by Alison Cole
What I don't know at this time is that Tim, Linny and Laslow have contacted Marcus, telling him that I'm falling apart out of loneliness for him. His look of worry is something he can't hide, but I think that's because of my physical appearance. After we log off, I roll into bed, crying with misery and sexual longing. I want him here with me!
The next morning, I'm up on time and I get ready for our flight back to Washington, D.C. We're supposed to perform for the President of the United States, Barack Obama, and his wife and two gorgeous daughters. The prospect does excite me, so I grab onto this and hold on for dear life. As we get closer to the nation's capital, I do begin feeling even more excited. Once we land and check into our hotel rooms, we get a ride down to the venue, the Fitzgerald Theatre. At first, I do well during practice. Then, as we're working on the song I composed, I break down. I can't stop - my tears won't stop flowing. I sit down on a chair and try to get a grip on my emotions. I can't. It's useless.
"Johanna, my God, what's wrong? Why...what's wrong?" Tim asks. He's frightened.
"Tim, I've tried. I've tried not to miss Marcus so much, but it's...I can't stop. That's why I've been falling apart. I'm sorry. I'm going to have to leave the tour and go back home. I just can't be without him! I love him!" I wail.
Tim is stunned. He knows what music means to me. I see his feelings reflected on his face.
"Johanna, music is everything to you! That you would decide to fly back to England halfway through our tour ...my God! Lads...hey, you lot! Come here, right now," Tim ordered. "Guys, Johanna's really hurting. Music is...has been her whole life, but now that she's met Marcus, she's fallen in love. She wants to leave the tour and go home," he tells them.
I feel him take one of my hands in both of his warm hands.
"Johanna. We've been picking up on your sadness. Will you stay on the tour here in the U.S. if I tell you that we've just arranged to have Marcus fly in and join the rest of our tour - tonight?"
That gets through to me. More than anything that any of them have said to me since I started feeling so sad, that grabs my attention. I'm stunned that the band is willing to break one of its cardinal rules! For me! As the surprise sinks in, so does the realization that I am about to become very, very ill. Dropping Tim's hands, I bolt for the women's room, barely making it into a stall. I feel bad for the two young women primping in front of the mirror, but I have got to retch! I hear them hastily leave. Several minutes later, my stomach is blessedly empty and my heaving stops. Rinsing my mouth out, I splash cool water over my face and return to the stage, where I enthusiastically tell Tim that I will stay on with the tour. My stomach stays where it belongs for the rest of the day. Now that I know I will have my love with me, my good humor and good health return. We hit our practice hard. Two hours before the concert begins, I hear the knock I've been anticipating. Running to my hotel room door, I fling it open and catapult myself into Marcus' arms, crying once again.
Chapter 7
"I've missed you so much!" I tell him.
Setting me down, he brings his luggage in then feverishly kisses me, telling me that he missed me badly, too. We make love. Marcus looks carefully at my body, seeming to re-familiarize himself with my body, running his hands over every inch of me. After we experience explosive orgasms, we fall asleep in each other's arms. My sleep is more restful than it has been in weeks. Rousing, I stretch and wake up, looking at the dear, dear face lying on the pillow next to me.
Marcus feels my gaze on him and his intense, green eyes open. Smiling, he stretches. "Aren't you due to perform for the leader of the free world in less than an hour and a half?" he asks me.
"Ohhh, try to scare me, will you? Our practice this morning hit all the high notes - literally. But, yes - we do have to go. Do you have your suit?"
"In my garment bag. Let me brush my teeth and hair, and we'll meet the blokes. I don't want to feel the sharp side of Tim's tongue ever again," says Marcus with a shudder.
Five minutes later, we are the first two waiting downstairs for the rest of the group.
"So, Johanna, how are you feeling?" asks Tim.
"Capital, Tim. Brilliant. Thank you!"
"Hey, the thanks is in the gleam back in your eyes," he says. "Let's go. We have a President to perform for."
During the performance, I see President and Mrs. Obama, along with Sasha and Malia, their adorable daughters. They grin broadly as we perform, seeming to appreciate our music. It's all over too fast, and soon the President and First Lady appear on the stage with us, thanking us for our performance.
