Violet

My lungs hurt, it’s hard to breathe, and I just want to go home and crawl into bed. Unfortunately, per the usual lately, I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with this project and I can’t leave.

“Violet, you sure you don’t want to go and lie down for a little while? You’re looking sort of pale,” Gene says.

Gene is sweet. He’s the total nerd package, though, all work and zero play. I know computer nerds are in style lately, but Gene isn’t the cool kind of nerd. He’s the nerdy kind of nerd. I find it amusing that a person who is so socially inept is a major computer designer for one of the largest social media platforms of our time.

I cough, and it hurts so bad my eyes water. “No thanks, the sooner we get done, the sooner I can go home to bed, so let’s just hurry, okay?”

“Sure, Violet, got it, hurry,” he mutters to himself, and I tap halfheartedly on my keyboard.

When I look up twenty minutes later after a long coughing jag, Gene looks like he’s at the end of a long tunnel. He’s talking to me, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. The next thing I remember is Marie gently patting my cheek and telling someone to call an ambulance.

I try to open my eyes and tell her it’s not necessary and that I probably just passed out from coughing so hard, but I close my eyes and they are gone again.

The next time I come around, I’m looking into the face of a man in scrubs.

“Hello, Miss Washington, how are you feeling?”

I feel something pressing on my face and reach up to see what’s causing the discomfort.

“Oh no, let’s just leave that there for a while. We’re giving you some oxygen. You’ve got quite a bad case of pneumonia. Have you been to the doctor for your wheezing recently?” he asks, and a nurse enters the room and hands him a chart with my name on it.

“No I uh, I’ve been so busy at work and I just thought it was a bad cold or something. I have pneumonia? Are you sure? I don’t think I felt that bad,” I say, my voice cracking and croaking.

“Yes, I’m quite sure. Your oxygen saturation was in the upper seventies, low eighties when they brought you in. You fainted in your office, do you remember that?”

He’s flipping through the pages of the chart while he talks. Something he sees makes him stop suddenly.

“Sort of, I remember having tunnel vision and then I woke up for a minute, but other than that, not so much.”

Little spirals of smoke rise from the mask that’s muffling my speech. I watch them swirl up and away from my face and try to think about exactly how long I’ve been sick. It’s been a week, maybe ten days. I’ve been working so hard the past two months and my immune system is shot. I’ve caught every bug that’s gone around the office. I just figured this was another viral thing that I’d get over on my own. I guess not.

“Ah, Violet . . . is it okay if I call you Violet?” the doctor asks. At least I think he’s a doctor.

“Yes, sure.”

“I have some lab results here that I need to discuss with you.”

I blink. My eyelids are heavy, but I open them wide and make an effort to stay alert. Lab results, he needs to talk. Okay, pay attention, Violet, and then you can go back to sleep.

“Whenever we get someone in the ER who is unconscious, we order a few blood tests for the patient’s safety.”

“Okay, blood tests. Go on.” I’m so fucking tired and my chest is so heavy, I could really care less about the blood tests. Just give me something to make me better so I can go home to my own bed.

“Were you aware that you’re pregnant?” he asks.

I’m sure I just heard him wrong. I’m sick. I’m here for pneumonia. He didn’t just try to tell me I’m pregnant.

“Violet? I’m going to take it that your lack of response and the shock on your face means that you weren’t aware of this.”

“Did you say I’m pregnant? As in a baby?” I ask.

I’m shocked as fucking hell. No, I wasn’t fucking aware of this, mostly because it can’t be true, it isn’t true. I’m on the pill, I always use protection . . .

“Oh my God,” I say, my voice nothing but a whisper. Major and I didn’t use a condom the second night we spent together, and we had sex four, five . . . hell, I don’t even know how many times. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. I’ve just started to make it through an entire day without thinking of him, without my heart bleeding in my chest.

“Yes, as in a baby. You’re about eight weeks along. When was your last period?”

