As Jess clutched the back of the hospital gown and maneuvered herself out of the wheelchair and back into bed, she decided it was the most undignified piece of clothing ever invented. She fell onto the pillows, dizzy from painkillers, nauseous from antibiotics and ridiculously exhausted from lying on an examination table for an ultrasound.
Before today, the only ultrasound she’d experienced was when she was pregnant with Leo and it had been joyous. The radiographer had rubbed warm gel on her belly before pressing the probe over her baby bump. Jess had laid back in delight, watching tiny Leo floating contentedly inside her and sucking his tiny thumb. Today’s ultrasound was nothing like it. Who even knew it could be done vaginally, let alone be so painful and uncomfortable? It made the previous day’s blood tests, where the nurse had jabbed her three times before finding a vein, feel like a walk in the park.
Apparently, they’d ruled out appendicitis. Other than that, Jess couldn’t get much more out of the doctor or the nurses than Ramesh had told her the day before: “You have a fever and a urinary tract infection. This other pain you’re describing needs investigating.”
The pain that was never far away twisted sharply. Jess gripped the edge of the mattress, not daring to move in case she made it worse. Very slowly, she let go of her breath and the pain eased, receding to the familiar dull ache that was a permanent background presence. She suddenly wished Libby was here. Libby would have found out what was going on and explained it to her using words she understood. Libby would have sat by her bed, keeping her company and making her laugh.
At least, she would have—once.
Loneliness plucked at Jess. Should she call Patrice? She wasn’t certain their friendship had attained the level of keeping a sick friend company, especially as the French woman worked six long days a week. The accountant Jess worked for once a week was just down the road, but as they only ever discussed the account she managed, he wasn’t someone to call on either. She picked up her phone and for the tenth time opened the most surprising and unexpected text she’d received. Alice Hunter had sent her a photo of Leo. His eyes shone with delight, his face was wreathed in an all-encompassing grin and he looked so much like Nick that Jess’s heart turned over in painful delight each time she looked at it. Alice had added underneath, I hope you’re home soon.
The night before, desperate to hear Leo’s sweet voice, Jess had immediately texted her thanks and asked Alice for Nick’s phone number. Alice hadn’t replied, but at nine o’clock, Nick had sent his first ever email on the dedicated account.
Leo is doing okay and settled to sleep without any fuss. You know I can’t be your next of kin. Please give the hospital another name.
Jess didn’t have another name to give.
Despite the lateness of the hour and knowing her little boy was asleep, she’d emailed back: I want to talk to Leo. Nick hadn’t replied and eventually Jess had fallen into a fitful sleep. She’d woken at 6:00, anticipating a call around 7:00 when Leo woke up. It hadn’t come. Neither had a call after breakfast. She’d still been waiting when the orderly had wheeled her off to ultrasound.
Jess retrieved her phone from the bedside locker. There was a new email from Nick.
Leo ate breakfast and happily went to daycare. Do I need to pick him up? Please advise your ETA back so I can plan accordingly.
A tornado of disbelief blew through her. Where was the “How are you?”, the “Hope you’re feeling better soon?” The basic humanity?
She typed fast. If you were my next of kin or gave me your phone number you would know this information already!
How could Nick think two brief emails telling her Leo was eating and sleeping were enough when he sent Libby videos of the girls whenever she went away for medical conferences? How could Libby, who never went longer than twelve hours without talking to her children, deny Jess the opportunity to talk to Leo? It defied understanding. It was evil.
Childhood memories rushed her and once again she was a second-class citizen, undeserving of what other people took for granted as a basic right. Well, to hell with that. She punched in Libby’s phone number and when the automated voice asked if she wished to leave a message, Jess vented in four-and five-letter words, finishing with, “Rot in hell!” Next, she called the daycare center and asked to talk to Leo. The director put her on hold and then one of the staff in the Wombat Room came on the line.
“Hi, Jess, Leo’s playing happily in the sandpit.”
“Can I talk to him?”
There were a couple of beats of silence. “The thing is, talking to him will remind him that you’re not here. It might upset him. You don’t want that, do you?”
Frustration almost stole Jess’s breath. Of course she didn’t want to upset him, but she was his mother! She hadn’t seen him in eighteen hours, she was in limbo, waiting for test results and more than anything, she needed to hear her son’s sweet, piping voice.
“Can you at least send me a video of him?” She heard the unsteadiness in her voice.
“It’s not something we usually do—”
“Being in the hospital’s not something I usually do!”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Yes, I’ll take one and send it to you. What’s your number again?”
Somehow Jess managed not to yell that her number was on every piece of daycare documentation to do with Leo. Tightly and slowly she dictated her number.
After the hustle of an orderly and a nurse taking two women to the OR, the ward settled into relative silence. Jess checked her phone for the video but it hadn’t arrived. Unable to settle and lacking the concentration to read, she looked at photos of Leo and channel surfed. Whenever a nurse came in
