Blackout

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

It is difficult to begin trying to plan a wedding, what with all that has been happening lately, but Marc tries to convince me that it will be a welcome distraction, so I grudgingly agree to start doing research on how to throw it all together.

I don’t hear from my mother again after that day besides a letter left in the mailbox from her about two weeks after the day she showed up. It says:

Iris,

I won’t bother you again, but there is one more thing I wanted to tell you that I didn’t get a chance to. I got word a few years ago that Ronald got shot by some drug dealers. He’s been in a coma since then in Bradenton. I know you probably don’t want anything to do with him kind of like you don’t want anything to do with me, and we both deserve that. But just in case you want to know, he’s at Bradenton Regional Hospice. He doesn’t have too much time left, and it might be good for you to go see him before he dies. He has two other kids with his ex-wife down there, too.

You have a beautiful home, and I’m proud of you. I hope you find happiness and that you keep on doing well. I’m so glad that I could see you once more for myself. You have grown into a beautiful young lady, and that makes me happier than I’ve ever been, though I don’t deserve it.

I’m going back to Coral Springs. If you ever want to contact me, my contact info is at the bottom of this letter. I won’t be bothering you anymore unless you want to talk. I love you, baby girl, and I’m sorry for everything.

Lari

It isn’t hard for me to ball up the letter without bothering to look at the phone number she left at the bottom of the page. I don’t ever want to see or hear from her again, and I’m glad she’s out of my life, hopefully for good.

I’ve been sick for three weeks; I’m having intense migraines and feeling nauseous all the time, so Marc puts me on his medical insurance plan so that I can go get checked out by a physician. On the day of my appointment, I call Casey to let him know that I rescheduled that day’s therapy session with Jordan, and that I won’t be in. He laughs as he instructs me to keep whatever sickness I have away from him, and then wishes me luck before we hang up.

The clinic Marc sends me to is in an upscale part of this little town called Oldsmar that sits between Tampa and Clearwater. I get lost a few times before I finally pull into the parking lot of the clinic, which is sandwiched between a department store and a hair salon.

Once I’m parked, I take a minute to pop a piece of gum in my mouth before stepping out of the car and up to the door. A bell chimes when I walk in, and a young blonde woman sticks her head out of a door right off the waiting room. “You can just have a seat,” she says brightly. “I’ll be right with you.”

I sit down in a random chair and look around me. The waiting room is very modern, with an assorted collection of paintings and sculptures on the walls and a futuristic-looking light fixture hanging from the middle of the ceiling. There are chic leather loveseats, armchairs covered in different fabrics, and dainty chairs with silver metal armrests, all in varying shades of black. It’s really fancy, and nicer than any clinic I’ve ever been to in my life. I’m used to plain old white walls and plastic lawn chairs in the doctor’s offices I’ve been to since I was a kid.

The nausea is returning in full force by the time the blonde closes the door of the room she was in and comes over to welcome me. She can obviously tell I’m not feeling well, because, after apologizing for my having to wait, she asks if I need a bathroom before I begin filling out the necessary forms. I don’t want to prolong this; I’d really rather just hurry up and be seen so I can get some medicine. So I decline politely and begin completing the paperwork she hands me on a clipboard with a pen attached by a long silver chain.

There are only a few pages I need to sign, and almost as soon as I’m done, she escorts me through the same door she was in when I walked in and around a corner until we are in a small cubby with a toilet and what looks like some diagnostic tools, like a blood pressure cuff and a thermometer. She instructs me to pee in a cup and closes the curtain, and once I’m done and she’s back in the area, she checks my vital signs. After that, she walks me back around the corner and down a wide corridor until we stop at a closed door at the end of the hall. “Have a seat,” she says in her peppy, somewhat shrill voice. “Dr. Elliott will be right with you.”

I grab a magazine off of a small table next to the examination bed, but I’m only reading about Gabrielle Union’s new television show for a few minutes when there’s a light knock on the door, and the doctor walks in. He’s young, maybe in his early thirties, and rather short, not even reaching my chin. That’s all I can register about him before he greets me. “Hello, Ms. Kilpatrick, it’s nice to meet you,” he says in a deep voice that surprises me a little. I guess I was expecting a high-pitched voice similar to his perky blonde nurse. “My name is Dr. Rodney Elliott. We’ve got your tests started on your urine and your vitals were mostly normal. Can you tell me a little about what you’re experiencing?”

