Chapters (65)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Part Two
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Part Three
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- About the Publisher
“Good.” She looked at Mark as if to make sure he was still taking notes. She put in her earpieces and placed the stethoscope on my chest. “Was there excessive amniotic fluid? Lean forward, please.” She moved the stethoscope to my back and I felt its cold weight.
I hugged my chest and my breasts were full. “Oh, God, I think I’m leaking.” I looked down at my robe.
“Oh, are you breastfeeding?”
“I—I . . .” I stammered, trying to think where to start. I explained what had happened as well as I could. She nodded compassionately, and Mark typed my words. Or his words. Who knows what version of events he typed. Dr. Sheldon kept eye contact with me as she listened. Good bedside manner. When I finished, she spoke slowly. “I’m sorry you’ve been through so much, Cally.” She waited to let that sink in.
“Thanks,” I said.
“There are a number of birth-related complications I’d like to rule out. But I won’t know until I take a look. So I’d like to keep you overnight and run some tests.”
“What? No, I can’t stay here that long.”
“Well, I recommend against your leaving in the condition you’re in. With your bleeding and fainting, it wouldn’t be safe.”
“I need to make a phone call,” I said, trying to get up.
“Not quite yet,” said Dr. Sheldon as she guided me back into bed. She placed her hands on my belly and pressed hard.
“Ow,” I said.
“Your uterus is still rather large.”
I wasn’t worried about my uterus, but this doctor was. She asked me to rate my pain and point to where it hurt. She lifted my hospital gown and peeked in like it was a tent. “Just checking for rashes.” She put my gown back in place and asked if I had any trouble urinating.
“No,” I said. “I really need to make a call.”
“Okay, one of the nurses can help you with that.” She was done with her exam. “They’re going to move you to a regular room so you can sleep. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
“Can you get me another blanket?”
“I’ll send someone in to take care of that,” she said, and Mark closed the curtain behind them.
Alone again in the room, I looked at the labels on the cabinet doors, the receptacle for used needles, the canisters of tongue depressors, and a small sink for washing hands or pouring water into tiny paper cups. I imagined sticking an index card on the mirror. If I had a marker, I would write, “Come Back, Nell.”