the sitter | lewandowski

twenty eight

28 ; happy birthday

"don't cry, i'm sorry to have deceived you so much, but that's how life is."

//

It was approximately five in the morning of Saoirse's eighteenth birthday, May 29th, and her sixth month of pregnancy had commenced a few days ago. Robert was gone—he'd been on a business trip in New York all week, but promised he would return in time to celebrate with Saoirse on her birthday—so she woke up that day alone, and certainly not so unintentionally early.

It was due to an odd, an unusual feeling in her stomach. Thinking nothing of it, Saoirse sleepwalked to the bathroom, used the toilet, and found herself growing habitually nauseous once she'd washed her hands in the sink—so she leant her head against the wall and either fell back asleep or fell unconscious on the bathroom floor.

When she woke up hours later, it was due to a sharp pain. There was movement in her stomach, certainly, but it wasn't so vivacious like she remembered it to be—it was slow and spazz-like, and the uncomfortable feel of the tile floor beneath her body caused her to jerk back awake.

When she looked at the floor, usually marble-white, stained with red, she screamed. It was blood, which was evident, and where it coming from was evident all the same—but Saoirse didn't know what to do. Was she dying? Frightened, she remained still, and when Ann-Kathrin came in the bathroom minutes later she gasped.

"I heard your scream from next door, I was so worried. You wouldn't answer, so I came in." Ann-Kathrin let out a breath as she rambled. "What's happened? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know." Saoirse responded, palming at her wet eyes. "I—I think the baby is dead. Something is wrong with it."

Ann-Kathrin's eyes widened. "You mean..." Her voice drifted off. "Like a miscarriage? This late in your pregnancy?" She kneeled down. "Mein gott, we should call an ambulance!"

"No, please. I don't want Robert to get worried. He's on a—"

"Robert should be worried!"

"Can you just take me to the hospital? Nova is still asleep, and—"

"Let's go. Now." Ann-Kathrin began to help Saoirse clean herself up, though as Saoirse locked the door to the ensuite and went to shower in the other bathroom, she told Mario what was happening and got Nova before the three sped to the emergency room.

Saoirse waited in the hospital room, dressed in scrubs, for her doctor, who she'd only met with to explain what had happened and to have a few tests done. When the doctor did return, she looked sorry for Saoirse, causing the seventeen year old to assume the worst.

The doctor had prescribed what had happened to Saoirse a symptom of pre-eclampsia, which meant nothing to Saoirse. After all, she had no clue what the condition was, or what it meant for her pregnancy. "So," Saoirse had inquired, "May I go home?"

The doctor sighed, pitifully, and looked around. Saoirse recognized the look in her eyes—it was the kind that said poor little girl, one that Saoirse had received often from adults and absolutely loathed.

"It's not so simple, unfortunately." The doctor stated, apologetically. "You see, when it's discovered this late, this condition will pose serious threats to you and the baby. It—"

"Okay," Saoirse interrupted, with a small, certain smile. "But I mean, it's not like I'll die or anything. Right?" There was, for a few moments, an awkward, apologetic silence as the doctor held the answer in her eyes. Saoirse's smile fell. She spoke again, her face hopeful. "Right?"