Like now, with the ultrasound. Lots of traditional docs insisted on multiple scans. But Maggie knew that different patients had different comfort levels. She left room for those choices. Of course, since she knew that this pregnancy was totally unplanned, I suspected she was also respecting the fact that I might not want an ultrasound if I hadn’t decided to go forward.
“I’m going to have the baby,” I told her, bracing my hands on either side of me. “I’ve made that decision. What happens afterward . . . that’s still up in the air.”
Maggie nodded. “All right. If you’d like to talk about that, we can. Or we can talk later, or I can recommend a counselor.”
“I have a therapist, thanks. At this point, talking it out isn’t as important as . . . I don’t know. Listening to myself, I guess. Deciding if I think I can do it. Be a single mom, I guess.”
“Ah. So the baby’s father isn’t in the picture?” She dragged out her desk chair and sat down.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure he is. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him to let him know.”
Maggie’s brows rose. “Why not? Is he a secret agent? An alien? In an irreversible coma?”
“Funny,” I muttered. “And you’re close—he was in the hospital unconscious when I found out I was pregnant. Since then, I’ve been trying to talk to him, but he hasn’t answered my calls or texts.”And I think it’s more than possible that his bitchy new girlfriend didn’t tell him I stopped by to see him,I thought.
“Huh.” Maggie crossed her legs. “Well, it sounds as though you’ve done your best to inform him. If you have exhausted all the possibilities, and you can provide proof that you did, you can always go through legal channels and request that he relinquish his parental rights. It would probably require a paternity test, either before or after the baby’s born, but that’s a bridge you could cross later.”
“Would I have to do that in order to set up a private adoption?” Even saying the words made me want to cry, but I knew that I had to carefully weigh all of my options. I had to consider what was going to be the best decision for my baby, not what made me feel good.
“Not necessarily. Not if you don’t name him as the father. And if you think there’s a good chance that he wouldn’t pursue his rights, then you can forego the legalities. But as your midwife, I have to recommend that you consider involving him if you can. Don’t give up on finding a way to tell him that you’re pregnant. Even if you have to go through the legal system—which might be necessary if he’s really cut you off.” Maggie’s forehead drew together. “On a personal note, Alison, I have to say that I can’t imagine you being involved with the kind of man who wouldn’t want to be part of his child’s life. Was there some kind of misunderstanding between you? Can you resolve it for the good of both you and the baby?”
I swallowed over the lump in my throat, trying to word my answer the right way. “He’s a wonderful man—usually. But he had a major life upheaval after the baby was conceived, and now I think he’s struggling. Part of that means that he’s isolating himself from everyone who cares for him.”
“Oh. I see.” Maggie tapped her pen against her thigh. “Well, in that case, I’d definitely keep trying. Maybe this news could turn everything around for him.”
“I guess anything’s possible.” I wasn’t feeling very hopeful.
“Well.” Maggie shook her head a little and sighed. “Let’s see. I have a big pile of information to give you on what to expect over the coming months, our recommendations for nutrition and exercise . . . what to avoid, what to watch out for. And then you’ll have some forms to fill out about delivery preferences, but those we can put off for a while.”
I twisted a lock of my hair around one finger. “I have one question—since your office is in Harper Springs and I live in Bayerton, where will I have the baby? Do you have privileges at the hospital in Tampa?”
Maggie shook her head. “No, but that shouldn’t be a problem. You have lots of options when it comes to where you deliver your baby. There’s St. Agnes, of course—and with a first baby, assuming that there aren’t any complications, you’d have plenty of time to get here. It’s only—what, a forty-five-minute drive? And in case of an emergency, you’d go to Tampa. Or we have the birthing center which is just outside of town here. It’s less of a hospital setting and more laid back. Low-key.” She paused. “Or you always have the option to have the baby at home.”
“Really?” I hadn’t considered it. “I could do that?”
“Sure, assuming that you have an uneventful pregnancy and nothing changes in your health—no complications or concerns about the baby’s well-being as well as yours. I’ve done quite a few home births in the past couple of years.” Maggie slid me a sideways glance. “Of course, if you decide to move forward with adoption, the majority of adoptive parents require the birth to take place in the hospital—less personal, more precautions.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
She stood up and drew me into a warm hug, which was her usual way of greeting her patients and of saying good-bye. But today, it felt she squeezed me just a little tighter, offering a little more comfort. “You’re going to be fine, Alison. I know this feels scary and unexpected, but sometimes, the best things in life are what we never planned to happen.”
“I just . . . at times, I feel like I’m sure I can do it. And others, I wonder if I’m crazy to even consider raising a baby on my own. And there are moments when I just wish that everything could stay the same.”
“Oh, sweet girl, that never happens,” Maggie laughed. “Nothing lasts forever—not happiness, not sorrow, not the best or worst times of our lives. Everything changes.” She winked and cast me a wry grin. “And if you didn’t believe that before, watching your body accommodate a growing baby over the next six months will teach you.”
I groaned, and Maggie laughed.
* * *
Since I wasin Harper Springs—and didn’t have to go back to my own office that day—I decided to pop into St. Agnes and see if Emma had time for a cup of coffee. Or decaf tea, I thought, scanning the list of suggested do’s and don’ts for pregnant women that Maggie had handed me on my way out.
It felt a little odd to open the door to the oncology wing after having been away so long. In some ways, everything was the same: the walls were the same restful dove gray, and the sounds of patients and staff hadn’t changed. But there were new people working here now—Jenny Ward and Darcy Ryan, our two nurse practitioners on the ward, had both moved away. And both had gotten married, too. Jenny lived in Northern Virginia with her husband Nico, and Darcy was in Tampa. Her husband Jackson played football with Noah, I remembered suddenly. The two had never been close friends as far as I knew, but I recalled the four of us chatting at Emma and Deacon’s wedding. I wondered if Jackson still saw Noah, or if Noah had cut off all contact with his former teammates.
“Dr. Wakely? I thought that was you!” An older woman with steel gray hair called out to me, and I paused, turning around.
“Mrs. Hoskins!” I didn’t have to force a smile this time. During my time here at St. Agnes, I’d grown to like and respect the head nurse on the oncology floor. Along with Emma, she and I had juggled patients, schedules, and administration chores in Deacon’s absence. I had only seen her in passing at Emma’s wedding.
“Mira, please,” she insisted. “What brings you to our little corner of the world? Can I hope that you’re thinking about coming back to work here?”
