My parents caught up to me and Abby. My mom‘s face was splotchy, as if she’d been crying. She handed me a piece of paper with a name and number scribbled on it.
“The nurse stopped us on our way out,” she said, using a tissue to wipe her nose. “They want you to go and see a specialist first thing in the morning, I’m…” her voice broke.
“I’m so sorry honey,” she reached over and put her arms around me.
My dad reached into his pocket and handed me a small packet of tissues.
“A nurse from their office should be calling you,” my dad said, now holding Abby by the hand.
I let go of my mom and took a step back. I opened my purse and pulled out my cell phone. My eyes widened as I looked at the screen.
“Seven missed calls,” I screeched.
I had seven missed calls from Dr. Cooper, not the main office line, but his personal cell phone that he had given to me in case of an emergency. Bad news travels fast. I wondered if, at the moment I’d stormed out of the office, Dr. Bill had speed-dialed his colleague Dr. Cooper and relayed the upsetting news about his patient—the one he had referred to him months ago for additional screening. Dr. Cooper had been in the field for thirty years, he was confident with his decisions. After my second miscarriage, he had reassured me countless times, putting to bed my worries. He had a calm, cool and collected personality and spoke to me with such politeness and tact. His bedside manner was warm and soothing. Even when he didn’t have the answers—especially the ones I wanted to hear—confiding in him had always made me feel better. He made me feel like a smart, well-researched and concerned mother-to-be rather than a paranoid pregzilla who was constantly on Web MD trying to self-diagnose. Things had been turned upside down, and my calm Dr. Cooper was now the one freaking out and calling me. Yup, I replied to Dr. Cooper in my head. I’m aware that this-is-some-serious shit.
The car ride home seemed longer than usual. I stared out of the window taking notice of the Houston Rodeo billboards. I looked forward to this time of year almost as much as I did Christmas. But eating barbeque and watching bull riders was the furthest thing on my mind. I picked up my cell phone, scrolled through my favorites list and dialed Ed‘s office line. I hated sharing awful news over the phone. He answered on the first ring and I blurted out, “We have Twin to Twin disease, the girls are sick.”
“What?!” he cried in terror. I was sobbing into the phone, wiping my snot into my cheeks. I wasn’t ready to repeat the details of the appointment. I told him we could talk about it more in person when he came home from work. I did not feel like talking and my parents definitely understood. No one wanted to talk. There was utter silence the entire twenty-five-minute car ride home.
As we pulled onto our street, I noticed another car in the driveway. It was parked in the spot right next to where I usually parked my minivan. It was Ed‘s gray Kia Forte. It was about 3:30 pm in the afternoon. Ed never left the office during the day unless it was for a deposition or client meeting. A habit instilled in him like most attorneys at big firms. Perhaps he had forgotten something at home that he needed? Perhaps he had spilled something at lunch and was coming home for a different shirt? Or a file for a really important case? Whatever the reason, I would soon find out. He stood there waiting for me in the driveway as we pulled in. He set his briefcase down against the door step and walked towards me. His ash brown hair with sprinkles of gray gelled neatly to the right side. He was wearing the navy-blue pinstripe suit that we had picked out together for his interview last fall with his current firm. It was perfectly fitted around his muscular, athletic build.
When I looked at him I noticed his sea-blue eyes were watery. In the decade I’d known him, I’d seen him cry twice—once at his great Aunt Kitty‘s funeral—she had passed away from lung cancer and he had been close with her growing up—and the second was after college when I’d threatened to break up with him once in the heat of an argument. I’d lost my temper and thrown my keys across the room in our apartment, and then, we spent the next couple of hours trying to find them. We didn’t find them until the next morning as I hurried to get out the door for work—they were in a bookshelf behind a thick stack of law books. We laughed so hard we cried. We were such polar opposites, but while he may not be as obvious with his emotions to the entire world like I am, he feels just as much. There were no spoken words between us, only widened eyes that quickly filled up with tears. That was when I let it all go. Once those first few tears broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. I sobbed convulsively into his chest—uncontrollably—having to remind myself to breathe. My dad picked up Abby and went inside along with my mom. I was thankful for that; no parent ever wants to break down in front of their child. This day, however, I gave myself a pass. This day, my fears and worst-case scenarios had unfolded right in front of me.
Ed put his hand on the back of my neck and massaged it slightly and whispered, “Crys, we’ll get through this.”
I wanted to believe him, but I wasn’t so sure.
There was nothing that could be done now to undo the diagnosis, nothing except wait for the consultation the next morning.
Ed tucked me into our bed and lay with me for a few minutes, rubbing my back while I tried to fall asleep. He knew me so well. There were times I would talk his ear off over mindless nothings, and then there were times when my heart was aching and I just needed a quiet, loving and supportive partner. In his arms, and with his presence, at least I knew we would tackle this together. Just as we had in years past when we had lost our babies.
This would be possibly one of the worst night‘s sleeps of my life. Nothing helped me settle down—not fluffy pillows, down comforters or warm milk. I lay awake tossing and turning, replaying the day‘s events. Had I heard the doctor correctly? Maybe I misconstrued his words. Yes, that was it. That was clearly what had happened. Ugh, such baby brain. Double baby brain. I was unable to process all the information he’d thrown at me. In the morning, I’d realize it was all a misunderstanding, and I was still growing two healthy babies inside me. Unsurprisingly, the night was full of restless dreams. I fell asleep feeling the pain of that first miscarriage all over again.
We walked along the Hawaiian shore, hand in hand. We were twenty-six and it was the summer after our wedding. We giggled as the warm summer breeze sprayed a mist of saltwater on our faces. The water was sparkling blue; families were constructing sandcastles and gazing at the sea turtles napping mid-beach belly sunken into the sand. The catamarans were filled with tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of a whale. With each breath I took, I was mesmerized by the beauty of the coastline. Then, I turned and looked off into the distance and spotted a humpback whale about five-hundred feet back, breaching in midair as if to get our attention. And that she did.
“Wow, that is incredible, Ed—did you see that?” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, pretty cool, huh? That was always my favorite thing to do here as a kid, go on the whale watching tours…but funny, it‘s June, that‘s not typically whale season here.” He raised his sunglasses to his forehead to get a better look.
“Oh really?” I said. “I kind of assumed they hung around here all year long.”
“Nope, winter and spring you can see a ton of them. They travel in big pods.” He paused and smiled sweetly. “You know, they come here all the way from Alaska to give birth to their calves, since it‘s warm and safe here from any predators.”
“That is quite the hike for the pregnant mama whales.”