Page 93 of A Really Bad Idea

I look at myself in my t-shirt and decide I should be an adult tonight. I slide on silk pajamas and then head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I smile at the sight of his toothbrush sitting in the holder.

In the living room, Christian is sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, an iPad in his hand and a medical journal on his lap. He’s looking at the scans and flipping through the screen in serious concentration.

I take the romance novel off the bookshelf and take a seat on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out my legs until they’re just touching him.

Christian lays a hand on my foot and gently rubs it as he does his work.

I open my book and read.

It’s been said, the one thing you can’t control is the weather. We can control our careers and our diets and, to some degree, our personal relationships. It is an undeniable truth that you can’t stop the rain clouds from forming and pouring down buckets of condensation. I whip open my umbrella and run out of the office. You might not be able to control it, but you can prepare for it.

The weather saying is only partly true. While you can’t control if it will be rain or shine, you also can’t prevent many diseases. Sure, with a healthy lifestyle, there are many you can control. Certain cancers, nerve and spine disease, and heart valve deterioration are not one of them.

My mother has had mitral valve prolapse her entire adult life. It was never a big deal. Taking an antibiotic when she went to the dentist was the extent of her coronary care. As time went by, she felt flutters, got sick, and had to have the valve replaced. We joked at the time that she was part pig because she had a replacement valve made of porcine tissue. She didn’t care for the jokes, and we laid off, living life as we had before. It was fine until recently when her seemingly healthy life took a one-eighty.

As I walk from my office to the hospital with my umbrella shielding me from the sideways rain, I’m reminded of just how many things you can’t control.

Maybe that’s why having a baby is important to me. It’s something I can achieve on my own without having to rely on fate. Sure, I might need Dr. Abbot’s help, but whether it’s natural, in vitro, or adoption, I know I will become a mother. I can seize control in this world that can be as unpredictable as the fact that, by the time I make it to the front entrance of St. Xavier, the rain has subsided, and a small ray of early evening sun is trying to poke through the clouds.

“How’s the little patient doing?” I say, chipper although I’m exhausted from a ten-hour shift.

Mom’s been in the hospital for four days. I’ve been up here on my lunch breaks and every night after work. Her charts haven’t been looking good, but I’ve been advised by my boss and his son to keep her spirits high.

“I come bearing gifts from the outside world.” I hold out a decaf latte and a white bag with a blueberry scone.

“You are a godsend. Put it on the table.” She’s lying on her side and taking her time to get up. Her movements are staggered as she pushes her body up the mattress like she weighs a thousand pounds. “I asked your brother to bring me up a sandwich for lunch, and he refused. I tried to explain I’m not here because I have clogged arteries. I want real food.”

I chuckle as I shrug off my coat and put my wet belongings in the corner. “A heart-healthy diet is to prepare you for surgery, so I made sure the scone is sugar-free, and the latte is skinny.”

“Is the surgery happening? I’m sick of this place. All they do is take blood and portable chest x-rays.” She gasps for breath. “And I’m having the damnedest time, catching my breath.”

I don’t have my stethoscope with me, or I’d listen to her lungs myself. “We’ll get it checked out.”

Mom takes her latte and peels back the plastic top, taking a sip. She moans at the goodness. “That is delicious. Would you like candy?”

She opens her side table drawer. There’s twice as much in it as there was when she came the first night. Dad is keeping his lady well stocked.

I lean over, grab a few Riesens, and plop into the wooden chair. “Where’s Dad?”

“He went to get dinner in the cafeteria.”

“I wish I had known. I would have joined him.”

“He’s a funny duck. I wish he’d go home with you and get real sleep. That recliner can’t be comfortable.”

“I’ve asked a dozen times,” I say with a sigh, unwrapping my caramel. “I’m lucky I got him to visit me at the office today. You’ll be happy to know, I brought him a tray of chicken parmigiana, so he had a home-cooked lunch. He left it in the refrigerator at the office. I thought he would go crazy, being away from you for the thirty minutes he was there.”

She tries to sit up a little more, so I grab her coffee and give her a hand.

“When the nurse comes in, I’ll ask if I can have a listen to your back,” I say, noticing the wheezing coming out of her mouth.

“Oh, you’ll love her. She’s absolutely beautiful and just the sweetest. I think she gets collagen injections in her lips.” Mom takes another sip of her latte and then waits a beat before continuing, “When this is over, I’m thinking of getting my own lips done as a reward.” She runs a finger over her thinning mouth. “This girl is perfect for Christian.”

I chew the chocolate-flavored caramel and swallow. “Mom, he works on this floor. If he hasn’t made a love connection, then chances are, they’re not interested in each other.” I unwrap another candy.

“Natasha and Christian dated already. I’m going to get them back together.”

I pop another candy in my mouth. “I should have figured.”