I think back. Crap, I know I had a period the week before we left for the wedding because I was happy I wasn’t going to have it while I was on vacation. I’ve been working so hard, I didn’t even realize I missed it last month.

“The end of April, first week of May.”

“Well, that lines up perfectly with what your blood results say. We will have to do an ultrasound to verify the pregnancy and get an actual due date, but I’d guess around the last week of January or the first week in February is when you’ll be full term. Were you using birth control?”

“Yes, the pill,” I say, staring straight ahead of me at an ugly painting of a field full of daisies. Why do they always have such ugly artwork in hospitals? Why do they have artwork in the ER at all?

I’m on the pill. This isn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know shit about babies. I was a computer nerd growing up. I didn’t babysit like the other girls my age. I fixed computers, I was in the computer science club, I tutored people in chemistry and physics. God, what am I going to do?

“Birth control pills are 99% effective. This doesn’t happen often, but obviously it happens sometimes. I’m sure you have a lot of things on your mind right now, so I’ll let you rest while this sinks in. We can talk about an ultrasound in the morning when you’ve had some antibiotics and a few breathing treatments. Is there anyone we can call for you, someone to come sit with you for a while, bring you some things perhaps? You’ll be here a couple of days for the pneumonia.

“My phone, it’s in the pocket of my sweatshirt. I need to call my mom.”

The good doctor rummages through a plastic bag that I assume is holding all of my belongings and pulls out my phone. I don’t even want to know how I got undressed and into this gown. Lord, I hope Gene didn’t have anything to do with that.

“Here you go, you have a couple of friends in the waiting area. Would you like me to send them back or tell them you’re too tired?” he asks.

I really just want to sleep, but I would feel bad if I didn’t thank whoever came with me to the hospital.

“They can come in, but doctor . . . what was your name again?”

“Dr. Kumar, I apologize. I don’t think I introduced myself.”

“That’s okay, Dr. Kumar, could you please not mention the pregnancy thing to anyone?”

He reaches out and covers my hand with his. “Of course, it’s a HIPPA violation to discuss your condition with anyone who’s not involved in your care.”

His hand is cool on mine. It feels good. I must have a fever, because it’s hotter than hell in here. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched me with any tenderness. Eight weeks, to be exact. It’s nice. He has a good bedside manner, and he’s not hard to look at either, with his big, dark eyes and his longish jet-black hair pushed off his forehead with a chunk flopping in his eye. All right, this is ridiculous. I must be feverish. I’m having flirty thoughts about my physician, and I’m sick and pregnant.

And alone.

Shit, I need my mother.

Dr. Kumar smiles and slides my chart into a slot at the end of the bed before leaving.

“Rest. I’ll see you on rounds in the morning.”

“I’ll be right here,” I say, holding up my arm to show him that I’m tethered to my IV. He chuckles and tilts his head to the side for a moment. He’s thinking, but it doesn’t feel like he’s thinking Doctor thoughts. He looks like he’s thinking man thoughts.

“Goodnight, Violet,” he says and closes the door.

My God, this has got to be the biggest shit storm I’ve ever been in. I have pneumonia, I fainted, I rode in an ambulance for the first time, and I don’t even remember it. I’m hospitalized, pregnant, and I’m pretty sure my hot doctor is interested in me as more than a patient.

I press Mom on my contact list and she answers on the first ring.

“Violet, what’s wrong? You never call this late, are you okay?”

Wow, now that’s a loaded question. I think I’ll start with the pneumonia and work up from there.

“Not really, Mom. I’m in the hospital. Apparently, I have pneumonia. Can you come and bring me my toothbrush and stuff? The doctor says I’ll be here a couple of days.”

“Violet Rhea Washington, I told you days ago to see a doctor about that cough. You didn’t listen to me, did you?”

It’s obvious I didn’t, but moms will be moms, so I give her this.

“No, I’m sorry. I was so busy at work. I just didn’t take the time.”