I explain to the doctor about the few times I woke up feeling sick to my stomach, and the recent nauseous episodes, and the migraines. As I explain, he probes me everywhere, checking my heart rate with a stethoscope, listening to my lungs while asking me to take deep breaths, and instructing me to open my mouth so he can look inside with a little flashlight. He asks me about my medical history, but although I’m sure he knows who I am, he doesn’t pry when I tell him that I have none. He asks about any medical history my parents might have, but since I didn’t really know them, I can’t give him any helpful information. He looks into my eyes and ears with the same flashlight and jots down notes on my chart. Once he is done with his in-depth examination, he excuses himself to step out for a moment, and I open the magazine back to the page I was on before he came in. It’s not long before the doctor returns with a new folder and guides me to have a seat in a chair next to a desk, where he sits on a stool.

“Well, Ms. Kilpatrick, your urine test showed a few things that we need to discuss. Would you like the good news or the bad news first?”

Nervously I reply, “I’ll have the bad news.”

“We found some leukocytes in your urine. These are white blood cells, and they are usually a pretty basic warning of the presence of a urinary tract infection.”

This is not nearly as bad as I imagined it could be. A UTI only needs antibiotics to be treated, which isn’t a big deal. I’ll probably need to check with Dr. Dillinger or Rita to make sure that any medicine I have to take doesn’t interfere or negatively interact with my stay sane pills, though.

“And now for the good news,” Dr. Elliott says enthusiastically, dropping the file on the desk and clapping his hands together. “You, my dear, are pregnant.”

My mouth opens in shock, and tears quickly spring to my eyes. “What?” I nearly shout, grabbing the file from the desk and quickly rifling through the pages. I don’t understand anything here! “I can’t be pregnant!” I say fiercely, and Dr. Elliott looks at me with a confused expression. He obviously thought I would be happy about this news.

“Well, according to the urine test, you are, indeed, pregnant,” he says with a faint note of concern in his voice.

I can’t believe it. But really, I guess, it shouldn’t be that hard to comprehend. All the times Marc and I have made love… We never, not once, used any sort of protection. We never discussed the possibility of me even getting pregnant; it was like we were just moving along in a perfect state, with real life relationship dramas (like pregnancy) never occurring to us as being possible. I don’t know about him, but I never even thought, maybe I should get some birth control or ask him to wear a condom so I don’t get knocked up. I don’t know why it never came to mind that it was a risk. I guess I was just so swept up in happiness and sureness of our love that I didn’t think to take any precautions.

The range of emotions I’m feeling is dizzying. I am devastated, angry, worried, and confused, but I can feel the faint stirrings of something else. Is it hope? Or wonder? I can’t tell.

“I can tell this is a big surprise for you, Ms. Kilpatrick,” says the doctor with grave concern in his eyes. “But I didn’t see in your paperwork that you were on any birth control.”

“No, I’m not,” I whisper. “I never thought to get on any… I never- well, I never even realized that there was a chance I could get pregnant... I mean, I guess I just didn’t think about it.”

“Well, this is just a preliminary urine test. We’ll still need to get you to an obstetrician to get some blood work and ultrasounds done. But, until then, I’m going to prescribe you some prenatal vitamins. An OB will give you a call within a week to schedule an appointment.” He shakes my hand. “I hope everything works out, Ms. Kilpatrick.”

Once I have the prescription sheet clutched in my fist, I run out to my car and slam the door shut. I am still freaking out. How could this happen? And why is it that catastrophe after catastrophe keeps popping up? Okay, maybe that’s a wee bit dramatic, but a lot of crazy things have been happening to me lately. The break-in, Clarisa finding me, my mother randomly showing up on my doorstep, finding out she probably has the same disorder as me… And now this. And as I try to sort through all this drama, I’m wondering, like I did after the break-in at Rita’s, if the end of my happy times is here and my deserved suffering is beginning.

I don’t know how I’m going to tell Marc. I had just been blubbering a few weeks ago about how my stupid mental issues could be transferred to our potential children, and now here I was, with child. What the hell was I going to do?

