Chapter One Hundred Two

He paced the length of the room alongside the bed where Stephanie lay.  He had pulled every string, including the “do you know who I am” thread to get her an actual room in the Emergency Department instead of a cubicle with a curtain.  He didn’t want the whole world to know their business.  He was already sure some paparazzi had managed to get a shot of him carrying her purse into the Emergency Department.  He looked down at her.  He’d deal with whatever media shit came down on him later.  Right now, he just wanted her to be okay.  She was much too pale for his liking.  She very nearly matched the color of the sheets she was covered with. 

Two different nurses had been in and out a dozen times, but they weren’t talking beyond the standard fact finding questions and the doctor was certainly taking his or her own sweet time making his or her way here.  But he already had a bad feeling he knew what was going on.  He was nearly positive she had a miscarriage right there in the bathroom.  It was the only thing that made sense.  Why else would she have passed out in his arms and left a puddle of blood on the floor?

A nurse came in, interrupting his thoughts.  “Just need to check her temperature and her blood pressure again.”

Richie nodded.  “Sure.  Where is the doctor?”

“She’ll be along as soon as she can.”

He sat down in the small metal chair next to the bed and picked up Stephanie’s hand.  “You doing okay, Sweetheart?”  She had woken up in the ambulance, but had been eerily quiet since then. 

She shrugged noncommittally, “I guess.”  She was sure she knew what had happened too, but until it was confirmed, she didn’t want to think about it.

The nurse marked her stats on the chart and left the room again.

“Rich-”

“Sweetheart,”

They both forced a laugh.  “You first” she told him.

He shook his head, “nope, after you.  Ladies first.”

“I just-“

The door opened and the doctor walked in, picking up the chart from the end of the bed.  “Stephanie Stinson?”

Stephanie turned her attention from Richie to the woman standing next to the bed.  “That’s me.”

“I’m Dr. Christine Walsh, OB/Gyn.”  She looked across the bed to Richie, “and you are?”

Richie stood and extended his hand, “Richie Sambora, Stephanie’s boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, but I need to ask you to step out for a few minutes.”  She looked back at Stephanie, “we need to discuss what’s going on with you and what course of action we’re going to take.”  Privacy laws being what they were now she had to ask.

Stephanie gripped Richie’s hand tighter.  “He’s staying.”

“Are you sure?”  Dr. Walsh had to be sure her patient was absolutely certain before she disclosed any medical information.

“Doctor, he’s not going anywhere.  Just tell me how far along I was and if getting punched in the stomach had anything to do with the miscarriage.”

Richie’s eyes widened and he was sure shock registered on his face.  She had known?  Did that mean she had known she was pregnant too?  If she had, why hadn’t she told him?

Stephanie felt Richie’s hand go slack in hers and she looked over to find a gob-smacked look on his face.  “No, I didn’t know.  It’s just an educated guess, all things considered.”  She turned back to the doctor, wincing with the pain of another set of cramps.

Before the doctor answered she lifted the blankets, “hasn’t a nurse been in here?”  Stephanie was sitting in a small pool of blood.

“Just to take my temperature and blood pressure and to hook up the IV.”

“I’ll get someone in here to take care of this.  But first, when was your last period?”

Stephanie searched her memory, trying to remember when she last had it.  It had been less than regular ever since Mark and Ben had died.  “I think it was while we were in Europe.”  She looked over at Richie, “we were in…it was just before we got to Portugal.”  She looked back at the doctor, “late July.”

Dr. Walsh did a little mental math.  “I’d say you were anywhere from six to eight weeks along.  We’ll need to do a pelvic exam to make sure there isn’t any tissue left behind.  We may also have to do a D and C.  And to answer that last question, no, a punch to the stomach wouldn’t have caused the miscarriage but, if it had already started, the punch could have moved things along.”

Stephanie nodded.  She couldn’t blame this on the punch from Kyle. So it was most likely her fault for all the stress she had been under and working so damn hard on the Habitat project.  “Okay.  Can I go home tonight?”

The doctor shook her head and patted Stephanie’s leg.  “I think we’ll keep you until tomorrow.”  She made a notation on her chart.  “I’ll have the nurse come in and clean you up and I’ll be back to do the exam.”

The doctor left the room and Richie got up and paced again.  Stephanie stayed suspiciously quiet.  The nurses bustled in and out, changing sheets, bringing in a tray of instruments for the doctor, making sure Stephanie was as comfortable as she could be, all things considered, and still they didn’t talk to each other. 

When the doctor came back Richie stayed by Stephanie’s side while she did her exam.  He followed along and donned a set of scrubs before entering the operating room.  He held her hand while they gave her an epidural.  She remained stoically silent.  He sat up near her head while the doctor cleaned whatever remained of their child from Stephanie’s body.  He wondered if the heaviness he felt in his heart was anything like what she lived with every day since Ben had died. 

