We sat in the waiting room at eleven o’clock while the receptionist printed out our specialist referral forms. The walls were painted a quiet cream color, but the space felt small and hot.
“You have to cancel the cruise, Daniel,” I said, looking down at the folder of medical instructions in my lap. “There is no other way. I cannot even stand up to make a sandwich.”
Daniel reached for his collar, pulling it away from his throat with one finger as he looked around the crowded waiting room.
“We do not need to make any rash decisions right here,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, defensive whisper. “Let’s get you home first.”
“There is nothing to decide,” I said, pausing between my words to keep my voice from shaking. “The doctor said I need full-time support. You cannot go to sea for four months while I am on bed rest with three babies.”
“My mother can come down from Toledo for a few weeks,” he said.
“Your mother is seventy, Daniel. She cannot lift the groceries, let alone take care of a high-risk pregnancy.”
