Lauren replies. She’s still in bed. She hasn’t moved other than to use the washroom since the day before.
“I’m sorry, Lauren. Hopefully this is all over soon.”
“I can’t take much more of this,” Lauren says.
Oliver can tell that she’s feeling weak. She’s obviously thrown up recently. It smells like vomit but he can’t see any in the room. The nurses must’ve cleaned it up.
“You’re going to be okay. Once you’re feeling up to it, I can take you outside for some air. Sound good?” Oliver asks. He gently touches Lauren’s shoulder, and she nods. He’s lying, though. He can’t take her outside. He can’t be seen with her, at all—
“Oliver?” Shay asks. She stops and glares at him as she walks into Lauren’s room.
“Hey, Shay. I was just checking up on Lauren. Are you here with her medication? She’s in a really bad state today.”
“I thought Doctor Christiansen asked you not to come back and speak with her,” Shay says, ignoring his question.
“He advised me against it, Shay, but please don’t forget that we are both medically licensed professionals and we are both able to make our own decisions. I thought it best to make sure Lauren was adjusting well to life at Malartin. Please keep in mind I have been her attending psychiatrist for as long as she’s been receiving care up until now. I felt it would be too hard for her to just get transferred to a new place, without any familiarity,” Oliver explains.
“Right. Which is why I’m here. She’s used to me. You need to leave,” Shay whispers harshly. “You’re defying protocol and breaking the law. You aren’t allowed access here.”
“I understand that, Shay. I appreciate your concern. Thank you for having our patient’s best interest at heart.” He smiles.
“She’s not your patient, Doctor.”
“I realize that.”
“Please leave,” Shay says sternly.
“Actually, Shay, I will leave in just a second. I just need a moment with her so I can explain that I won’t be coming back.”
Shay looks at Lauren, who is lying in bed with her head buried into her pillow, and nods. “Make it quick, Doctor.”
She leaves the room.
“Lauren?” Oliver says, gently.
“What?”
“I need to leave. I’m not allowed to be here anymore right now. I shouldn’t have come to see you today.”
“Don’t go,” Lauren begs without lifting her head from the pillow. Her voice is muffled.
“I’m going to come back and visit, but it won’t be very soon. I have to wait a while. I can’t let anyone find out about us, Lauren. I will get into a lot of trouble, and they’ll move you even further away from me. Do you understand? You don’t want that, do you?” Oliver asks.
“No, of course not.”
“Then this is how it has to be. I promise everything will work out. Do you trust me?” Oliver asks. His voice is so soft and deep. Of course she trusts him. How could she not?
“I trust you.” She is crying again. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“I have to, Lauren. But first, I need a favor from you, okay?”
“What is it?” she asks, through her sobs.
“I have one more pill for you to take.”
He hands her the second dose of Mifeprex and watches her swallow it down.
He sits her up on the edge of the bed.
“Lauren?”
“Yeah?”
“One last thing.” He glances towards the door to make sure no one has walked in on them, and when his eyes confirm that they are indeed alone, he punches her once in the stomach, as hard as he possibly can—with absolutely every ounce of strength he has.
Lauren cries out in pain and doubles over.
“I’m so sorry, Lauren,” Oliver whispers. He doubts she can hear him. She is buckled over, vomiting on the floor and clutching her belly while she screams.
Shay rushes into the room, as Oliver is leaving.
“What happened?” Shay asks frantically as she runs to Lauren’s side.
“Nothing,” Oliver replies. “I told her I couldn’t come back to visit her anymore and that she would never see me again. She isn’t taking it very well. Administer a dose of Lorazepam immediately. It will sedate her and she won’t remember the conversation we just had. I apologize, Shay. I was only trying to do what was best for her. I will stay out of it now, I promise. Thanks for all of your help.”
“Okay, Doctor.” Shay complies and sticks a needle into Lauren’s arm, who is still screaming while she rocks back and forth on the bed.
Lauren is out almost immediately and the room is eerily quiet.
“Oh, Shay? One more thing,” Oliver says as he’s almost out the door.
“Yes, Doctor?” Shay asks.
“Lauren started her period,” he says, calmly pointing to the blood on the white bed sheet. “Please get her a pad.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I ran away and this was the price
I need to go to the hospital.
That was the text I sent Oliver when I woke up to a blood-soaked mattress on my bed.
He texted back, almost immediately.
What’s wrong?
I don’t know. I just need to go in
That was a lie. I did know. Or, at least I had a good idea. My stomach was cramping and I was passing clots. I felt light headed and nauseous. Could this have been why I’ve felt so sick lately?
Within a couple minutes, Oliver is at my door. He barely says a word as he ushers me into the car and drives me in to the hospital. Neither of us speak on the way there. He doesn’t want to ask and I don’t want to tell.