She gave him no indication of any emotion so how could he know?  He wanted to ask, wanted to know what to do with everything he was feeling, but she had gone totally silent on him.  She hadn’t uttered a word to him.  The only time she spoke was when the doctor or one of the million nurses asked her a direct question.  The one time they truly needed each other and neither one of them was talking. 

He stared out the window of her room as the nurses got her re-settled in the bed.  His stomach growled, loudly.

“Why don’t you go home, Rich?”

He turned, surprised to hear her speak to him.  “I’m fine, Sweetheart.  I’ll stay with you.”

She turned her head, trying to get a better look at him.  It had been one hell of a day and his features were drawn and he looked exhausted.  “Really, it’s okay if you go home.  All I’m going to do now is sleep.  Besides, I’ll need clothes to go home in tomorrow.  I can’t exactly wear what I came here in.”  She had been wrapped in a bath towel when the ambulance arrived at the house.

He moved back to the ridiculously uncomfortable chair by her bed.  “We need to talk about all this.”

“I know” she answered quietly.  But she couldn’t do it now.  She was barely holding on to her emotions as it was.  She couldn’t let go now.  She might never get a grip on them again.  “We will.”  She reached a hand across to his, wrapping her pinkie around his.  “I promise.”

~

After cleaning up the mess in the bathroom-there was no way he wanted Stephanie to have to deal with it and his cleaning lady shouldn’t have to deal with it-he spent a restless night in their bed alone.  A baby.  He would have been a father again.  Ava would have had a sibling.  He sat up in bed and propped his forearms on his knees.  Did he even want another baby?  At his age?  He shook his head.  He didn’t know but this ache in his chest told him he would have loved this one, no matter what. 

He got out of bed and crossed to the small shelf in the corner of the room.  He picked up a picture of him and Ava when she was just a few months old.  The picture blurred and he blinked away the moisture that clouded his vision.  He had loved her from the moment Heather had told him she was pregnant.  Loved her with a ferocity he had never before known the minute he held her for the first time.  He hadn’t known he had that much inside him for another person.

He set the picture back on the shelf.  Who was he kidding?  Of course he wanted more kids.  He always had.  Heather hadn’t and that had been just one of the sticking points that had led them down the road to divorcing.  He wandered to the door that led to the balcony and stepped outside.  Daylight was just hinting at the eastern sky.  Yeah, even at his age, he wanted more kids.  But after all that Stephanie had been through, would she want to try again?  He couldn’t even begin to imagine how she must be feeling. 

He turned and headed back inside, angling toward the bathroom.  A hot shower and a pot of coffee would go a long way toward keeping him going today.  He was going to grab her some clothes, get to the hospital and bring her home as soon as they would let him.

They had a lot to talk about.

~

It took longer than he would have liked, a lot longer, but finally they were home.  As they walked through the front door he gripped her fingers.  “Do you need anything, sweetheart?  Something to eat maybe?”  He was sure she hadn’t eaten anything since the day before.

She shook her head, “no, nothing.”  She was nearly at her breaking point.  If he was any nicer to her, she’d crack.  She turned away from him and headed to the stairs and slowly made her way up to their room.

She hadn’t spoken to him the entire ride home.  She knew he had to be hurting too, she could see it on his face and the sadness in his eyes was killing her.  But what could she say to him?  ‘Sorry I lost your baby.  I didn’t even know I was pregnant.’  Very lame.  How could she not have known?  She had been pregnant before she should have seen the signs.  But she hadn’t.  And now, it was too late.

Stepping into their room she rubbed her arms.  She was so cold.  She dug in the closet and found her favorite and most comfortable sweater.  She pulled it on and wrapped it around herself crossing her arms over her middle as if she was trying to hold herself together.  Moving toward the bed she stopped and focused on the shelf in the corner.  She picked up the picture of Ben and dropped to the floor by the door to the balcony.  She held the picture against her chest and stared out into the rainy wetness of the day.  At least the weather matched her mood.  How could this have happened? What had she done in her life to deserve losing two children? 

Tears ran, unchecked, down her cheeks and she laid her head against the window.  She couldn’t do this.  She wasn’t strong enough to go through this again.  She had nothing left for anyone.

Richie watched her from the doorway, his heart breaking for her.  When she slumped to the floor, he set the mug of steaming tea he carried on the dresser and crossed to her gathering her close.  Gently he held her while she cried.  His lips grazed her hair, her temple when she turned her head against his chest.  His own face was wet with tears for her and for the baby they both had lost.  “It’s okay” he murmured.  “It’ll be okay.”

She listened to the steady beat of his heart and wondered if anything would ever be okay again.