Sash: Where the fuck are you? She’s burning up and pissing blood. I’ve called an ambulance. I’ve no clue what the fuck is wrong, and all she’s worried about is you.
I couldn’t drive faster if I tried. I felt so sick, and I made the executive decision to simply throw up in the passenger foot well while driving rather than waste time pulling over. I assumed they took Sarah to the small private hospital where we had gone for her check-ups. I was sure one of the voice mails or texts would tell me, but between driving at breakneck speeds and hurling in my car, I really didn’t have the time to stop and verify. I parked illegally on a grass verge at the hospital and ran towards the reception area, bouncing on my toes as I gave Sarah’s details.
“She’s over in the maternity department. Level three on the anti-natal ward.”
I didn’t say thanks, I didn’t say a word. I ran as fast as I could in the direction I thought I should be going, and just before I entered the building, I threw up in the bin outside, which actually made me feel a whole lot better.
Instead of waiting on the lift, I took the stairs two, three, and four at a time. I pressed the buzzer on the wall by the double doors that were blocking my path and explained who I was when a voice crackled, “Good afternoon, can I help you?”
There were three nurses, some midwives, and who the fuck knew who else all standing at the desk as I entered.
“Sarah Delaney,” was all I said. I felt as if I were about to have a fucking heart attack. I must have looked like it too, judging by the way the women were looking at me.
“Are you okay, sir?” one of them asked.
I leant forward and braced my hands on my knees so I could catch my breath, managing to shake my head.
“No. My wife. Sarah Delaney. My phone died. I had no charger.”
Why the fuck was I even bothering to explain?
“Room twelve,” the woman who was standing on the other side of the counter said, and I started moving.
“Sir, wait. The doctors are with your wife now. I need . . .”
I ignored her, and I was at the door of room twelve before she could round the counter.
My eyes found hers the moment I stepped into the room.
She looked tiny in the large hospital bed, propped up on a mountain of pillows and hooked up to two drips and a shit ton of machinery.
In the five seconds it took for me to observe all of that, Sarah burst into tears. I passed white coats—at least two—but kept walking. Being careful of the drips, blood pressure cuff, and the monitors she was hooked up to, I slid onto the bed and pulled her into my lap. Wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight. Not giving a shit about my vomit breath, I kissed her hair and face. I brushed away her tears before giving up and falling apart with her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. My phone died and because I didn’t think I was gonna be gone for so long, I didn’t take my charger. I called the house but got no answer and I couldn’t remember anyone’s mobile numbers. I called the office, but Mel’s at an expo and Liz is at her nan’s funeral, and I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. The baby’s okay.” She tried to reassure me.
“You’re far from okay, Sarah. Now, tell him the fucking truth.”
That came from Sasha, not one of the doctors that were standing staring at what was unfolding right in front of them.
Sasha stood from the chair she was sitting on in the corner.
“I’m gonna go grab a coffee and then go home. You lot need to explain to Richard Branson here exactly what’s going on with his wife while he’s been jet-setting around the planet building his empire.”
Sasha left, and the doctors stared after her for a few seconds before turning back to Sarah and me.
“Mr Delaney, Sarah is suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum, which basically means severe morning sickness. This led to her becoming dehydrated, which in turn led to a water infection. She’s somewhat malnourished and severely lacking in iron.”
“Why didn’t her doctor do something? I said this wasn’t right. I said that something more needed to be done.”
I was fucking angry. With myself, the doctors, everyone.
“We’ll be having a word with Doctor Abella in due time, but Sarah and the baby are our priority right now. We’ve set her up on a drip to get some fluids into her. She’s also receiving some blood as well as a vitamin infusion, some anti-nausea medication and some antibiotics to fight off the water infection.”
“Is all of that safe? For her and the baby?”
“Perfectly. We wouldn’t be administering them otherwise.”
We had a little stare down the two doctors and me, and I refused to look away.
“We’d like Sarah to stay in for the next couple of day—”
“No. I—” Sarah complained from where she was tucked tightly into me.
“Shhh,” I said against her head, “you’re sick, bub. You need to stay here for a few days and let the doctors do their stuff and get you well.”