After a series of blood tests and an ultrasound, we wait patiently in a tiny little hospital room. There’s a small bed—barely big enough for me to lie down on, for fear that I might roll off the edge if I were to fall asleep for even a second. The lighting in the room is so bright and intimidating. I almost want to get up and turn the lights off, but I don’t want to move. I’d ask Oliver to do it, but he seems far more shaken than I am. He’s sitting on a wooden chair at the side of my bed. He offers me a glass of water and I decline. He offers me Kleenex—I also decline. He offers me a blanket, and I shake my head so he folds it neatly and puts it back at the foot of my bed. Seemingly giving up on trying to make me feel better, he returns to his own little world of thoughts. We continue to wait.
It feels as though we have been waiting forever, but it has only been two hours. Every time someone walks down the hallway and passes by the closed door to the room we’re in, I hear them and hope that they’re coming for us. At this point, I just want to go home and go back to sleep.
Finally, I hear someone grab the door handle. The door opens. A young man, no older than Oliver, stands in the doorway and stares at us. I’m wondering if he’s going to speak.
“Lauren?” he manages, after glancing at the chart.
“Yeah,” I reply.
He steps into the room and closes the door softly behind him. Oliver stands up and leans on the side of the hospital bed where I’m sitting. He has his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m a doctor here. I was reviewing your test results.” He pauses. Silence. Silence that seems to last for ages.
Just tell us.
I’m staring at him. I can feel my face turning red and I’m about to start crying.
“It seems you’re having a miscarriage, Lauren.” He says these words so casually that I don’t think he even understands how much they hurt.
“I’m pregnant?” I ask. I am shaking violently now.
“You were pregnant. You are no longer pregnant. I’m sorry. You need to go home and rest now. It will pass on its own.”
<
br /> Are you really sorry? Have you ever felt this? Do you know what it’s like to feel as though your body is betraying you by rejecting something that is part of you, and so important to you? You’re not sorry.
“Do you have any questions?” the doctor asks.
Sure, I do. I have tons of questions. Why is my body doing this? Can we stop it? Can we save the baby?
“No.”
“Okay. Please, take all the time you need. If you need to speak with me again, please ask a nurse in the lobby to page me,” he says, still calm and collected. He makes me want to scream. This whole situation makes me want to scream. I keep my mouth shut and the doctor leaves the room.
I look at Oliver. He isn’t looking at me.
Oh, god. He’s angry.
“Are you mad at me, Oliver?” I ask quietly.
“No. Absolutely not.” He still won’t look at me.
If you’re not mad, why won’t you look at me?
“I’m sorry,” I squeak. I don’t know what else to say. I feel as though this is my fault. My body has done this to us.
“Don’t be sorry, Lauren,” he whispers. He looks at me, and he is crying.
I did not expect to see him cry. He’s always come across as such a strong man, and now I’m watching him break down. I am literally witnessing his world fall apart before him. A piece of him has died, and his heart has shattered. I can see pain in his eyes. His lips are trembling.
“Was it mine?” he asks. The way he says these words—it’s as though he doesn’t want to ask, but he needs to know the answer. It is clear that he fears he will upset me by asking this, but he feels that if he doesn’t ask, a part of him will always wonder. I can’t blame him. We never made things official, so I understand why he is asking.
“Yes. It was yours,” I reply quietly.
He turns away from me again. I wish I could hop down from the bed, pick up the pieces of his heart that have fallen to the floor, and place them back into his chest so that they may begin beating once again.
I’m so consumed by the hurt that I feel for Oliver that I barely notice how my own heart has broken. Suddenly, I hate my body. I want to yell and scream at it. How dare it reject this piece of me?
I stand. My knees are weak and I feel as though I’m going to pass out, but I don’t care. I need to get out of here. I need to go home. I need to get Oliver out of here so that his heart can mend.
“Let’s go,” I whisper. I touch his hand and give it a gentle pull.
He nods and follows.
The walk to the car seems never ending, as does the rest of this entire day. Again, we do not speak. Once we’re back at my place, he walks me in and lies down on the bed beside me. His arms are around me, and he is silent. I can’t tell if he’s still crying or not, because I have my back to him—but I’m comfortable like this, and in a way I feel as though I need to give him his space. I can still feel him shaking, though. I hold both of his hands in mine, and we fall asleep like that.
Perhaps when we wake up, we will find this has all been a dream.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Every night
I sit up and wonder why
“I’m losing the baby. I’m losing the baby,” Lauren whispers, but she’s alone. She is doubled over in pain and sweat is pouring from her forehead. She hangs her head into the toilet for the third time in less than twenty minutes and vomits furiously.
“She’s been like this for almost twenty-four hours, Doctor,” Shay tells Frederick, just outside of the bathroom door. “I think it’s probably time for her to see a physician.”
Frederick nods in response and heads to his office to submit the request, but not before calling Oliver on his cell phone at home.
“Hey, Oliver. I know you’re off work today, but I wanted to let you know that Lauren is very sick. We’re thinking she may have some sort of bleeding disorder, perhaps in addition to her menstrual period, because it is far heavier than it should be and she’s passing quite a few large clots,” Frederick explains.
“I don’t know, Frederick. I think she’s probably fine. Perhaps she’s just overreacting and making it seem worse than it is?” Oliver asks. “She is good at manipulating people.”
