I haven't been to church in a while. There's something hypocritical about going when you've gone against the conventions of your religion, not that I was particularly religious in the first place. Since I found out about my pregnancy, I've curtailed my visits to only when it's absolutely necessary to attend, like Easter. I wasn't a virgin before but that wasn't something that could be proven, only now, I'm pregnant and have a growing bump as proof that I've sinned, as one member of the congregation whispered a few weeks back when I attended Mass.
This week, however, I've felt closer to my religion than ever before. But not connected in a good way, more like a sense that I'm being punished by God for my decisions. Getting pregnant out of wedlock only to then have something go wrong with my baby seems like just deserts in my eyes. I deserved what is happening to my baby because of what I'd done.
"Charlotte," Father McGuire sighed, not for the first time. I'd been at St. Patrick's almost every day, discussing my fears with the priest, to the point that even he was getting fed up of hearing the same thing on more than ten occasions. "How many times need I tell you that this has nothing to do with you having sex outside of marriage? I know I'm supposed to be one of those that think that God created all children but science is compelling and this, what's happening with your child, that's science- biology- not God or religion or punishment. Stop blaming yourself for what is happening because this isn't something that you've caused nor could you prevent."
Part of me- the rational part of me- knew that what he was saying was true but at the same time, I was plagued by the idea that it was all my fault. My actions had led to my baby being sick and I had no one else to blame but myself.
"I've been telling her this for the past two days," I hear Isaac's now overly familiar Australian accent say, his tone full of exasperation. Since he dragged me to see Dr Copeland on Wednesday, Isaac hasn't left my side; he's taken the past two days off work just so that he could keep me sane. He leans over the back of my pew from the row behind and says, "Lottie, I've never lied to you and I won't ever lie to you. I'm in a house of God, it's a sin to lie, so trust me when I say that everything will be ok ."
"What if it's not, Isaac?" I say in despair. "What if it's not going to be ok? I want to trust you but..."
No matter what anyone says to me, I can't help but think the worst. I've read up on Ventricular Septum Defects and it's not all roses in the garden. In fact, it's the opposite. Doom and gloom. Isaac keeps telling me not to look on Google because it's not reliable, but when there's something wrong with your child, you want to be as informed as possible, even if the information is the worst case scenario.
"What has the doctor said?" Father McGuire asks, quirking an eyebrow at me.
"Nothing yet," I answer, trying not to steal a glance at Isaac. I can see him tense up at my side and I know why. I'd overheard him speaking to Martha about the situation last night when they both thought I was asleep, and I heard Isaac admit that he blamed himself for the worry that was burdening me. He blames himself because he was the one that heard the murmur during the ultrasound, he was the one that dragged me to Dr Copeland, and he was the one that had to sit by and watch me torture myself, unable to do anything to alleviate that worry. I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and tell him that it was going to be alright, but how can I do that when I don't even believe the words myself? "We have an appointment shortly with the cardiologist to do all the necessary scans and tests and stuff."
Father McGuire nods enthusiastically. "Well, that's great. I'm sure he'll put your mind at rest and perhaps, after that, it might be a good idea to get away from London for a few days. I know that you and Isaac haven't had time together yet-"
"How do you know that?" I can't help but ask.
"Emma told me," the priest answers, giving my younger sister's name as his source of information. "But wouldn't time away from here, just the two of you, be good? Your relationship is still relatively new and I'm sure you have a lot to discuss. I hear a babymoon is a thing nowadays."
I can't help but laugh at the man's casual use of the term 'babymoon.' Granted, it wasn't the worst idea I'd ever heard of but at the same time, Isaac and I had obligations here in London and we couldn't simply leave, even for a few days.
Could we?
Who'd take care of the business? Who'd take care of Martha and make sure she didn't get arrested again? Who'd look after Isaac's patients?
But a short break does sound like a lovely idea.
It was an idea that I mulled over even after Isaac and I arrived at the hospital to meet with Dr Copeland. I know I should have been focusing on all the tests and scans and what not that they were conducting but if I thought about all of those things, I would only worry more and that would stress the baby and with the baby's heart being fragile, it was best not to stress the baby out too much either.
So, holiday planning it was. If Isaac could only get away for a few days, perhaps a few days in Ireland would be good. Dublin, perhaps. Wait, no, not Dublin. Dublin is full of family members and if they knew that I was there, they'd want to spend time with me and I was trying to de-stress. Simply the thought of being stuck in the same city as my grandmother, Harlow Delaney, was enough to give me a heart attack.
Not Ireland, then. Maybe France. I haven't been there in ages, excluding all the times I've been to Paris. My uncle, Christophe Clément, has a guest house on his property in Lambesc that would be a good place to hide out in for a day or two. It's close enough to Marseille so we could fly there but also have things to do once we're there.
Plus, it'll give Isaac that chance to immerse himself in my culture, learn some French and perhaps it would help him change his mind about the whole... intimacy issues.
"Charlotte?" Isaac's voice cuts through my thoughts as his hand nudges against mine. "Have you even been listening?"
I blush. "Sorry, I was thinking about other stuff. What's going on? Is everything ok? There's not more bad news is there?"
