The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,84
send her mom into a panic—Kushi was an expert at immediately jumping to the worst conclusion. But as she changed her underwear and added a sanitary napkin, something she hadn’t needed in many months, she’d never been more grateful to have Kushi around.
When she opened the bedroom door, she found her mom on the other side, worry accentuating the lines creasing her face.
“What is wrong, betee?”
Samira managed a wan smile. “How do you do that?”
“You are my child.” Kushi laid a comforting hand on her cheek. “I know you better than I know myself.”
Samira burst into tears, and Kushi bundled her into her arms. If she could be half the mother Kushi was, she’d be doing okay.
If she had a baby to mother.
The thought instantly sobered her, and she eased away, dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Mom, I need to get to the hospital.”
The color drained from Kushi’s face, but to her credit, she didn’t fly into a panic as Samira had expected.
“Do you need an ambulance?”
Samira shook her head. “The cramping has stopped, but I’m spotting.”
“Let’s go.” Kushi slid an arm around her waist, and Samira had never been more grateful to lean against her mom even though she could walk perfectly well.
Growing up, her dad had often teased Kushi for traveling at a snail’s pace in the car. Back then her mom had rarely driven beyond Dandenong, mainly to the market and school. But she’d obviously honed her road skills, because she made it to the hospital in under fifteen minutes, running a yellow light or two.
Kushi pulled up outside the ER. “Will you be okay to go in on your own while I park?”
“Thanks, Mom, I’ll be fine.”
Though she knew the lack of pain after the first two episodes meant nothing; the spotting was a possible indicator to something not being quite right.
“I’ll be back soon,” Kushi said, reaching across the console to squeeze her hand. “Be strong, my girl.”
Emotion clogged Samira’s throat as she forced a half smile before getting out of the car and walking slowly into the ER.
The next two hours flew by in a blur of questions and tests while she waited for the resident ob-gyn to arrive to perform the ultrasound that would provide conclusive evidence of her baby’s condition.
Having her mom bedside, holding her hand, offering soft words of encouragement, should’ve provided comfort. It didn’t, because she couldn’t shake the numbness, a purely defensive mechanism, her body’s way of shutting down her emotions so she wouldn’t sob her heart out if the news wasn’t good.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a youngish woman entered the cubicle, wheeling an ultrasound machine beside her.
“Hi, Samira, I’m Dr. Englehart, and I’ll be performing your ultrasound today.”
The doc made it sound like a routine scan when they knew nothing could be further from the truth.
“Thanks,” Samira said, shooting a quick glance at her mom to find her staring at the doctor with wide, fearful eyes.
Samira believed in God, but she rarely attended church, yet in that moment, as the doctor lifted her robe, squeezed gel on her abdomen, and pressed the ultrasound head onto her, she sent yet another prayer heavenward, one of many in the last few hours.
“Your tests looked good, so let’s see what’s happening in here.”
The doctor moved the probe around, and Samira held her breath, her gaze riveted to the screen, searching for the small pulsing on the screen that would indicate her baby’s heartbeat.
She couldn’t see it, and her throat tightened with sorrow. Kushi clutched her hand so tight her grip bordered on painful, but it was nothing to the pain squeezing her heart at the thought of losing her baby.
“Ah . . . there we are.” The doctor pointed at the screen, and Samira exhaled in relief. “A strong heartbeat, exactly what we want to see.”
Samira’s gaze locked on her mom’s; tears leaked from their eyes simultaneously as the enormity of the ultrasound sunk in.
“Right, everything looks good here.” The doctor removed the ultrasound probe and handed her paper toweling to wipe the gel off her stomach. “But the spotting can be a concern, so please keep a close eye on it, and if you have any doubts, come back in straightaway.” She picked up Samira’s chart and flicked through it again. “After a scare like this, it’s pertinent to point out that because of your age there’s an increased risk for gestational diabetes and preeclampsia, so I’d like to keep a