Fighting Redemption(83)

It hadn’t been long past the seventh month mark, just four weeks ago really, that her doctor sat her down and explained the problem.

“You have preeclampsia.”

Fin’s brows flew up. “Pre what?”

“Preeclampsia,” her doctor repeated.

“Uh, can you explain what that is?”

“It’s serious, Fin. If you hadn’t missed your last two appointments, we would have detected this earlier. You—”

“I didn’t mean to miss them,” she cut in, anxiety creeping into her voice. “It was work. They know I’m leaving and I swear they’ve loaded me under until I can’t breathe. How serious are we talking? Do I have to take a couple of days off?”

“Fin.” Her doctor arched a brow in stern disapproval. “You’re done with work. As of right now. You’re on strict rest until your baby arrives.”

“But …”

“Your blood pressure is extremely high.”

“It’s stress. I just feel so anxious all the time. I can’t relax. Not until Ryan’s home.”

“According to your urine test today, the high levels of protein are telling us it’s not just stress.”

“So if I just lie around for a bit, it’ll go away?”

Unfortunately it wasn’t that simple, and now the birthing plan she had mapped out—from the music, to the levels of pain relief, to who she wanted with her—was all moot. Her baby’s growth level was starting to drop off, and the twinges in her belly were becoming more frequent.

“We’re booking you in for a caesarean, Fin. Two weeks before your due date.”

Honestly? She felt robbed. Denied the right, and the experience, of a natural labour in favour of something so much more cold and clinical. It was something she would have to email Ryan about, but she’d been putting it off. In a previous email he’d mentioned he could be there on Skype during the labour, if she wanted him there, that was. She did, but it seemed her body had other plans.

“Dammit,” Fin muttered as she shuffled her way over to the couch and splayed herself out with more than a little effort.

Rachael followed behind, leaning down to wrap her in a hug. She squeezed a little before pulling back. “See you tomorrow.”

Fin’s brows drew together. “Tomorrow’s Monday.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rachael grinned. “But someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Fin didn’t relish the idea of being placed under a microscope. Still, it served her right, she supposed. All those mock labour pains done in jest to get her way were coming back to bite her. “Don’t you have deadlines or something?”

“Or something,” Rachael replied, quirking her brow. “Besides, Kyle’s always over here checking on you. I’m starting to worry I’m losing my bff status. Why else do you think I’d be spending my Sunday rolling paint all over your walls?”

“Oh, I see,” Fin muttered and snagged a cushion. Panting from the effort, she wedged it behind her head.

“What do you see?”

“It’s not really about me at all. You’re just worried Kyle’s going to get more time with the little baby in here.” Fin patted her huge belly for effect.

“I’m supposed to be the cool Aunt Rach.” Rachael picked up her bag off the coffee table and flung it over her shoulder. “He’s not coming in at the last stretch and stealing that baby away with all his ‘cool Uncle Kyle’ shit,” she air-quoted.

After Rachael plucked her keys from her bag, Fin reached out and snagged her hand. “Thank you.”

Rachael’s brows flew up as she looked at Fin. “For what? Being a jealous twat?”

Fin laughed. “No. For being the best friend a girl could ever ask for.”

Looking a little glassy-eyed, Rachael gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Just don’t expect it all the time.”

Her dad walked out of the laundry and Fin let go of Rachael.

“Well that’s the brushes and paint trays all clean,” he announced and leaned over the back of the couch to press a quick kiss to Fin’s forehead. “Your mum will be over in a couple of hours, love.”

Fin didn’t complain as she waved them out the door. She was suddenly exhausted and needed her mum. Her legs ached and her belly was cramping enough for her to gasp. Were they those ghosty pains they were talking about in birthing class? What were they called? Braxton Hicks. What the hell kind of a name was that anyway? Maybe it might be a good idea to call her doctor in the morning. With the decision made to do just that, Fin drifted off into a quiet doze.

An hour later she was startled awake by a knock at the door. Blinking, she called out, “Just a minute!”

Using the arm of the couch as a lever, she pushed herself to a standing position. One step towards the door and she found herself doubled over, her belly tightening with a pain that couldn’t be normal. Breathless, she wiped at her clammy brow as she moved towards the door.

“Oh God,” she moaned as another pain overtook her. “Mum if you’ve lost your key...” she flung the door wide open “...there’s going to be …”

Behind the screen door stood three men. They were all attired in official Australian Army uniform and wearing grave expressions.