by J. L. Berg
“Hi, Lailah,” he greeted, holding out his arms for our usual greeting.
I returned the gesture, hugging him wordlessly, as I tried to regain my composure.
“How are you?” I asked, my voice still slightly hoarse from my startle. “Did you have a nice holiday season?”
“Oh, yes, very nice,” he answered rather quickly, taking a seat across from me. His eyes looked heavy, filled with emotions I had yet to sort out.
“You don’t have the flu,” he simply said, “but we did find something else rather interesting.”
Oh God, here it comes—I’m dying.
“You’re pregnant.”
“That’s impossible,” the words flew out of my mouth before I even had a chance to realize I’d spoken.
He leaned forward, folding his hands together, as his gaze became intense. “Well, no, actually, since you’re sexually active. Surprising maybe, but impossible? No.”
My head began shaking from side to side as I rejected his news.
“But how?” I asked.
“Well, the how I can’t really answer, which is why I’m having Irene take you over to obstetrics. They’re going to give you an exam and an ultrasound to be sure.”
“Irene?”
“My nurse,” he answered kindly.
“Right.”
I sat there in silence, looking down at my wedding ring, a ring I’d worn for barely a month.
“I’m pregnant?” I asked before adding, “Can I survive a pregnancy?”
“I guess the question is, do you want to find out?”
And there it was—my life-altering moment.
I’D BEEN IN meetings all morning, thanks to Roman.
Every free moment I had, I found myself glancing down to check my phone, but Lailah hadn’t sent me anything—not a text, email, or even a voice mail—to let me know how the doctor’s appointment had gone.
Is she still there?
Finally, I managed to step out, canceling my lunch meeting, and I left for the day. I was useless to everyone in that office like this. I couldn’t think straight, and I definitely wasn’t getting anything done.
Not knowing what had transpired with Lailah was driving me crazy.
I tried her cell again on my way down to the lobby, but she didn’t pick up.
Damn it all to hell.
Flagging down a cab, I made it back to our apartment rather quickly, deciding to check there first. Showing up at the hospital would be my next step. The elevator was like a slow crawl, moving up the building at a snail’s pace, as I tapped my foot restlessly, waiting for our floor to ding. The doors finally opened, and I sped down the hallway, pulling out my keys, ready to unlock the door.
As soon as I bolted into the apartment, I saw her sitting on the sofa, her face turned toward the giant window that overlooked the city.
The blank look on her face stopped me cold.
“Lailah,” I called out.
She turned to me with a sudden mixture of emotions moving across her features, kicking my feet into gear.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” I knelt by her side, touching her everywhere.
Her shoulders, her heart, were solid and strong. She felt healthy and safe, but her demeanor was saying the exact opposite. It gave me chills.
“I went to the doctor,” she started.
“I know. I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“I don’t have the flu.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling a chair toward her and taking a seat. I gripped her hands in mine, willing her to say the words, to tell me what was going on.
Her eyes met mine, and she smiled. “I’m pregnant, Jude.”
That finely tuned tightrope I’d been walking since the day she came back into my life—the one I’d kept taking slow, steady steps on each and every time her doctor had told us she was doing great and her heart was healthy—suddenly snapped beneath me.
I felt my stomach hit the floor. My ears rang violently in my head as if my mind was rejecting the very idea because it couldn’t possibly be true.
“No,” I replied softly. “No,” I said again, shaking my head.
“I saw the baby.”
From under a blanket, she produced a tiny black-and-white photo. Her name was typed neatly at the top with today’s date. Positioned in the center was a tiny black dot. It didn’t look like much, but I remembered my secretary had shown me one of her daughter’s first ultrasounds, and it looked similar, maybe slightly bigger.
I took the photo as she began to speak, my ears . . . my heart, every damn part of me rejecting everything she was saying.
“Based on the size and the fact that my period is only a few days late, the doctor said we probably conceived around our wedding night. Isn’t that crazy?” A laugh laced with tears fell from her lips as she gazed down at the tiny picture in her hands.
“We did everything right.” Tears stung my eyes as I looked up at her—my beautiful, gorgeous wife.
“That’s what I said, but when the doctor examined me, I guess my IUD had shifted. She said it basically rendered it useless. She had to remove it today so everything will be touch and go for the next few weeks as far as the pregnancy is concerned.”
Her expression turned almost mournful—an emotion I couldn’t wrap my head around quite just yet. So many emotions, I nearly felt numb.
“But the condoms?” I pressed on as if arguing the matter could overrule the picture I held in my hand.
A late-night Friends marathon suddenly flashed through my memory. Lailah and I had been curled up on the couch, and we’d both just finished laughing hysterically as a frantic Ross called the customer-service line on the back of a condom box, outraged that Rachel was pregnant. I’d told her how improbable that was. It turned out, Ross and I weren’t that different.
“Dr. Riley—the OB-GYN said it’s rare, but these things do happen.” That smile returned again as she glanced down at the picture once more.
“They don’t, not to you,” I said adamantly. “When do we go back to see Dr. Hough?”
