Part 2The Blood Type Blunder

“The baby will need a lot of money in the future, so the postpartum nurse won’t be coming. My mom will take care of you instead!”

I nodded, my voice firm. “Just give me the phone already!”

Mark thought this was my surrender. But the moment I had my phone, I fired off a barrage of messages. To my parents. To my best friend, Pathy. And to the postpartum care agency, asking for my nurse to return. Mark’s and his mother’s incessant nagging simply faded into the background.

With all the messages sent, a strange sense of unreality settled over me. I dragged my utterly exhausted body to look at my baby. The pregnant woman in the bed opposite looked at me with profound sympathy. She offered a small smile, but there was also a hint of unspeakable disdain on her plain face. I gave a bitter laugh. Facing a family of wolves, if I were to lash out now, if I made too much of a scene, I would lose even this tiny chance to get help.

Later that evening, before the end of their shift, the attending physician, a cultured man named Dr. Peterson, came specifically to check on me. He held the baby’s test report and asked about my blood type.

“Mrs. Johnson, we’re about to examine the baby. We’ve noted that you are O-negative and the baby is A-positive, which carries a risk of hemolytic jaundice.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and he shrieked, “What’s the baby’s blood type?!” He lunged forward, grabbing Dr. Peterson’s lab coat. “You effing tell me that again?!” he snarled. “What is that child’s blood type?!”

Everyone in the room instantly recoiled. Dr. Peterson, composed and unfazed, used a subtle, almost effortless counter-move, like a smooth Tai Chi motion, to loosen Mark’s clumsy grip. “The report shows the baby is A-positive. This situation carries a higher risk of hemolytic jaundice. Please, as family members, monitor the baby’s condition and contact the on-duty doctor or nurse if you have any concerns.”

Eleanor interjected, “How is that possible? How can the baby’s blood type be different from his mother’s? And my son and his wife are both O-negative! How could they have an A-positive child? Are you saying you swapped our grandson, giving us a sick child to fool us?”

Her shrill voice startled the baby in my arms, making him whimper. Everyone in the room exchanged awkward glances, and even the family in the next bed looked at us with a mixture of pity and discomfort. It was as if I were a poor, unlucky bug, overturned in a grimy gutter.

Dr. Peterson maintained his professional composure, patiently explaining, “It’s a normal physiological phenomenon for a pregnant woman and a child to have different blood types. Every step in our hospital is strictly managed. Weren’t you right there when the baby was delivered? All examinations after birth were conducted in the presence of family members. There’s no possibility of such a major medical error.”

“Enough, Mom!” Mark suppressed his fury, his clenched fists white at the knuckles. “Don’t make a scene so everyone knows! Aren’t you embarrassed enough?”

I held my son, who had peacefully fallen asleep, feeling a profound sense of security. The little guy was a soft, warm bundle; he looked a bit… homely, but I felt an overwhelming surge of love. My gaze, drawn by Mark’s clenched fist, hardened. A tough battle lay ahead.

“Dr. Peterson,” I said softly, my voice calm. “My mother-in-law and husband seem to have a lot of concerns about me and the baby. Since everyone is here, perhaps we should just re-test everyone’s blood types?”

Dr. Peterson nodded. “That’s certainly an option.”

Eleanor’s face instantly darkened. “What nonsense are you talking about? My son has been O-negative his whole life! How could it be anything else? It’s you, you hussy, who’s been seeing someone else!” She looked at me with venom. “I won’t pursue who your lover is in public, but don’t think you’ll get off easy!” She then turned to Mark. “Son, hurry and process her discharge papers! We’ll take her home and teach her a good lesson!”

Mark remained silent, gritting his teeth, raising his hand as if to slap me. But the family from the next bed intervened. “Your wife has a point,” the husband said. “If you have doubts, just get it tested here at the hospital and clear it up. The mother and baby both need more rest right now. If you want to argue, take it outside! Don’t disturb my wife’s rest!”

Tears welled up in my eyes. Only after giving birth did I truly understand if I had married a man or a devil. The family in the opposite bed was a picture of harmonious support, with both the husband’s and wife’s families taking turns caring for her. Her bedside table was piled high with various tonics and snacks, all to ensure she ate well during her hospital stay. I, on the other hand, sat alone with nothing. My parents had wanted to visit, but Mark, behind my back, had canceled their train tickets.

Before I entered the delivery room, he was still playing video games. I’d asked him to buy me a packet of medical-grade maternity pads, which were about eighty dollars, but he complained they were too expensive. He turned around and bought me a ten-dollar pack of cheap toilet paper instead, saving the money to buy himself some gaming skins! I was furious before going into labor, and it was the woman in the next bed who shared two packs of pads with me.

I swallowed the bitterness that filled me, insisting, “You suspect I’ve done something to betray you? Then please, show me proof! My prenatal report clearly states I am O-negative. You’ve always thought you were O-negative, but have you ever been tested? Just one test, and we’ll have the report.”