In our hotel room, waves of exhaustion hit me. Normally, after a concert, I am up and energetic. This time, though, I cannot stay awake. Stripping my dress off, I hang it up, and then aim myself for the bed. As soon as my head lands on the pillow, I am completely out of it.
The next morning, he wants to make love. I participate in our completely enjoyable foreplay - then, another bout of nausea hits me. My eyes open wide and I push Marcus off me and bolt for the bathroom. After several minutes, I feel somewhat, but not completely, better. Returning to bed after rinsing my mouth, we start making love. Until the rocking, thrusting motion sets off my tummy once more. The air in this country must be making me sick!
This is easily the high point of our U.S. tour. I return to normal as we finish out the tour - except for that lingering nausea and sickness that occasionally strikes me.
One night, in our room, Marcus looks at me seriously.
"Johanna, I think you're pregnant," he says.
His words shock me. Pregnant? Then I begin totting up my various symptoms. My breasts have been very tender and my favorite slim jeans no longer fit me properly. I look at Marcus, wondering if he could be right.
"But...we've used..."
"All but that one time, remember? Back in England, we made love without protection. I think it happened then - if you are...you know." A wide grin spreads across Marcus' face.
I collapse onto the bed next to him. Lord! I think he's right! A grin slowly makes its way to my face, too. "Oh, my God! I think you might be right! Can we stop at an apothecary shop and get one of those pregnancy tests?"
"A pharmacy, you mean? I think we'd better! If you are, you need to be taking care of yourself, my love," Marcus says.
I look at my watch. "Practice isn't for another hour and a half. Can you Google the closest pharmacy so we can buy a test?"
Twenty minutes later, we're standing in the checkout line, a test in hand. Marcus bolts for the testing aisle again and comes back with a second test.
I crook an eyebrow at him. "Two tests? One is sufficient," I say.
"I want to be doubly sure," he says. "Once we know, you'll need to get the best prenatal care and, when we return to England, you're going to start seeing a doctor or midwife," he says.
I goggle at him. He's really looking forward to papa-hood! Back in our room, we read the instructions. Marcus grabbed a different brand from what I had grabbed, so we read both sets of instructions. Following the instructions, I pee on both sticks and we wait for the specified amounts of time. Marcus tells me when each test should show the results and we peer at both. Both have strong pink or blue lines, indicating that I am definitely pregnant! I collapse onto the closed toilet lid. Well, no wonder! I think to my older sister's symptoms and realize that I should have caught on much earlier. I thought I was so emotional and sick because of Marcus!
Marcus looks at me with joy brimming from his eyes. Gathering me tenderly into his arms, he says, "I love you, you know. I love our little baby, tiny as he - or she - is."
I begin to cry out of joy and fear.
"Oh, my God! Marcus, what if my depression hurt the baby?"
Marcus is struck silent.
"The only way we'll know is if we find a clinic and have you and our little one checked out," he tells me.
"I don't want to say anything to the guys yet. Let's see what a doctor says, then we can break the happy news to them," I decide.
"Good idea. I'll Google clinics."
We're in Norfolk, Virginia, and it is bloody hot. We take a taxi to the clinic Marcus identified online. By the time we get there, the cigarette smoke and body odors in the cab, as well as the heat, get to me. As soon as we walk into the clinic, I'm seeking out a bathroom. Spotting the now-familiar women's toilets, I bolt as Marcus signs us in. Forty-five minutes later, we're discussing my symptoms and the pregnancy test results with the young, Hispanic doctor. She gives us a friendly smile and orders urine and blood tests for me. When she comes back with my chart, she smiles again.
"Congratulations, mom and dad! You are definitely pregnant. I'll need to conduct a pelvic exam so I can estimate your baby's approximate conception date."
I give Dr. Martinez the date of my last menstrual period. I am obsessive about that, so I know it very well. With that and the uncomfortable pelvic exam, she tells me that I am about four months pregnant. My eyes widen. How could I have gone so long without knowing? I tell her about my sadness and difficulty adjusting when Marcus was still in England.