“I don’t know. I told him I needed to talk to you, and then we’d schedule something.”
“I want to see him today.” I jumped up, grabbing the phone from my pocket.
“Jude, would you just calm down?” Her hands touched me as she tentatively stood.
“Calm down, Lailah? You’re pregnant. This might be a joyous occasion for Bill and Harriet down the hall. But for you?”
“I know!” she screamed, throwing her hands up in the air, as tears melted down her cheeks. “Okay! I get it. But would you just stop for one second and realize that I might be happy about this?”
My hands shook, itching to dial the number I’d pulled up on my phone, but I stopped myself.
I pulled her into my arms as sobs took over, raking through her small frame, while she shook.
“I’m sorry, angel. I’m so sorry.”
Hardwired to protect, my first gut reaction was to do just that—protect her by whatever means necessary. But a husband was so much more than that, and a month in, I was still learning.
The emotional grief she’d have from this loss would last far longer than pregnancy.
As her sobs softened, I carried her to the bedroom and gently laid her down. I ran my hands through her hair until her breathing evened out. After I snuck out, I dialed the number that was still up on my cell and made an appointment for the next morning with Dr. Hough.
She needed to hear all sides, learn the risks and deathly consequences she would be dealing with. Once she did, she’d understand and see what we were facing. As much as I’d love to see Lailah as a mother one day, it couldn’t be like this, not in a way that would risk her life.
I wouldn’t allow it.
Tensions were high the next morning as we worked around each other, showering and getting ready for Lailah’s appointment—the one I’d made without consulting her first, the one she’d found out about an hour ago. It had immediately ceased
all communication between us.
When I’d slowly grazed my thumb over her cheek and whispered her name, coaxing her from sleep that morning, I’d known my bold move wouldn’t go over well. Last night, I’d carried my crying wife to bed as she lay helpless in my arms, and this morning, in her mind, she felt betrayed by my actions.
Honestly, her hurt feelings were okay by me as long as it would get her into that doctor’s office.
My fear, the undercurrent running rampant in my system, was that this news would grow. I could see the idea already festering inside her head. Like an infection, it would spread wildly through her thoughts, taking over her ability to think logically.
I needed her clear, focused, and on a truly straight path, the path that would lead to us traveling down a happy life together.
That life could only happen if she was willing to give it a chance.
When I allowed myself to venture down the long winding road where she was round with my child in her belly, it looked bleak, dark, and completely unknown.
Cold, eerie silence followed us as we left the apartment and walked down the hall toward the elevator. I sighed in relief when I reached out to touch her hand and felt her fingers curl around mine. As we entered the elevator, I turned toward her, seeing an entire mountain of emotions sitting on her tiny shoulders.
“I’m sorry about the doctor’s appointment,” I finally said.
She nodded, stepping forward to burrow her head in my chest.
“I just feel completely out of control, Lailah. It’s like our world is spinning on its axis, and you’re ready to go along for the ride with no knowledge of what might lie ahead.”
Her head turned upward. “I didn’t say no to the doctor. I just wish you had allowed me to do it on my own. I’ve had too many years of people organizing my life.”
My eyelids fell in shame. “You’re right.”
“But none of that matters now,” she urged, grasping my face in her palms.
Our eyes met, and in her pale blue irises, I saw everything I felt in that moment, everything I’d been feeling since the moment I walked in that door and the small little planet we called life detonated before my eyes.
She was just as scared as I was, which meant there was still hope.
“Come on. Let’s go,” she said softly as the elevator doors opened into the lobby.
I let her lead me toward the entrance.
The doorman greeted, “Good morning,” to us.
Snow fell lightly on the streets, covering everything in a silvery white glow. It was as if the city had been born anew overnight while I felt drained and dizzy.
I gladly took the doorman’s offer to hail us a cab. Wrapping an arm around Lailah, I stood with her under the awning for shelter.
In less than a minute, we were on our way toward the hospital. No words were spoken between us, but our hands clung to each other like an unbreakable chain holding us together, even when it felt like we were oceans apart.
We made our way into the hospital, a united front, moving swiftly from the entrance to the elevators to the floor that held the office suites. Lailah squeezed my hand, a tear trickling down her cheek.
“It’s going to be okay. I promise,” I said.
She nodded her head, remaining silent, as her gaze stared straight ahead toward the doors as they peeled open. I let her lead once again as we entered the office, and then I held back, allowing her to sign in. It was early, and we were the first to arrive. The smell of coffee lingered in the air, and laughter rang in the distance as coworkers caught up on the latest gossip and discussed TV shows and family. My knee nervously bobbed up and down as I listened to them casually enjoying themselves while I was out here, feeling like my head would implode at any God-given moment.
It was the same exact way I’d felt in the days after I walked away from Lailah. Life had moved on, and people had existed around me, yet I had been left silently screaming in a virtual vacuum of my own demise.
I looked down at Lailah. Would that be my life again?
“Lailah Cavanaugh?” the nurse called out.
It was kind of unnecessary, seeing as we were the sole occupants in the waiting room, but it was nice to hear her new name despite the circumstances surrounding it.
