Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
She points at the visitor’s chair as she rounds her desk and takes her seat again. “Please, sit.”
Settling on the edge of the chair, I clutch my handbag in my lap and wait for her to get settled. The calendar on the corner of the desk draws my attention. I add together the days of the months and multiply the total by the value of each day to calm me while she shifts papers around and pushes files aside.
After she pulls up something on her computer, she fits a pair of glasses and peers intently at the screen. “Are you still experiencing the dizzy spells?”
“Yes,” I say, swallowing. “Is it serious?”
“Not if we manage the condition with a treatment.”
My throat closes up. “What’s wrong?”
“Your red blood cell count is on the low side.” She looks at me, her warm smile intact. “Are you normally anemic?”
I frown. “No.”
“It often happens with pregnancy. Either your diet is insufficient in iron, or your body isn’t absorbing enough minerals.” She glances at her screen again. “You said you suffered from nausea and vomiting. How’s that going? Are you still sick?”
“Yes.”
“Just in the morning?”
“All times of the day.”
“Mm. That can also be a cause of not getting the nutrients you and your baby need to be healthy. Are you taking the vitamins I recommended?”
“I took the folic acid until my twelfth week.” I couldn’t afford the rest. “I thought eating a healthy diet would be enough.”
Pulling a prescription pad closer, she scribbles something on the page. “You need to take an iron supplement. I’m going to prolong the folic acid vitamins until the end of your term as well.” She tears off the page and hands it to me. “These are good brands. Take one of each every morning. We should do another blood test in two weeks to see if your red blood cell level has improved.” Standing, she adds, “Call me if the dizziness persists.”
The blood test I did on Friday cost a whopping five hundred dollars. With the consultation fee, the bill amounted to little less than seven hundred.
I stare at the sheet in my hands. I can barely afford to buy food. “What will happen if I don’t take the supplements?”
A baffled look comes over her features. “If you don’t get enough iron, the consequences can be serious for both you and the baby. When you have anemia, your body doesn’t have enough healthy red blood cells to carry oxygen to your tissues and your baby. If untreated in severe cases like yours, it could increase the risk of complications such as preterm delivery.”
“Thank you,” I say through numb lips, getting to my feet. “I appreciate your time.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, going to the door and opening it for me.
When I walk outside, I pause on the sidewalk. The morning is sunny and fresh, but I hardly notice the cooler weather or the pretty blue sky. Worry consumes me as I do a quick search for the supplements on my phone. The price of the vitamins makes me gasp. A hundred dollars may not seem like a lot to most people, but I’m broke. And I’ll need another seven hundred for the follow-up visit and to repeat the tests. A grand should cut it.
Where am I going to get that kind of money? Livy already sacrificed too much of her own income for me. I can’t take more charity from her. I feel guilty enough as it is about living in her apartment without paying a penny for rent.
The direness of the whole situation weighs me down. If I don’t get employed permanently after my probation period, I won’t even be able to pay the hospital fees for the delivery of my baby. I need the medical insurance and other fringe benefits that come with the job. In the meantime, I only have one choice, and I’m not looking forward to it. My pride is going to take a knock, but my baby’s health is more important.
In the subway on the way to Manhattan, I replay that fateful event that changed the course of my life over in my head. The night the police found my mom drunk and beaten to a pulp on a park bench was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She nearly died of alcohol poisoning. Of course, she had no recollection of what happened or who attacked her. When she finally came to with a drip in her arm in the hospital, the only thing she was worried about was her stash of alcohol the assailants had stolen, a stash that she’d bought with money she’d stolen from my purse.
That was the night I walked into a bar and ordered a drink. It wasn’t something I usually did, not when I was living with an alcoholic mother and when the little money I had left would’ve been better spent on food. Everything just felt so hopeless. I’d hit rock bottom.