“This isn’t something she can fake, Oliver. This is a lot of blood we’re talking about.”
“I would definitely monitor her for at least another twenty-four hours before getting anyone else involved. I’m certain it’s just a menstrual period, perhaps heavier than normal due to one of her dozen medications acting as an anticoagulant. It’s nothing to be alarmed about,” Oliver assures Frederick.
“I think it’s more than that, and I run this facility. I need to go with my gut feeling because I would hate to be liable if anything happened due to my non-action. She’s not your patient anymore, but I figured I would give you a call out of courtesy. Would you like to be here while the physician evaluates her, Doctor?” Frederick asks. He is stern and straightforward.
“No, Frederick. I think it’s best if I stay away. Maybe this is what is needed for her to focus her thoughts on something else. If her feeling ill is acting as a distraction that may not necessarily be a bad thing. Thanks, though,” Oliver says. Before Frederick has the opportunity to disagree, Oliver has hung up the phone.
Frederick shakes his head. He sends off a quick email requesting that a doctor be sent to evaluate Lauren’s condition as soon as possible. He flags the email as ‘urgent.’
Only minutes later, he receives confirmation that a physician is en route to the facility and should be there within a half hour.
Doctor Frederick Christiansen finds Shay still watching over Lauren in the washroom down the hall from her room.
“How is she?” he asks.
“She’s incoherent—she keeps mumbling, but I can’t make out anything she’s saying. She’s talking so quietly. Then she looks at me as though she expects me to have understood, and when I tell her I don’t understand she becomes very agitated and begins to scream and thrash her arms. I almost had to sedate her again, but I am trying to avoid that due to the constant vomiting,” Shay sighs.
“There’s a physician from Norana General on the way,” Frederick says. He pushes the door open slowly. “Lauren, I’m coming into the washroom to talk to you, okay? Shay is right here, too.”
Lauren is sitting on the cold tile floor, leaning against the wall of the bathroom stall she has spent the last two hours in. She looks weak and disheveled. Her hair is a mess. Her white gown is untied and has fallen down over her left shoulder, leaving it bare and exposed. It is chilly in the bathroom, and she must be cold.
“Let’s go get you a blanket to warm up with,” Shay offers.
Lauren just moans and remains slumped on the bathroom floor.
“Are you done throwing up? We should get you back into bed,” Shay says, softly.
Another moan from Lauren.
“Doctor?” Shay says, glancing at Frederick. Together, they help Lauren up by her waist and lead her down the hallway to her room where she reluctantly curls up in her bed.
“I’m going to have a medical doctor come visit you so we can find out what’s wrong, and we can help you properly, okay?” Frederick asks. “He will be here soon.”
With perfect timing, another man enters into the room.
“Hi, Doctor Christiansen? I’m Doctor Derek Block—I was sent by Norana General Hospital, to evaluate your patient. Is this her?” the tall, blond man asks. He carries a brief case and has a stethoscope hanging around his neck. He looks professional, dressed in his light blue and white striped shirt, beige dress pants, and brown leather shoes. He is clean shaven, and his glasses are frameless ones that make it look like he’s not even wearing any.
Frederick nods. “This is Shay. Shay is the head nurse from another facility but has been here to monitor the patient for the last little while.”
“Hi Shay. What seems to be going on with the patient?” Derek asks.
“For almost twenty-four
hours, she’s had severe vaginal hemorrhaging, vomiting, abdominal pain and lethargy,” Frederick explains.
“Okay, we’re going to run some tests. We’ll take blood and a urine analysis, and then we’ll go from there,” Derek says.
Derek is able to draw blood from Lauren without any struggle. She’s too weak to move. Shay spends the next hour coaxing Lauren into urinating in a container so that she can collect a sample. Lauren finally gives in and complies. She walks from her bed over to the toilet area slowly. With every step, it seems as though she may fall. She tries to balance herself above the container, with Shay’s help, and relieves herself. Shay cleans her up and helps her back to bed.
Derek is gone, with a promise that he will have the results within a couple hours.
“Hey, Oliver. Just thought I’d give you an update. Lauren was seen by an attending physician at Norana General. He just went back to the hospital to run the samples he took, and we’ll have some answers in a couple hours. I’ll keep you posted,” Frederick explains in his message to Oliver, and then flips his phone closed. He then turns to Shay and asks her to keep an eye on Lauren while he returns to his office to complete paperwork for today’s events.
It seems he’s lost track of time, because when he looks up, Derek is standing in the doorway of his office. Three hours have already passed.
“Oh, Doctor Block! I’m sorry, I was engrossed in my paperwork. Do you have the results?” Frederick says, standing up to meet Derek at the door.
“I do,” Derek nods.
“What’s wrong with her?” Frederick asks.
“She’s having a miscarriage.”
Frederick repeats the words to himself in his head. Then, he repeats them out loud.
“She’s having a miscarriage?”
“Yes. From what I can tell, judging by her HCG levels, she’s about eight weeks pregnant, and she’s losing the baby,” Derek explains.
“I don’t understand,” Frederick says slowly.