"No, no more bad news. I just wanted to show you your baby's heart. Ok, see that there," Dr Copeland says, pointing at the orange colour on the screen. It's been a few days since I was last here because we needed to be 'officially' referred to the cardiologist, but now that Isaac and I are back in this familiar exam room, I was finally going to get all the answers I needed. Dr Copeland, in full doctor mode, points at the various areas of the image. "This orange bit here is the right ventricle and this one here is the left ventricle. This other orange bit that goes from the right to the left ventricle, that shouldn't be there. This shows us that there is a hole in the ventricular septum that it letting the blood travel between the ventricles, meaning that oxygenated blood and deoxygenated blood are mixing."
From the Googling I did yesterday, I know that they classify VSD based on several factors, including where the hole is and how big it is. Membranous VSD is near the valves of the heart and can close at any time while muscular VSD is in the lower part of the septum, surrounded by muscle, and can close in early childhood. So far, so good, until I read on and found that none of that really mattered because it all came down to the size of the hole.
Small ones will close on their own. Medium ones are less likely to close on their own and may require surgery, with symptoms in early childhood. Large ones are the worst, obviously, and will definitely need surgery.
So far, Dr Copeland wasn't giving me any answers that would lessen the stress I feel.
"From what I can see, it's a muscular VSD," Dr Copeland said, squinting his eyes at the screen as he looked at the image. "That's good, the ideal really because it's easier to treat. It's relatively small at just 2mm. The heart is pumping blood rather well, going strong as you can hear. There's a slight murmur and that's what Isaac heard last week," Dr Copeland says, turning to Isaac and giving him a small nod. When he turns back to the sonogram, he smiles, takes a few photos of the baby's heart so he can print them off for the file and then moves the scanner to get a good look at the baby as a whole. "Charlotte, everything looks fine, which I know isn't going to be a comfort for you but what I'm seeing is normal for cases like yours. Honestly, there is nothing to worry about with the baby. You're only twenty weeks gone which means that the baby is only half way baked so there's more than enough time for the heart to continue to grow, gain strength, and maybe heal itself."
Isaac sighs, tightening his grasp on my hand. "So what are you going to do next?"
Dr Copeland switches off the screen and spins in his chair to look at us. "We'll continue to monitor everything, record the baby's growth, check the heart, stuff like that," he tells us, his shoulders relaxing as he speaks. "If the hole repairs itself, we'll monitor for signs of any symptoms for the baby's first few months, if not years, just to be on the safe side. If the hole doesn't close, then we monitor and look at surgical options once the baby's strong enough. Hey, Charlotte?"
"Yes?" I finally look up a the doctor, seeing him smile at me with that lopsided grin.
"Did you and Isaac want to find out the baby's gender?" The doctor asks.
At the twenty-week scan, we had been on the verge of finding out the sex of the baby but we never did. The murmur put a stop to that. Now, we were given a second chance at maybe finding out. Thankfully, Isaac and I had talked about it since then and we'd come to an agreement.
"We're going to wait," I finally reply. I turn to look at Isaac just to make sure that we were still on the same page when it comes to this, only to find him grinning from ear to ear. It was strange to see him act like this, considering what we were going through, but I didn't even want to ask why he was smiling like the cat that got the cream. "We've got a bet going."
Isaac quickly explains the bet, telling the doctor that whichever one of us correctly guesses the gender, we get to pick the name. It had been one of Isaac's ideas, hoping that it would help me take my mind off all the other things going on, and for a while it did. I've already chosen my two names- one for a boy, one for a girl- not that I'm sharing them with Isaac. He says he;s already picked his, too, and he's not in the mood to share, either.
"Interesting," Dr Copeland mutters. He shakes his head incredulously at Isaac but says nothing, although I don't miss the way Isaac silently laughs. The doctor turns back to the station where the monitor sits and reaches down to gather the picture he'd taken of the baby. He takes the first few from the top and places them in the file that he's recently opened for the baby before he shuffles the last few and hands them over to Isaac and me. "Well, whether you find out or not, here's baby Delaney-Fletcher."
While Isaac and I hadn't spoken at length about the baby's last name, I was a firm believer that the baby should have the same family name as its father. I mean, if Isaac and I don't work out and I end up marrying someone else, changing my last name, then my child would need to have the same surname as one of its parents. I just need to work out a way of telling Isaac that. Maybe that's one of the things we could discuss on this babymoon that I've practically planned in my head.
"Um, Dr Copeland, a quick question," I speak up. "I know you're not my midwife or whatever but you deal with babies all the time, so I kind figured-"
"Jesus, Lottie, just ask the man," Isaac interrupts me, stopping me from babbling on too much. "He has other patients to see, too."
I glare at Isaac but then smile when I look back at Dr Copeland. "I'm only twenty weeks pregnant so does that mean I'm still ok to fly?"
When the doctor announces that I'll be able to fly without any problems, I grin and look over at a perplexed looking Isaac. "Je vais en France la semaine prochaine? Voulez-vous venir avec moi?"
Isaac scrunches up his nose and says, "The only bit of that I understood was voulez-vous and that's only because I know the French phrase for 'would you like to sleep with me tonight.' That's not what you said though."
"No, that's not what I said," I laugh at how ridiculously confused he looks. "I said, 'I'm going to France next week. Would you like to come with me?' So, would you?"
Who wants to go to France?! Well, that's where the next update will be set!
Ok, so, I did say that everything would be ok with the baby, and it will be. No one dies in this story, especially the baby!!!
I'm keeping this A/N short because I'm super sleepy. My best friend got married on Friday and I was the bridesmaid so there was a lot of alcohol consumption and sleep deprivation, so I really want to go to bed ASAP. I'll have a longer A/N for you all on Wednesday!
Until then, peeps.
Sarah xx