We followed the nurse, someone I recognized from prior visits, down the hall and toward the left rather than the right, which led to the exam rooms.
“Dr. Hough thought it might be more comfortable to meet in his office this morning,” she offered as an explanation as we stopped.
There, standing behind a large mahogany desk, framed by diplomas and certificates, was the man of the hour, checking charts and signing his name to various letters and statements.
“Doctor, Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh are here to see you,” the young nurse announced.
“Ah, good. Thank you, Stephanie,” he replied, stepping away from the desk to offer me his hand.
I politely took it, giving it a firm shake, even though I felt as weak and thin as the sheets of paper on his desk in front of us. It was then I noticed the woman sitting near him.
For Lailah, he opened his arms and took her in a sweet embrace. They held each other as friends rather than doctor and patient. I could see the hurt and defeat in his eyes. It was as if he wished there were some way he could erase the horrible circumstances of this otherwise joyous news from our lives.
“Please sit,” he offered, motioning to the two plush chairs by his desk.
We each took a seat, and I reached out for Lailah’s hand. I needed her as much as I hoped she needed me in this moment.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Dr. Riley here to offer assistance as well. I know you probably have a ton of questions, so why don’t we just start there?” he said, reclining in his chair, trying to give a laid-back, approachable appearance.
“I guess we want to know everything,” Lailah said, looking from one doctor to the other. “Our options, the risks, for both me and—”
“The baby,” he finished.
She nodded.
“Well, first of all, let me say, the idea of a transplant patient, even one who’s undergone something as risky as a heart transplant, can become mothers. It’s not totally out of the question these days.”
Lailah’s hand squeezed mine.
“However,” Dr. Riley interjected, “we usually advise patients to do in-depth preconception counseling where we—meaning an OB-GYN and the patient—decide if the patient is healthy enough to tolerate such an ordeal. Pregnancy is hard enough for a completely healthy woman. Add in the complications you face, and . . . well, things become risky quickly.”
I took a deep breath, forcing air into my lungs.
Dr. Hough continued, “Unfortunately, we didn’t get to do any planning with you, Lailah. The universe had other intentions, and despite all your best efforts, you are pregnant. Now, we just have to figure out what to do from here.”
“If we had come to you and asked about becoming parents, would you have given us your blessing?” I asked.
He pursed his lips and sighed loudly. “No, I wouldn’t have. It’s only been two years since your surgery, Lailah, and with your history . . . well, this is why we had the IUD in the first place.”
But the IUD had failed.
“But, she could still miscarry?” I interjected, feeling like we were skirting around a very real possibility.
Dr. Riley nodded, her eyes darted to Lailah. “Yes. Because I had to remove the IUD, there is a very real possibility of miscarriage. But I didn’t want to leave it in and run the risk of infection later on in the pregnancy.”
When we grew attached. The words hung in the air even though they hadn’t been said.
I swallowed a lump in my throat, but it didn’t go away. None of this was ever going to go away.
“Tell us about the risks.” Lailah’s soft voice pushed through the haze of my dark thoughts.
“There’s an increased risk of hypertension, infection, and of course, r
ejection.”
My heart faltered at his words. If Lailah’s body began rejecting the transplant, there was nothing else that could be done—no magical cures, no last-minute surgeries. Her life would be over.
And so would mine.
The blood hissing through my ears was so loud that it sounded like a freight train. Both doctors went over our options in detail, including genetic testing and when to call as I tried to focus, my eyes blurring in and out as I held back tears.
I didn’t remember much of the trip back home, only Lailah’s steady hand on mine.
And her eyes—I remembered her vacant, distant eyes. If I had a mirror, I would imagine mine looked much like hers.
The minute the apartment door shut behind me, my legs gave out. The last bit of strength I had been holding on to rushed out of me like a billowing cloud of dust as my back slid against the cold metal behind me. Every emotion and every tear I’d held in check after walking into our apartment the day before and finding her holding that ultrasound picture sprang forward, erupting out of me like a dormant volcano brought back to life.
I sobbed, filled with grief for the life we might never have. I screamed to the heavens for everything they were putting us through, and I doubled over in anguish, secretly wondering if this was all somehow my fault.
I’d always demanded we use condoms. But did I check them every single time? What if one had a rip or a tear? Was I too rough with her on our wedding night?
Does it even matter now?
“Jude,” a soft voice spoke.
I glanced over to see Lailah hesitantly reaching out toward me. She looked scared, timid, as her hand touched mine.
“It’s okay,” she soothed.
“How is this fucking okay, Lailah?” I snapped.
I realized my error as she withdrew from me in an instant.
“You don’t want to have this baby, do you?” she said softly. Her hands wrapped protectively around her waist as she curled into a sitting position on the couch.
“You can’t honestly tell me that you’re considering it? You and I were in the same room, weren’t we?” I asked, finally standing from my pathetic spot on the floor.
“Don’t you see, Jude? Don’t you get it? We made a child, a baby, despite our best efforts to do the opposite. It’s a gift, Jude. It’s a gift,” her voice whispered softly.