I was all for not telling him. It would be a simple matter to just keep the secret, at least until the OB appointment. But I can’t imagine keeping something so important from him. He trusts me so completely, and the idea of lying to him is borderline repulsive. He’s so open and honest, so understanding of all my flaws, so accepting of the risk he takes on by being with me… For all he knows, one little word could set me off and begin a chain of events that could end his life.

Thankfully, Marc isn’t home when I return, so I run a warm bath in the Jacuzzi tub, pour some soap into the water, and watch as the bubbles grow. Maybe the steam overtaking the bathroom will help clear my head and bring about a suitable solution. Once the tub is full, I gingerly place one foot into the almost scalding-hot water, then the other; I slowly submerge my body until just my head is above the water.

The heat is soothing, and soon I begin to finally relax, each of my muscles loosening from their tense states. The aroma of the vanilla soap bubbles calms me even more. I close my eyes and try to shut my mind off for a few moments, and it seems to be working until I hear the front door close.

He’s not supposed to be home yet! The prenatal vitamins are lying out in the open on the bed where I threw them with my purse, and if he sees them…. I haven’t even decided if I’m going to tell him yet! So I hurry to stand up, the water sloshing around me, splashing out of the tub. I don’t bother to grab a towel as I run to the bedroom and grab the small paper bag, and I am stuffing it in my purse when Marc enters the room. From where he’s standing, all he can see is my wet backside bent over the bed.

“I was hoping you’d be waiting for me like this,” he chuckles, and I turn with a bashful look on my face. He’s depositing a grocery bag on the floor by the door and removing his coat while walking towards me with a smile on his face. After I throw my purse nonchalantly on the dresser, I meet him in the middle of the room and we embrace.

“How was your appointment?” he asks as he guides me back to lie on the bed. Once he’s fallen next to me and wrapped me in his arms, he continues, “Did you like Dr. Elliott?”

Shit, he knows the doctor personally! I think as I respond, “He was nice enough. It was fine.”

“What’d he say?”

I try to be evasive. “He said he’d call me to set up another appointment.”

“Another appointment?” Marc asks with concern in his voice. “Why? What does he think is wrong with you?”

This is going worse than planned. I’m trying not to actively lie to him, but it’s becoming difficult. I didn’t expect him to be so interested, but then again, I guess I should have known he would want to know.

I try to sidestep his question again. “He gave me some medicine. He said I have a UTI.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, and squeezes me tighter. “Well, that’s not so bad. I mean, it probably sucks, but medicine should help it go away pretty fast.”

“Yeah.”

Hoping he doesn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm, or see my blatant attempt to change the subject, I say, “Baby, I’m kind of tired. I think the medicine is making me drowsy. Do you want me to cook you something before I hit the sack?”

My guilt runs into overdrive as Marc caresses my hair and kisses my forehead with a worried expression. “No, baby, you get some rest, I’ll just throw something in the microwave or order out.” He kisses my forehead again and tells me he loves me before he leaves the room.

It’s still pretty early, but all this thinking I’ve been doing has really tired me out; I wasn’t lying to him when I said I was sleepy, except maybe in the context of mentioning the medicine. I haven’t taken either medicine yet, the antibiotic or the prenatal vitamin. But I figure he never goes in my purse, so he’s not likely to discover it. So I get out of bed and grab the UTI meds out of my purse while leaving the vitamins there, and I examine the bottle. It’s probably not advisable to take the medicine without checking with Dr. Dillinger or Rita to see if it might interact with my other medicine. Then again, I’d also want to ask if my stay sane meds are safe to take while pregnant. Depakote, Prozac, Paxil… How could I take them if I had a baby inside me? Wouldn’t that affect the child negatively? Why did it matter? If I was pregnant, wouldn’t I be aborting the child anyway? I refused to bring a child into this world afflicted with the same issues I had. But Marc would want- and deserves- a chance to voice his opinions. I could never take that away from him.

But we had never discussed children. There had never been any conversation about whether either of us wanted kids or not, except for that one hysterical outburst from me the day my mother had shown up at our house. He hadn’t said anything that day about wanting kids, either.