"Will that hurt my baby?"
"Not likely. How did you eat? Did you drink alcohol? Use drugs?"
"I ate. I've always loved food. No booze or drugs - although, before we left England, we did visit a pub a few times."
"As long as drinking isn't a daily occurrence and you're abstaining now, your little one is very likely to be just fine. But, because of the link between alcohol and fetal alcohol syndrome, you'll want to stay completely away from any kind of liquor. No illicit drugs, either."
"Oh, definitely not. I'm a member of a The Lonely Lovers and we have a strict zero tolerance policy on drugs."
"I'm going to your concert tonight, actually! My fiance and I bought tickets as soon as we heard you had set up a tour here in the U.S.," says Dr. Martinez.
"Oh, bless you! You are going totally going to enjoy some of our new music!"
"Thank you! Now, you need to start putting weight on. Your baby needs all the nutrients he or she can get, so whatever your stomach tolerates, eat it. Spicy and greasy foods, as well as caffeine are out."
I thank her and even call in a favor to get her a couple VIP passes for the show. After giving me a list of the foods I could eat, as well as prenatal vitamins, the doctor congratulates us once again and Marcus and I return to our room. We have ten minutes to make it downstairs to meet the rest of the band to go to practice.
"Can we stop for some snacks?" I ask Tim.
"Sure. I'll let the driver know," he says, not thinking anything of my question.
Every couple hours, I stop, making sure to keep myself hydrated. I realize that I really do feel better, keeping food in my belly. I make it through the practice and we go back to the hotel. I need to nap, so I have a lie-down for several hours. When I wake up, we venture out into the humidity to find a restaurant - I am suddenly craving salads. After we order, Marcus calls Tim, letting him know where we are. I shake my head at him slightly, letting him know that I don't want to say anything to the band yet about my pregnancy.
"Marcus, we need crackers. And some fruit so I can snack," I tell him.
"We'll stop in a store on the way back to the hotel. Just make sure you take some food with you to the concert," he reminds me.
That night, even though I keep food on my belly, as soon as the intermission begins, I bolt backstage and lose my dinner in the bathroom. The band realizes what happened and they look at me in concern. It's time. I look at Marcus and we communicate silently with each other.
"Tim, Laslow, Linny...we need to talk," I start. We sit in the green room, where I carefully eat an apple and drink some warm tea. "I'm pregnant. I got the diagnosis today."
Laslow looks at his older brother and lets out a raucous whoop! Tim and Linny let out a laugh of relief.
"Oh, my God, thank God it's nothing more serious," says Tim. "I honestly thought you had some deadly illness. How far along are you?"
"Four months. Meaning my dresses won't fit me much longer," I say, carefully stretching the delicate fabric.
"We're nearly done with our tour and we'll be flying back to England in two weeks," Tim says.
As excited as I am about our band's success, the early part of my pregnancy wears on me and I am beginning to feel exhausted. Even though I'm careful to keep food in my stomach and stay well-hydrated, this leads to some pretty harrowing moments of sickness. One day is especially bad. I just cannot stop vomiting and Marcus takes me to the emergency room of the city we're in for that day - Denver, Colorado. When the doctor comes in to examine me, he's concerned because I am so dehydrated. He wants to admit me to hospital! When I panic and tell him that I have to sing that night, he gives me a glare and tells me that he's going to re-hydrate me and give me a medication to stop my stomach from acting so badly. Then, he tells me to rest as much as I can. As it turns out, it's not just morning or all-day sickness. I am having trouble adjusting to the high altitude, something he calls "altitude sickness."
Great. So now, I have two reasons to be drinking lots and lots of water. Instead of being admitted to hospital, the doctor opts to hook me up to a couple of I.V.s so I can start to feel human again. The second I.V. has the medication in it, which knocks me for an absolute loop. I fall into a heavy sleep, which lasts until about two hours before we have to get to the concert venue. When I wake up, the doctor is there. He's in a better mood now, thankfully. He tells Marcus and me that, whenever I'm not practicing or performing, I'm to be resting or napping for at least the first trimester - preferably prone. I ask the doctor how long I'll feel sick and he tells me it should be ending any time soon.
