“What happened?” His voice stays calm, but I can hear the worry in his tone.
I finally stop heaving and answer him, knowing Dr. Fox won’t. “I was pregnant and I’m losing the baby.” Baby. The thought of a helpless little baby in my uterus brings tears of devastation to my eyes. The baby might have been half one of them, but the other half was me. It was my job to protect it and I didn’t. I should have known there was a baby in me. I should have protected my stomach better.
“Do we need to get her to a hospital?” Giovanni sounds worried.
“No,” Dr. fox says, answering Giovanni’s question, then directs her words towards me. “Aria, your body is currently doing what it’s made to do. I’m going to prescribe you something for the pain and a prescription to prevent infection. I’m also going to prescribe you a small dose of Xanax. But I’m going to have Giovanni give them to you. I don’t want you taking too much. Those drugs are highly addictive and we need to slowly ween you off them. Don’t worry, I’ll help you. I’ll come back in a few days to check on you.” Dr. Fox put her hands softly on my cheek. “I’m sorry for your loss, sweetie.” And then as if she can hear the thoughts running through my head, she adds, “This was not your fault.”
“I should have protected it.” A single drop of grief wells up in the corner of my eye. I’m so sick of crying but the blows keep coming one after the next. When will it stop?
“You were just under twelve weeks along. Your body knows how to protect itself. I know you are thinking this miscarriage was caused from you getting beat up, but you can’t know that. Miscarriages happen every day. It’s the body’s way of saying something isn’t right. There’s nothing you could’ve done differently.”
I know deep down miscarrying is for the best, especially given the circumstance, but it still hurts to know there was something precious inside of me. Even if created from rape, it was still a baby with a beating heart. I’m not sure if I would have been able to make the decision to abort the baby or if I was still with Weston, if he would have given me the choice one way or another, so maybe it was fate’s way of handling the situation for me.
She digs into her briefcase and pulls out a couple sanitary pads. “Mr. Valentino, please give us some more privacy, and can you please make sure Aria gets more sanitary pads as well as underwear? She will be bleeding for a few more days.”
Giovanni looks from the doctor to me, his eyes haunted. He nods in understanding, and after placing the waste basket outside, goes back to the sitting room. Once he’s gone, Dr. Fox helps me place a sanitary pad along the inside of the boxers Giovanni left out for me since I have no clothes.
“Let’s look at the rest of you.” She begins to feel across my torso, and I jump once she gets to the right side. “Take a deep breath for me.”
I breathe in and out, the pain in my stomach radiating through me. “That hurts,” I yelp when she hits a super sensitive area.
“It looks like you have a couple bruised ribs on your right side. Let me check to make sure they aren’t broken.” She walks over to a large suitcase and opens it up, pulling some weird looking machine out.
“What is that?” I question.
“A portable x-ray machine.” After she’s done setting it up, she has me lie still while she takes pictures. After assessing them, she says, “They aren’t broken which is encouraging. I don’t want to wrap them up because it can make breathing more difficult.” She grabs something from her briefcase and snaps it in half. “Keep this icepack on you.” Wrapping a small towel around it, she places it on my side, then tapes it on gently.
“It’s like you’re the doctor’s version of Mary Poppins,” I joke, trying to make light of this entire horrendous situation.
“Yes, I guess I am.” She laughs and I join in as well—the sound foreign to my ears—causing my ribs to ache in pain.
“Careful. I don’t want you to get up unless you must. I know you’re going to want to shower and you’ll need to use the bathroom, but make sure someone helps you.” Dr. Fox moves up the bed to look at my face. I can’t even imagine how bad I look. If my pain is any indication, I most likely look like a truck ran me over then reversed to do it all over again.
After running a cleaning wipe over my forehead and face, which stings like a bitch, Dr. Fox says, “This should have gotten stitches, but it’s too late. I’ll glue it the best I can.” She works on my face for a few minutes then gets up to throw the garbage away.