I wiggle my toes, my fingers. Lift my arms just to make sure all my limbs are still there.
Before I can ask her what’s troubling her, a young, tall woman walks in. Her skin is flawless, her smile contagious.
“Good morning, Deidre. My name is Karrie and I’m your nurse during the day. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she speaks cheerily.
“Mom.” I look at her for answers.
“It’s okay, honey. Let her do what she needs to do, and we will talk when she is done.” She looks to Karrie and nods her head. I watch Karrie skitter from monitor to monitor, hitting buttons, adjusting the drip in my IV. She doesn’t say a word as she takes my blood pressure, my temperature, and my pulse.
“Are you thirsty?” Her smile is warm, her touch feather light on my arm.
“Yes,” I say.
“I’ll give it to her,” Mom says, the two of them exchanging a familiar glance. I’m quickly becoming agitated. Both of them are keeping something from me. Something monumental. I can sense it.
“Sure. I’ll let Dr. Brown knows she’s awake.” Who the hell is Dr. Brown?
“Mom. What the hell is going on?” I ask the minute Karrie is out of sight.
She exhales. Tears swell in her eyes.
“I think we need to wait for your dad.” Turning her back on me, she slumps her shoulders forward.
“Where is he?”
“He went to make a call. He should be back here… here he is. She’s awake.” Her slender frame twists toward him.
Dad comes into my sight. Jesus, he looks worse than my mom. What in the ever-loving hell is going on?
“Damn it,” I say to the both of them. I cough afterward. Mom reaches for the water, bringing it up to my mouth. I sip as much as I can. The cool, crisp tingle feels like heaven soaking into my cotton-dry mouth.
“I know everything that happened before I came to wherever the hell I am, but what I don’t know is, what are you keeping from me? Am I dying? Is my back not healing right? What is it?” One of the monitors beside me starts beeping faster and louder, the sound driving me even crazier than I know I already am.
“Deidre. Calm down. It’s nothing like that at all.” Dad glides to the other side of my bed, then bends down and peppers my face with kisses. “We’ve missed you so much, sweet girl.” He brushes my hair back just like Mom did.
“You’ve been out for three weeks, honey.” His manner is light.
“Three weeks?” I look between the two of them. Christ, I had no idea I was out that long. No wonder I’m lying on my back. The pain from being cut is barely there anymore.
“We’re in Maryland at a woman’s health care retreat facility. You had a nervous breakdown, Deidre. Your mind completely shut down.” I shake my head at my dad’s words. Is this his nice way of saying I’m crazy? That I’ve lost my mind? Because if it is, that’s what I was trying to convey to them all along.
There’s more though than what he’s telling me. I know my parents. My mom isn’t looking at me. She’s caught up in her own head, looking out the window. My dad is looking at her. It’s as if they are both waiting to see who will speak first.
My mom does, and the words that tumble out of her mouth have me gasping, shaking, and screaming one loud “WHAT?”
“You’re pregnant, Deidre,” she repeats.
To say I’m conscious now would mean I have woken from nothingness, neither seeing nor hearing a damned thing. My view of my surroundings goes off into forgetfulness. For the past few weeks, my entire existence has been scattered off into the universe of the unknown. Living in lala land. Those weeks are gone. Poof. Vanished.
But this. Those three words coming from my mom’s mouth I heard loud and clear. How could this be? I’ve always been safe when I had sex, was never unprotected.
“Oh, god.” My brain shoots to my stomach. Immediately, my hands span across there too. “The baby.” Those are the only words I can seem to get out. I clutch my stomach, pain ratcheting to my heart. I’ve been drugged by a madman, then drugged again at the hospital, and now I still have drugs dripping into my arm. I panic, my hand sailing to tear the IV out.
“Deidre, what the hell are you doing?” Strong hands grip me by my shoulders, pressing me back into the bed. My dad’s face is hovering over me.
“Drugs. I’ve been pumped full of them.” I panic.
“And your unborn child will be fine.” A woman steps into my room, wearing black jeans and a white-pink, loose t-shirt. Her gray hair is styled into a sleek bob.
“Good morning, Dr. Brown. As you can see, we’ve just told her.” Mom pulls up a chair beside the bed and sits down, folding her hands in her lap, her sternness screaming at me to stay composed.