“You’ve been working entirely too much lately. You’ve worn down your immune system and now you’re really sick. I can’t believe—”

“Mom,” I say, interrupting her rant.

“What?”

“Will you please just come? It’s hard to breathe. I can’t talk anymore.”

What an awesome excuse, and it’s even true. I’ve been holding up the oxygen mask to talk to her and it’s harder to breathe.

“Yes, of course, I’m coming.”

“Do you still have a key to my apartment?”

“Yes, I’ll stop and get you some things.”

“Thanks, Mom, and Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Good Lord, I better get up there. You must be delusional. You never tell me you love me anymore.”

“Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry up.”

I hear her huff and hang up the phone. She’s right. I don’t tell her I love her enough. I don’t do anything lately other than work. I’m going to need her support now more than ever. I’d better get out the pink hearts and red markers and start proclaiming my love—and often.

* * *

For a place where you’re supposed to rest and heal, they sure as hell wake you up enough. I haven’t slept longer than an hour all night.

Mom arrived around midnight, and luckily, that’s when the nurse wanted to check my vital signs and the respiratory therapist stopped by for a friendly chat and a breathing treatment. But that’s where the convenience ended. Since two a.m., my room has been a constant stream of changing IV bags, hanging different antibiotics, and checking my temperature. I plan on complaining to my new favorite, Dr. Kumar, as soon as the sun comes up.

I’m envious of my mother sleeping in her cot by the window. Last night was proof that she can sleep through absolutely anything. Maybe it’s because I feel so crappy, or I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that I have a human being growing inside of me that I didn’t even notice for two months. I’m off to a great start at this mothering thing.

The hardest part of the whole thing is that I know I’m going to have to confront Major. He’s the father, there’s no doubt. I haven’t slept with anyone for months before or after him, and even then, I insisted on using a condom.

What the hell was I thinking? How could I be so careless? I can’t even take comfort in knowing that it was fifty percent his fault because he asked me before we did it.

In the heat of the moment—yep, been there, done that. Big time.

I try to turn onto my left side and get tangled up in my damn IV and oxygen tubing. The oxygen yanks my head the opposite direction, and I yelp.

“Oh, hey there, let me help you with that,” Dr. Kumar says, hustling from the door to the bedside. He surprised me. I didn’t know he’d be rounding so early.

“I can’t move in here. I’m hung up on something over here, and my face is—”

“Shush, shush, just hold still, I’ll fix it.”

And he does. My arm is stuck on one side of the bed where my IV is tangled in the bedside rail. Dr. Kumar carefully tugs it free, and I’m given enough leash to roll to my side.

“Thank you,” I murmur through the oxygen mask. It’s just barely dawn outside, and the room is slowly growing lighter as I watch Dr. Kumar work at untangling my oxygen tubing. I didn’t notice last night, but he has the most beautiful thick black eyelashes. He catches me staring at him and smiles.

When I’m tangle free, I thank him again.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I can’t have you hanging yourself with tubing when I’m trying to fix your lungs. How are those lungs this morning anyway? Are you feeling any better?”

He removes the stethoscope from his neck and places it on my chest.

“Deep breath in.”

I do as I’m told and answer one of his questions between breaths.

“They hurt.”

“Again, inhale. Good, now exhale.”

His voice is hypnotic, like one of those meditation tracks you listen to when you’re trying to relax.

“And no, I feel like shit,” I say when he lifts the stethoscope and places it down on another part of my chest.

“Blunt and to the point. I like that,” he says and winks at me—he winked! What kind of doctor winks at his patients? It’s right then that I realize I must look like total crap. My breath can’t smell that great either, and I just breathed all up in his face. Gross.

I must be imagining that this man is flirting with me. No way would anyone in their right mind be attracted to a pale, sick pregnant chick with morning dragon breath.

“You sound pretty crappy too. How did you sleep?” he asks.