When we get back to the concert hall, Marcus tells everyone what the doctor ordered.
"Then, that's it. Johanna, you're on bed rest except for practices and performances," says Tim.
The next day, we fly to Phoenix, Arizona. The lower altitude is much easier on me - too bad the heat's so intense! When I'm not sitting in front of air conditioning, I'm spread out in bed, trying to keep cool. Ice water - whoever came up with it, should have won the Nobel Prize. I guzzle the stuff like it's going out of fashion until I realize the coldness of the water will affect my vocal cords - then I switch to room-temperature water. Thankfully, the water helps me keep the nausea from hitting me. Both the practice and performance go very well - our band is very well received in this awfully hot city.
Next, we fly to Los Angeles and prepare to perform there - the big one, says Tim. After our practice, we go to the beach and walk on the hard, wet sand. Marcus has added his own prescription to those of my doctors - relaxation and lots of it. As a result, when we get to the concert hall that evening, I am lightly sun tanned and feeling very good. As we perform, I glance over at Marcus, to see him smiling and enjoying our music.
Over the next few days, I realize that my nausea is starting to retreat a little more every day. Even if I smell a strong scent, I'm better able to handle it than I was earlier in my pregnancy. Of course, I have to work to get my clothes around my slowly growing belly. Marcus sees me struggling to fasten my pants one morning. After I give up, he tells me, "It's time for maternity wear for you, mum."
He calls Tim and lets him know we have to find a maternity shop so I can buy a few things. Practice is postponed until late morning and we find a cute little maternity store in downtown Eugene, Oregon. When I see the prices, I'm floored. Even with the conversion factor, they are not very expensive. I buy tops, pants and, when I see the perfect formal, I buy that as well. The shop assistant recommends that I start stocking up on maternity bras and underthings, so I follow her recommendation. When we leave, Marcus is loaded down with several bags. In our room, I immediately change to a new maternity outfit. Oh, so much more comfortable! After I show the formal to Tim, he approves of it for our performance that evening.
"If you find a few more, you may as well stock up on more formal gowns, because I'm hoping you'll be able to stay with us through as much of your pregnancy as possible," he t
ells me.
"Well, I'd love to go back and check on other formal dresses they have in stock. What time do we have to be at the airport tomorrow?" I ask Tim.
"Not until noon for a one p.m. flight," he tells me.
"Then it's settled. I'll stop at the shop tomorrow morning, first thing. If I find anything, I'll buy it. And, yes, I'd love to continue with the group for as long as my pregnancy allows me - and after the baby is born," I tell him.
In return, I get a big hug. That night, I wear my new, much more comfortable maternity formal dress. While it gives my growing belly more room, it doesn't look like a maternity dress. I simply look like I chose to wear a loose dress. It makes singing so much easier. Now, I can expand my diaphragm much more easily and I don't get dizzy during the longer notes. This performance is one of my best since we arrived stateside. After we perform, we stop at a late-night diner and order snacks. I am starving, so I order an omelet, toast and some iced tea. The guys all order these huge sandwiches. Once we've eaten, we go back to our hotel, where we all go to bed.
The next morning, I return to the maternity shop, The Little Oregon Boutique, and buy two more formal dresses. I pack them and we leave for the airport. We have two more cities in which to perform, then we fly back home! I still haven't told my mum, dad and sister that we're expecting a baby. I want to tell them in person. Dad will want me to marry Marcus right away - but we haven't talked about this. In truth, that part makes me worry. I know Marcus loves me and our little one, but does he want to get married? I know I do. Twelve years separates us, but that's not much. What's more is my worry that I'll be a single mum on the dole in England. I don't want that.
The worry I'm feeling makes my nausea come back. When we land in Seattle, Washington, I head straight for the loo and lose my lunch. Marcus is worried, so I tell him that something about lunch didn't agree with me. He's not fooled - he saw how quiet I was on our flight north. Once we get to our room, he corners me and won't stop until he's wormed everything out of me.
