Don’t think that I come in here with high hopes, but what the fuck ever. If nothing works, then things stay the same. That’s how it’s been, and I’m still here. We all are, doing this thing. What else is there to do. All I’m saying is that something could work, and it would be nice if it did. This doesn’t have to be a tragedy. I mean, it can go any direction.

All I know is that I’m the right person for the job, and I deserve it. I deserve whatever happens to me. That’s the nature of God. You can’t argue with me. I just don’t want to hear it.

If you meet me though, I’ve got to warn you, the primary entity that you’ll be dealing with will be Cameron. You’ll catch glimpses of bibles, and if you can get the body tuned, you might hear him speak, but it takes a rare situation, he usually doesn’t come out in front of people. I catch him in the bathroom mirror most often, and I hear him in my head.

Gestational Diabetes. There’s a test for it. Two vials of blood withdrawn right in front of me. Just a little prick.

No news is good news, says the doctor. If you don’t hear from Carol in three days, then you’re out of the woods.

The next day, while on my lunch, having deposited Musette back at home, I hear her phone ringing. It’s in her purse. There is no name on the caller id. I rush over to Musette, but it’s too late. She calls the number back. It’s the hospital. A receptionist answers and asks for Musette’s name. She is transferred to her doctor’s office. We are on hold as the call is transferred. After a couple of minutes, a woman answers and asks for Musette’s name. Please hold. It was Carol who called us. The woman on the line is not Carol. Carol is on the phone with another patient. She will call you when she’s off the phone, says the woman.

Musette is on the toilet. She had been in a bad mood when I’d picked her up from work. Now she is making jokes. I’m finding it hard to concentrate. Hard to laugh. I’m sinking, unable to put a sentence together. Musette is holding tight to her phone. I’m trying to resist looking up gestational diabetes. Not now… I knew it was lurking. Insulin. Delivered to the doorstep. The baby debilitated for life. Packs of needles picked up at Walgreens.

It’s just low iron, says Musette, getting off the phone with Carol.

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