“Try not at all. These people are crazy, running in and out of here every five minutes, and then there is the fact that I just found out I’m pregnant.”

“Hmm, I’ll speak to the nurses about clustering your cares better so you can get a few hours of sleep at a time. I’m afraid I can’t help you with the pregnancy issue, but I will say I think I’ll wait on the ultrasound until you’re feeling a little better.”

“Pregnancy?” I hear Mom say as she swings her legs around the side of her cot, slapping her feet on the floor.

“Who’s pregnant?” she says, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“I’m so sorry, I assumed . . .” Dr. Kumar says.

“It’s okay, you actually just helped me out. I had no idea how I was going to bring it up to her. Dr. Kumar, this is my mother, Lilly. Mom, this is . . .”

“Dr. Kumar, yeah, yeah, I heard. Now what’s this about being pregnant? Is that true, Violet?”

“I’ll leave you two alone to talk. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Washington,” he says to my mother, but she ignores him. Her focus is all on me. He may as well not be in the room.

“I’ll talk to the nurses and I’ll be back this afternoon to check on you again.”

“Thank you so much. If I’m asleep, don’t wake me,” I say and give him a half-ass smile because that’s all I can muster right now.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” And he’s gone, and I’m alone with my mother.

“What the hell is going on, Violet?” she says, getting up from her cot. She moves to the side of my bed, and I’m actually a little afraid of her. I start to cough and cough. I try to explain what’s going on, but I’ve been talking too much. I can’t breathe, and I start to panic, and I cough harder. I grab for her hand. Alarms start to go off and she’s yelling for a nurse, but they’re already coming through the door with Dr. Kumar hot on their heels.

“Violet, you need to calm down. Take deep breaths, okay? Like this.” Dr. Kumar holds my hands in his and demonstrates how he wants me to breathe, but I can’t. There’s just not enough air. I pull one of my hands free and try to yank the oxygen mask off my face. It’s restricting. I’m suffocating in this stupid piece of plastic.

“What’s wrong with her? What’s happening?” my mom yells.

“Mrs. Washington, you need to stay calm. Let us help her,” Dr. Kumar says to her.

“I . . . can’t . . . breathe . . .” I say, panting between each word. Dr. Kumar takes my hand away from the mask and I thrash, trying to get away from him while he replaces it, holding it over my mouth.

“Turn the O2 up to 100%, call RT stat, and get a breathing treatment going here, and push 2mg of Morphine.”

Dr. Kumar gives the nurses orders, but his eyes never leave mine.

“Violet, we’re helping you, but you need to keep the mask on. That’s oxygen. I know you feel trapped, but it’s helping you, I promise. I’m getting you a breathing treatment and something to help you relax. Deep breaths in and out, that’s a girl. You can do it.”

The longer he talks to me in that calm voice of his, the easier it is to breathe. I do my best to follow his instructions, but it feels like forever before the respiratory therapist arrives to start the breathing treatment. My arm where the IV is feels warm, and then my chest, and finally, I’m able to loosen my death grip on Dr. Kumar’s hands.

“There you go. You’re going to be okay now. Your airway was restricted and the coughing didn’t help, but you’re okay now.”

I nod. I’m scared to do anything more than that. I feel like if I talk, I’ll cough and if I cough, then that shit will happen again.

“I’m sorry, Vie, I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. Everything’s going to be okay, we’re going to get you better, and we will sort through all of this together. You’re not alone. I’m here for you.”

I’m relieved to hear she’s got my back on the whole pregnancy thing.

“We are going to keep a close eye on you now, Violet. I know I said I’d ask the nurses to let you rest, but that’s not an option right now. Are you feeling better? You look better. You have some color in your cheeks again,” he says, squeezing my hands.

I nod again and he releases my hands. I immediately miss the calming warmth they were providing. I wish he could just leave his hands here. I wish he would stay here, all of him. I don’t know if it’s the lack of oxygen to my brain or what, but I think I’m starting to crush on my doctor.