A Rich Man's Baby. Daaimah S. Poole
frumpy in my pink scrubs and Crocs.
I got off the elevator. I was so happy that baby shower was over. On my way back Liz pulled me into a corner and said, “I love ya like you my chile, ya know. I not let nobody talk about you, gal. I’m not listening to the bad talk going round the hospital.”
“Huh? What bad talk, Liz?”
“Pictures with no clothes on.”
“What?” I said as it all sank in.
I bit my lip. How would she know about pictures with no clothes on? I was instantly embarrassed. I walked around all day and no one said anything to me. After that point, everything was fuzzy. I don’t remember getting on the elevator, going to billing, or beating the shit out of Jeremy. A voice kept shouting to me, “He’s not worth it.” That was the only thing that brought me back. I came back to reality just before the police arrived and took me outside to question me. I was so embarrassed that I had been so unprofessional. I was at work having a domestic situation with my boyfriend.
There were sick people and patients and people with life-and-death matters there, and I was acting deranged. It was just that I felt so violated. Liz told me I should have gone to Human Resources and Jeremy would have been fired. Instead, I was sitting in the back of a police van with handcuffs on for the past hour. I didn’t even know what I was being charged with. I probably was already fired. I just closed my eyes and hoped for the best.
Another fifteen minutes had passed, and I heard the doors open. The policewoman told me to step down, uncuffed me, and said, “You’re very lucky. They are not pressing charges.”
She returned my handbag to me. Once she said I was free to go, I didn’t bother going back to the job. I walked straight to the parking lot. I had dealt with enough humiliation for the day.
I opened my apartment door and my phone was bombarded with calls. I just began crying uncontrollably on the floor. I couldn’t even imagine what all my coworkers were thinking and saying about me. I was still in disbelief that my little argument with Jeremy had turned into all this. I always found the best of the worst. Every time I got comfortable with someone, I got burned. It always ended the same: I couldn’t trust anyone. I had no one to lean on, not even my mother. If I told her what Jeremy had done, she would go up there and literally kill him.
I never wanted to go back to work. I knew I was acting childish, but I didn’t think I really liked nursing anymore.
I took off the next week. I talked to my department head; he suggested I go see a doctor. He assured me that my position was safe, but I should be evaluated for anxiety and stress. Liz called and said she would help get me a medical leave.
The doctor my boss recommended had an office right downtown. I had a urinalysis and he took blood. He gave me a routine physical and asked me what types of symptoms I was having. I told him I was experiencing headaches, back pain, chest pain, I couldn’t sleep, and that I was having thoughts of fear sometimes. I said anything and everything so he could approve my medical leave. He wrote down notes and then left the room. I put my clothes back on and hoped he believed me. He came back in with my chart. He slid the rolling stool over to me and spoke while still writing on his lap.
“You are experiencing symptoms of panic attacks and anxiety. More than likely, it is work related. I see it all the time. And it is normal for a woman to have elevated levels of stress in the first trimester of pregnancy.”
His words shocked me. “First trimester of pregnancy?” I repeated. “I’m pregnant?”
“Yes, you’re pregnant. I’m sorry you didn’t know. So I can’t prescribe anything for you. However, I’m going to put you out of work for a few months. I’ll call your department head and fax the paperwork over to him. You go home and relax, and try to slow down,” he said as he handed me my form for medical leave.
I walked out of the doctor’s office in shock. Oh my God, what the hell am I going to do? I thought. Then it dawned on me that I didn’t even know who I was pregnant by. Either way I looked at it, I had a loser for my child’s father.
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