“Yes,” I reply, my answer rote. The statement is ubiquitous—everything is recorded.
“Excellent. I’m not sure if you remember me from the other day? You were in a bit of a woozy state when you were brought in, and I wanted to check in on how you’re doing.”
I have no clue who Mack Jenkins is, or any recollection of meeting him. But faking recognition seems the best approach.
“Oh, I remember,” I reply. “I’m doing well, thank you for asking.”
I rub the moisturizer in circles until it disappears into my skin, only half-listening. Then I dab some on my ears and the back of my neck, knowing that I no longer have time to style my hair. A low bun it is.
“I am sure glad to hear that, Mrs. Crewson,” Mack says, his already energetic tone ticking up another few notches. “Now, I’ve got a couple of things to send over to you. Your follow-up appointments. Your first momma meeting location. We need you to fill out the list for preferred times for—”
“That all sounds great, thank you. And please, call me Tilly.” I cut him off, as I still need to put on pants and makeup. “I’m racing to get ready for work. Can you send it through and I’ll respond when I get a moment?”
“Oh goodness. We must have our wires crossed!” Mack laughs and I join in, though it’s only to be polite. I’m irritated with Mack Jenkins and his inability to get to the point. I miss the days of communicating exclusively by text, or email, or even with a direct message on social media. Our phones were used sparingly as actual telephones then, most often to speak with those who never fully embraced digital communication. Aging parents. School administrators. Insurance companies.
“You’re on home rest, Mrs. Crewson—pardon me, Tilly.”
I stare at the phone. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’ve been placed on home rest.” Mack’s voice slows, and he enunciateshomeandrest. “Says here your blood pressure was a tad higher than we like to see, and your husband—I presume you’re married to Mr. Wyatt Crewson?”
“I am.” My watch buzzes.Time for breath work, Tilly?My heart rate is up to eighty-one beats now.
“I have a note here that Mr. Crewson requested additional support for your pregnancy.” There’s a pause. I almost hear atsk-tskin the silence. As though this Mack Jenkins person thinks Wyatt shouldn’t have had to make the request; as though I should have been more careful in the first place about my blood pressure, so he didn’t have to ask.
“So doctor’s appointments, meetups with your MotherHelper group, and daily neighborhood walks are the only approved outings you’ll be enjoying for a time. Breath work and meditation classes can be done at home, for now.”
I start sputtering a response, and he interrupts me. “This is temporary, Tilly. Until we’re sure here at MotherWise that you and that little nugget of yours are healthy as can be.”
“But I am healthy! And so is the plum.”
“The who?” he asks.
“The baby. We call it that because…It doesn’t matter. The point is, we’re doing really,reallywell.” I try to relax, to make my voice sound smooth and unbothered. But I’m upset, especially by the news that Wyatt is the reason for this. “I’m confident I don’t need to be on home rest, Mr. Jenkins.”
Was this what Wyatt was speaking with Dale about? In the medical center Friday, when they were outside the room and my earshot. Asking Dale’s opinion, perhaps, about how Raoul might respond to this home rest request?
“Mr. Jenkins, can I ask when my husband called in for this extra ‘support’?” My annoyance rises along with my heartbeat.Time for breath work, Tilly?I touch the ignore box on the screen.
“Hmm, let’s see here. Looks like Saturday evening, eight twelve p.m.”
Saturday evening. After Jenn and Maeve’s visit, after he ran me a bath, before saying he had an email to send and would be right back.
“I’m feeling great.” I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror, noticethe new lines at the corners of my eyes. “Can’t I just…cancel this home rest, or something?”
“I am sure glad you’re feeling well, Tilly, but these are your ob-gyn’s orders.”
“Dr. Fillia?” Again, why has no one told me anything about this? Not to mention, I’m her patient, not Wyatt—so why didn’t I get a notification from the office about this change?
There’s a clicking of computer keys. “Oh, Dr. Fillia isn’t in the Enhanced Care program, Tilly. You’ve been assigned to Dr. Rice. Lovely man. He took care of my wife. You’re in great hands.”
More key clicking. What is he typing? I envision the note in my file:Mrs. Mathilde Crewson appears resistant to her home rest order…regular check-ins to ensure compliancy are strongly recommended…
“Since you had two spells in a row, Dr. Rice wants you to prioritize rest,” Mack says.
Two “spells.”Damn it.Also, who is this Dr. Rice now making decisions about my ability to work?
“Mr. Jenkins, is there someone I can speak with? I have an important project at work right now, and it’s impossible for me to be away.”
