Chai Tea Sunday by Heather A. Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

mother —
not
my husband — climbed into the ambulance and took my hand.
    My mother and I said nothing to each other the entire ride to Mount Sinai. But she never let go of my hand. Not once during the entire ride.

    Three hours later, Eric walked into the private Mount Sinai hospital room where my mom and I were waiting. His eyes remained focused on the ground, his hands jammed into his jean pockets. I could see through the door that his parents were with him, but had waited in the hall.
    My mother was still at my bedside, holding my hand. She had spent the past few hours crying with me while we impatiently waited for updates from the doctors. None had come, and they were still taking tests and trying to figure out what was wrong with Ella.
    â€œYou decided to come?” I said, more sarcastically than I intended.
    â€œNicky, I . . . uh . . . I don’t know what to say. Everything happened so fast, and I panicked. Is she . . . is she okay? Is Ella going to be okay?”
    â€œWe don’t know yet. The doctors are still examining her and taking more tests. I haven’t been allowed to even see her yet. No doctor has come by. We’re just going on what the nurses are telling us.” I refused to waste my energy on him. My focus needed to be on Ella.
    Eric awkwardly stood next to the bed, looking as though he was near tears. Neither of us knew what to do or say. The spiral of complicated emotions seemed to encircle the room at increased speed with each passing minute. The morphine I had been given after my C-section was beginning to wear off and I needed to remain perfectly still to avoid the searing jabs from tearing through my lower abdomen.
    â€œWhy don’t I give you two some privacy?” my mother asked, standing from her chair. “Nic, will you be okay if I take a walk and get some coffee? I’ll bring you back a latte.”
    â€œYes, thanks Mom. That would be great. And I’ll be okay. Thanks for being here and staying with me.” I failed at my attempt to smile at her, but wanted her to know I was grateful for her support. Plus, I was unable to prevent myself from throwing a verbal dagger Eric’s way.
    When exiting the room, my mother patted Eric on the shoulder, as if to tell him that it was okay. I knew she understood everyone reacts differently in tragic situations. She had been handed some doozies in her lifetime and had come to believe that it is not possible to know how you will react in a bad situation. That is, until you are in it.
    I was not as understanding. I was devastated by all that had happened, and insurmountable panic was consuming every inch of my body. I was scared, oh so scared, about what lay in our path. And like the cherry on top of our squashed cupcake, my husband had crushed me when he had abandoned Ella and me at a time when we needed him the most.
    Eric and I sat in silence. We said nothing to each other. The agonizing minutes crawled by at a pace slower than dial-up internet. I didn’t trust myself to speak. I didn’t even trust myself to look at him. He had taken my pain to a higher, more explosive level, and I was worried about what would come rushing out of my mouth if I began to talk.
    Forty minutes later, after my mom had returned with my father, Eric’s parents and six lattes, an exhausted and visibly upset doctor came into the room. He didn’t introduce himself, but his badge read Dr. McKinnon.
    After confirming we were Ella’s parents, he cleared his throat and stated, “I’m sorry to tell you that your daughter is very sick. We’ve been running tests all afternoon, and we suspect she has something called neonatal hemochromatosis. It is a very rare condition in which toxic levels of iron accumulate in the liver and other tissues of a fetus. It occurs while the baby is developing in the womb and occasionally, but not often, can be detected in utero by ultrasound.”
    Dr. McKinnon paused, and let us