The first sign was the increasing exhaustion. As she dragged herself out of bed to get her husband Albert off to work and her children to school, Leta thought she was coming down with the same flu that had floored her eight-year-old son Dale for nearly a week. In her nightgown and robe, she roused her family and started making their breakfast. When her husband Albert came into the kitchen, he found her vomiting in the sink.
“You are sick!” he exclaimed. She was leaning on the basin, bracing herself on its rim, because she feared her weak legs would give out. Albert stood silently for a moment and then ordered, “Go back to bed. I’ll get the children off to school.”
“I would,” Leta said quietly, “only I’m afraid to let go of the basin for fear I’d fall over.”
In a flash, she felt a throb spread quickly from the back of her head to her eyes and almost immediately settle as a dull ache. Somehow—she couldn’t remember—she ended up back in bed and lay there. Before he left for work, Albert brought her a cup of tea. She had just vomited again, so the warm liquid was welcome.
For the rest of the day, she felt nearly fine, a little tired perhaps, so she made sure to add extra sugar to her coffee. When he arrived home that evening, Albert was surprised to find her cooking supper “You seemed so sick this morning,” he commented.
“I know,” she answered. “But then I was fine.”
In the late evening, as she was hustling Dale to bed and checking on her daughter Vivian’s homework, the headache returned with a vengeance. She had to lie down.
Vivian brought her a cool compress and then another cup of tea.
The next day she felt more fatigued than tired but managed to go about her regular duties. However, on the morning after that the nausea, headaches and fatigue returned. This went on for several days, some days harder than others, until Sunday morning. Again, she felt the fatigue and vomited, but she was determined to take the children to church, because they were singing in the service. She bore through it the best she could, although it required two trips to the toilet for vomiting. After the children finished, Dale, who had sung a solo, rushed up to her for his hug. When he pressed his body tightly against her breasts, a numbing pain shot through her, and she gasped.
Leta shared a knowing look with her friend Mrs. Drew who was sitting in the next pew that confirmed it. She was going to have a baby. Although she was 31 years old and already had two children, and her husband Albert nearly 42, this was exactly what they wanted. Over the next two days, she accepted the indications—the nausea, vomiting, headaches, fatigue and tenderness in her breasts—with excitement. All she needed was confirmation from the doctor before she would tell her husband and children.
However, on Tuesday morning, as she was following her routine of breakfast, getting her children off to school and Albert to work, she felt differently than she had over the previous week. Rather than weak and nauseous, she felt numb, as if her body wasn’t under her supervision. Her movements felt sluggish and awkward. She was sometimes weak, sometimes paralyzed. Then, just as she waved her customary farewell to the children, the violent cramping seemed to twist her insides. She gripped herself tightly and moaned in distress.
If sheer force of will could have held onto the child-to-be in her womb, then Leta would have won the day, but this was not to be. After only a few moments, clutching her lower abdomen, she staggered to the toilet. An hour later Mrs. Drew arrived to accompany her to the doctor to find her sitting quietly in a living room chair, pale, breathing lightly and staring at a small knot in the wall.
“Leta?” Mrs. Drew whispered in the living room. While the room was rather bright in the morning light, Leta felt like she was in a cave of sorrow.
Mrs. Drew understood immediately and reached down to take Leta’s hand. “Oh my dear, I am so sorry.”
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