She moved out of my line of vision, and I heard a door creak. Seconds later, she was back, a thin cloth blanket in her hands that was identical to the one already spread across me. She put it over the first one, and warmth instantly soaked into my bones. It was almost as comforting as being in Trevor’s arms after a bad day. Although not quite.
“Ready?” the doctor asked, addressing the anesthesiologist.
“Yup,” was the reply, and then the man in charge of the medicine that would put me under focused on me. “I’m going to start the drugs now. I want you to count backward from ten. Okay?”
I swallowed, then began. “Ten. Nine…” My eyelids grew heavy. I blinked, managed to open them. “Eight…” My eyes fluttered shut. “Seven…”
Darkness surrounded me.
Slowly, I became aware of quiet chatter, but I was unable to focus on it or open my eyes. Where was I? I couldn’t remember, and I didn’t understand why my mouth was so dry. Had I passed out after a night of drinking? No. I couldn’t drink because I was pregnant. Or was I?
“She’s coming to,” a familiar female voice said.
“Arabella,” another woman whispered, “How are you feeling?”
“Ara,” I mumbled.
A hand patted my arm, and I suddenly recalled the nurse’s compassionate expression as she spread a blanket over me. That was when I remembered where I was. The Department of Fertility. I was having surgery. Was having what should have been a baby scraped out of my uterus, because it wasn’t a baby. It was tumors. Wasn’t I supposed to be counting?
“How are you feeling?” the nurse repeated.
I forced my eyes open, squinting against the bright lights, and looked around. I wasn’t in the operating room anymore. The nurse was at my side, Hilary behind her, and the doctor and anesthesiologist were gone. Had the surgery already happened? It must have, but to me it felt as if only seconds ago, I’d been counting.
“Is it over?” I asked.
“It is.” The nurse patted my arm again. “Everything went as planned.”
“Good,” I said, letting out a long sigh.
“We want to observe you for a bit before you go home, so just rest. Okay?”
“Okay,” I mumbled, my eyelids already trying to shut again.
“Can I get you any water?” the nurse asked.
“Sure,” I replied, the word coming out thick and sticky, as if it were coated in honey.
My eyes were closed, but I still registered the thud of footsteps crossing the room. Since my mouth felt as dry as the Mojave Desert, I tried to cling to consciousness until the nurse returned, but apparently failed, because the next time I woke to the sound of voices, I cracked an eye to find a small paper cup sitting on the table next to me. I shifted to a half sitting position and reached for it while looking around, at first taking in Hilary – who was staring at her phone – and then the nurse and another woman.
I’d only seen Bette a handful of times, and in my groggy state, I didn’t register who she was at first or that she was here for me. Between the anesthesia and the whirlwind morning, I’dcompletely forgotten that I hadn’t been able to get in touch with Trevor and had been forced to call a virtual stranger. A very friendly stranger, something that was emphasized when Bette noticed me sitting up and her face broke out into a wide smile, but a stranger, still.
“Hey, you!” she said, coming to the bed and taking my hand like we were old friends. “How are you doing?”
The tilt of her head and sympathy in her eyes told me she understood why I was here, but since patient privacy hadn’t been a big concern so far, that wasn’t a surprise. She’d probably been filled in either by the receptionist or one of the nurses.
“Been better,” I mumbled, then gulped down the small amount of water in the cup.
Seeing that it was empty, Bette took it and turned her back to me, my hand still in hers. “Can she get some more water, please?”
She was addressing Hilary, who was scrolling through social media, and my fertility counselor jumped as if startled, then looked around. “Me?”
“You work for the Department of Fertility, don’t you?” Bette asked. “I mean, itisyour job to make sure she’s well, right?”
Hilary scowled but shoved her phone in her pocket and crossed the room, taking the cup from Bette. The sour expression was still on her face when she hurried from the room.
“Thanks,” I said when Bette and I were alone.
“No problem.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s okay with me, but I know how she is with the girls who aren’t thrilled about the program.”