What would he say? How would he react? I knew he wouldn’t blame me; neither of us had been smart enough to look past our love into the possibilities it would create. We had both dived in blindly, not considering the consequences. And now here I was, with the consequence inside me. But I had no idea whether he would agree with me that the baby should be aborted or insist that we keep it. I thought I knew him, but this is a slippery slope, and I have no idea which direction he will go in.

But I have to take my medicine. Nothing, not even a baby, can stop that. I cannot be dangerous. I cannot lose the love of my life, not even for this.

This is when I decide that I have to tell him. I can’t lie to him about this. Because I’ll have to find out from Rita and Dr. Dillinger if it’s safe for me to take the medicines anyway. And if I tell either one of them, it’ll be sure to get back to Marc, and it’s guaranteed it would break his heart that I kept it from him.

So I abandon my half-hearted attempt to fall asleep and slip a robe over my naked body before heading down the stairs to the living room, where I hear the TV playing a football game. For a moment I just stand in the archway leading to the room to watch Marc, his eyes intently glued to the screen. His team scores and he quietly pumps his fists and whispers, “Yeah!”

Once I have finally mustered up the minimum amount of courage necessary, I step into the room and say, “Hey, baby.”

I smile when Marc jumps a little with a startled expression on his face. He relaxes once he sees it’s me, and returns my smile with his arms held open. An invitation.

I fall into his arms and say, “Babe, I have to talk to you.”

He pulls my leg around until I’m straddling him and pushes my robe open, placing his warm hands on my waist. His lips find my exposed n****e and I have to work hard to suppress a moan. I can’t be distracted right now; he must know the truth. “Baby, wait, it’s important.”

His mouth leaves my breast and he looks up into my eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks seriously, but his hands are still moving around to cup my butt.

“I didn’t tell you everything about the appointment today,” I say quietly, trying to ignore the warm feeling in my cheeks.

“Well, tell me now.”

“The doctor did some tests.” I’m finding it difficult to go any further.

“Yeah? And?”

“And… He said the test came back… And…”

“And what? Spit it out, baby, it’s okay.”

“He says I’m pregnant.” I blurt out, and I clench my eyes shut, waiting for his response.

Silence. More silence. I am afraid to open my eyes. Is he even breathing? His hands have frozen… It’s so quiet I can hear our hearts beating, both pumping faster than normal. Why can’t I look at him? I have to be brave... He hasn’t spoken or moved in what seems like forever…

Will he ever move again? He is as still as a statue, and I’m starting to get worried. I open my eyes and look down at him. “Marc?” I say timidly, barely moving my lips. “Baby?”

I’m contemplating whether he has gone into some sort of shock that needs medical assistance when his eyes slowly move up to meet mine. His mouth is still open in surprise, and his eyebrows are slowly coming together to meet in the middle of his forehead. I can tell that he is trying to find the words to express whatever emotions he is feeling, but I can’t tell if the emotions are good or bad. I wish he would say something!

The minutes are gradually passing by. Finally I am so afraid of his silence that I jump up from his lap and secure my robe around my body quickly, planning on the first escape I can find… I am vaguely aware of the football game still playing on the television behind me, but I doubt he can hear it; I doubt he has even noticed that I’ve left his lap. He says nothing as I run from the room through the house back upstairs to fall into the bed, tears falling down my face in anguish. All I can think is that he doesn’t love me anymore. He must have never wanted children, or maybe he just didn’t want kids with me. Maybe he’ll ask me to abort it. And while that’s what I planned on doing anyway, the thought of him wanting that is so painful it brings about a fresh round of hysterical sobs. He doesn’t come upstairs to comfort me, though. And eventually, alone in bed with the silk pillowcase soaked with my tears, I fall into an uneasy sleep.

The morning dawns gray and stormy and when I awaken and check the front windows, I see that Marc’s car is gone. A very bad sign…

Panic overwhelms me again, and I drop right there by the door with my head tucked between my knees, fighting to control the dread threatening to consume me. Marc has never been gone a whole night. We’ve never even had a fight, not a single argument, so this is unprecedented. I don’t have any idea where he would be, and I’m afraid to call and check on him to find out. I will have to wait it out. Hopefully he’ll return soon.

