After we pay the bill and leave, I do just that, since Georgia’s got me all freaked out now. The last thing I need is to discover something like this about myself, while my plate is already overflowing with stress. Thankfully, she had a last-minute cancellation this afternoon. Running home to change into something more comfortable and freshen up, I run a couple of errands before heading over to her office. Once they’ve drawn my blood and made me pee in a cup, the nurse leaves me in a room with one of those god-awful paper gowns. I don’t know what it is, but waiting for the doctor to come in when I’m basically wearing a sheet that opens in the front is way more awkward than it should be.
I’m not in here for more than five minutes when there’s a knock at the door and Dr. Mitchell pokes her head in before entering. “Hi Charley,” she greets with a warm smile as she sits down on the chair in front of her computer. “How are you? Other than the reason for your visit.”
“Oh, you know.” I huff out a dry laugh. “Living the dream.”
She humors me with a small laugh, clicking several times on her mouse before glancing over at me, legs crossed and her hands clasped together in her lap. “Well, how about we get right to it.”Sounds promising.“I was looking over your labs, and can tell you without any additional labs that the cause of the symptoms you’ve been experiencing is not from PCOS.”
“That’s great!” I let out a sigh of relief, then tilt my head to the side and ask, “So, then what is it? Don’t tell me I’m already going through menopause.”
“No, Charley, you’re not going through menopause.” She chuckles. “Quite the opposite, actually.” Before she even continues, somehow, I know what she’s going to say. My chest tightens, stomach churning as I brace for it. “You’re pregnant.”
There it is.
A chill spreads through my body, settling in my bones and making me shiver before, suddenly, I’m burning up. Sweat beads across my brow, down the back of my neck, and it feels as if all the oxygen in the room has evaporated.
“That’s, uh…” I clear my throat. “That’s not possible, I have an IUD.”
“It is possible. No birth control is one hundred percent effective,” she offers, a lightness in her tone, either because she can’t see the panic written all over my face, or she can and she’s trying to calm me down. “I’d guess you are around eight weeks.”
My brows furrow.That’s not right.“I think it would actually be six weeks,” I explain, my heart beating a mile a minute. I feel like I could throw up. “That was when I had sex last, and before that, it was at least three months ago.”
Dr. Mitchell nods. “The due date is calculated by the first day of your last menstrual cycle, which, based on your last period, puts you at around eight weeks.”
Due date.
I have a due date…because there is a child, or an embryo, or whatever the hell it is, growing inside of me. Sitting here and hearing that, it seems so obvious. Everything I’ve been experiencing totally points to this, but it wasn’t even a thought in my brain…like, at all. The walls close in on me as I focus on breathing.
This can’t be happening.
It just can’t.
When a few moments pass and I don’t say anything, Dr. Mitchell asks, “Would you like to discuss your options?”
My mouth is dry, and I don’t think I could get a word out, even if I knew what to say, so I nod.
“I want to start by saying that, no matter what, you’re not alone in this,” she says, smiling gently. “My role here is to support you, provide information, and help you make the best decision for yourself. I know this is all a lot to take in, especially when it’s not something you were expecting. You’re still pretty early on in the pregnancy, so you do have a few options.” I already know what my options are—keep the baby, adoption, orabortion—but I’ve apparently lost my voice, so I let her explain them all to me anyway. Once she finishes, she pauses before saying, “There is no right or wrong decision, Charley, only what feels right for you. You don’t have to decide today, and if you need time or have questions, I’m here to help. Because you have a copper IUD inserted, I would like to perform an ultrasound today to confirm pregnancy implantation, and remove the IUD, if possible.”
Dr. Mitchell then explains the risks of leaving it in, should I decide to go through with the pregnancy, as well as the risks that could come with removal. Her tone is calm and reassuring through it all, but it’s nearly impossible to take in anything she’s saying with the pounding in my ears. After I consent to the ultrasound, she confirms the IUD is, in fact, in place—it just must’ve decided to be silly, goofy and not work—and she’s able to remove it. Throughout all of this, I’m doing my best to tamp down the nausea threatening to come up my throat, while also fighting back the tears that sting the backs of my eyes.
Once we’re finished, I redress, and then I’m on my way, with a bomb dropped on me and a handful of pamphlets, and not a fucking clue in the world about what I should do. As soon as I’m alone in my car, the floodgates open, and moisture spills hot down my cheeks. My chest heaves with deep, ragged breaths that never feel like enough.
How the fuck did this happen?
I’m usually so good about using condoms. Even with my ex-boyfriend, we always used them because neither of us were in a place where having kids felt like an option. And the one fucking time I don’t use one, I get pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
With Graham’s baby.
My bottom lip trembles as that really sinks in. I’m pregnant withGraham’sbaby.
What the fuck am I going to do? I don’t even know if I want kids. Would I even know how to be a good mother? I’m not equipped to be responsible for another person’s life… I can’t even keep a plant alive.
Goddamnit.
4
Graham
