Sam, August 2007
Veronica was on day three of her hormone therapy injections and everything appeared to be going really well, no side effects that would send alarm bells ringing. What was even better, Louisa, who had been tracking Veronica's cycle, told us that today was fertility day, which I'd renamed shag day with my girl, just to make it sound less like a chore and more like something we actually love doing.
With Veronica having to work all day and me returning to pre-season training, it meant that shag day would really be shag night and I was going to make it the most unforgettable night for my girl. I'd booked a table at our favourite restaurant for dinner, bought candles and set them up around the bath tub, to create a more romantic mood lighting and sensual massage oil beside the bed, to rub out all her tension and stress from work and help her relax and enjoy the baby making process.
I wanted tonight to be all about making Veronica feel like she was a queen, my Queen because I knew that, if all went well tonight, if we were successful in conceiving a baby, then the next nine months would be absolute hell on her.
I'd just finished up making the bed with fresh, clean sheets, when I heard the door to our flat open. It was not long after midday so I assumed that Veronica had decided to come home for lunch, like she often did but when I wandered out into our living room and laid eyes on her washed out complexion and weak demeanour, I knew straight away that she hadn't just come home for lunch, she was unwell.
"Baby, come sit down." I tell her, rushing to be by her side and help her to the couch. The touch of her skin feels hot and clammy, indicating that she has a fever.
"I have a blinding migraine." She whimpers, holding her head in her hands. "I started to feel a bit off on my last tour but I ignored it, hoping it would just go away but when I got back to the office, my vision became patchy, like a camera flash had gone off and I couldn't focus on anything."
"Bunny, you should have called me, I would have come got you." I hate seeing my girl sick, especially when I know that she convinces herself she can just push through it and keep going, instead of resting like her body is telling her to.
"I knew you'd be busy, getting everything ready for shag night so I didn't want to worry you." She says in a weak voice, her eyes now glassy as she tries to focus on me sitting beside her. "I thought the walk home, in the fresh air, might make me feel better."
"Baby, it's literally my job, as your boyfriend, to worry about you." Veronica's inability to ask for help, when she clearly needs it, frustrates me so much but I know that it's a trait she inherited from her own father and one that will be forever with her, no matter how hard I push her to break it. "Lay down on the couch and I'll go get you aspirin and water."
I ease her down so that her head is resting on a cushion and slide her shoes off, to make sure that she's comfortable. She curls herself up, tucking her knees in and dips her head down low, making me now suspect that it's more than just her head that is hurting.
I run to our utility cupboard and grab the bucket to place beside her on the couch, just incase she needs it. I leave her for just a few minutes as I prepare the aspirin for her to take and when I return to the living room, she's hunched over the bucket, emptying the contents of her stomach.
I sit beside her on the floor, holding her hair back as she heaves uncontrollably into the bucket, wincing in pain each time she has to release. I feel so powerless, watching her becoming sicker by the seconds.