I have no appetite, but I force myself to nibble on some bread so I can take my daily cocktail of pills. Until all the details are ironed out in regards to this pregnancy, I have to keep taking my medicine. Marc’s absence only confirms to me that he doesn’t want this baby, so I don’t feel bad when I wash the pills down with some milk. If he wanted the child, he would have said so last night. But all I got from him was the longest stretch of silence ever…

I want so badly to call Rita, but I’m afraid of what she will say. I’m sure she wants grandchildren, but I’m also sure that Marc has told her about my mother’s visit. And while I’m often surprised by her opinions and feelings when it comes to me, I’m positive that her tolerance with my sickness will only go so far. Besides, I’m certain Marc has already told her. Matter of fact, he’s probably at her house right now…

I run back upstairs and quickly dress in the first things my hands touch from the dresser, not caring what I’m wearing. Once I’m certain I have my wallet, cell phone, and keys, I race down through the house and out of the door to my car. The engine is started and I’m pulling out of the driveway in record time, and it seems as if it takes mere seconds to reach Rita’s house.

Once the car is parked haphazardly on the curb, I run across the wet grass to the front door, glancing through the windshield of Marc’s car in the driveway to make sure he’s not in there. I want to just run in the house, but I also don’t want to impose; what if he doesn’t want to see me? What if they are having a conversation they don’t want me hearing? I’m cowardly enough to knock so they have a chance to stop whatever hurtful discussion they may be engaging in.

Three raps on the door. The wind is whipping the light rain onto me; the cool moisture is welcome on my overheated skin. The seconds pass, and I hear light footsteps approach the door. Someone is looking through the peephole, and then the door slowly opens, Rita standing behind it with an obviously controlled expression on her face. She doesn’t want me to see whatever emotions she is concealing. “Hey, Iris, come on in,” she says softly, and she backs away to let me enter.

I step over the threshold and immediately see Marc asleep on the couch, his lips slightly parted, covered in an old quilt. Rita closes the door and joins me to watch him sleeping. “So,” I say quietly, “I’m sure he told you?”

“Yes,” she says, and she rubs my back.

“Is he okay?” I ask. “Does he not want to see me? I can leave…”

“He panicked last night,” she replies. “He told me he didn’t know how he was feeling about it. He came here to clear his head. He felt horrible about how he left, though. But I convinced him to stay here. It was too late to drive back, and I didn’t want him to drive while he was so emotional…”

“I understand.”

We watch him sleep in silence for a few more moments, and then Rita says, “Have you told Dr. Dillinger?”

“No,” I reply, and I hang my head. “I’m not sure I want to tell her. I don’t know what Marc wants to do, or what I want to do, for that matter. I’ve never been so confused in my life.”

“She’ll need to know. Those medicines you’re on… They can’t be good for the baby.”

I gape at her. “I can’t stop taking my medicine!” I say a little louder than I intended, and then I work to modulate my voice so I don’t wake Marc. “Regardless of whatever, I can’t risk it. I can’t take a chance on anything. I have to be safe, Rita.”

She doesn’t respond, but glances somberly at me, and then back at Marc. She’s worried about us, obviously. And I know that she loves me as if I was her own daughter, but I’m sure if she had a choice, now that she knew I was pregnant, she would have rather we not gotten engaged. I know Marc has told Rita about our conversation the day my mother showed up, and she’s probably worried about what decision we’re going to make now that we know the risks. Rita knows me better than almost anyone, even Marc, so I wonder if she’s going to try to persuade me to go in either direction, or if she’s going to stay out of it altogether. I’m hoping she’ll help us make the right choice. Her medical expertise, along with her important role in our life and relationship, will be valuable.

Marc stirs, and I hurry to his side, dropping to my knees as he opens his eyes. I don’t know what to say to him. He’s looking at me with the strangest expression, like he’s laying eyes on me for the first time in his life, and I’m instantly afraid of what he’s going to say.

But he says nothing. Instead, he rises up, throwing the cover off of him, and then drops to the floor with me to hold me tightly. And I release all of my worries and fears as I lay my head on his shoulder and continue my crying session from last night. Rita comes to join us and wraps her arms around us both, and we all cry together for a while.