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But I’ve left my purse on the kitchen table, along with my keys, so I have to go back and get those. Then I’m on my way.
By the time I get to the doctor’s office, my head feels like it’s going to explode. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to stop and grab a coffee, so I’ll have to deal with what feels like a miniature Thor slamming his hammer into my temples until my appointment is over.
My doctor is a lovely woman named Roxanne Tumbler. She’s in her mid-to-late fifties, and she has three children, two in college and one close to finishing high school. She was over forty when she had her third, so I know I’m in good hands.
I’m called in right away and take another pregnancy test to confirm what I already know: that there’s a bun in the oven. Once that’s taken care of, the nurse busies herself with weighing me and taking my blood pressure. She frowns when she sees that it’s one-thirty-two over eighty-seven and takes it again. This time it’s one-thirty-five over eighty-nine.
“Should I be worried about that?” I ask and try not to fidget.
“It’s on the higher side, and you’re usually right around normal, but we’ll wait to see what Doctor Tumbler says.” She gives me a reassuring smile and leaves me on my own.
I figure it’s best to wait until after the appointment to message Jake, otherwise I’m bound to create more worry and anxiety where there doesn’t need to be any. Yet.
But while I wait for the doctor, I send Paxton a message.
Are you free tonight?
It takes her less than thirty seconds to get back to me.
Wine and cheese at your place? I want to hear all about the weekend. Don’t think I didn’t notice the vague texts.
I don’t say anything about the wine, or my intentional vagueness.
I’m working from home today, so come over whenever.
She replies with:
I’ll head straight there after work.
I respond with a thumbs-up and tuck my phone back into my purse as Doctor Tumbler slips into the room and closes the door, my file in her hands. Her smile is questioning. “I didn’t realize you were trying to get pregnant.”
“It wasn’t planned.” Roxanne has been my doctor for a long time. She was there for all the failed pregnancy attempts with Gordon and the miscarriage.
I can both feel and see her concern as she takes the seat in front of the computer monitor. “Is this a welcome surprise?”
“I think so. Unexpected, but as long as the baby is healthy, then I would like to proceed.” My biggest fear right now is that she’ll tell me it’s not safe for me to continue with this pregnancy.
She crosses her legs and faces me. “I know you’re already aware of the risks, but I’m going to be very upfront with you, Hanna. The potential for complications is a lot higher than they were last time. And there’s a significantly higher chance that you could miscarry again.”
“I know. I’m willing to take that risk.”
“I figured you would be.” Her smile is soft and knowing. “Do you have a sense of how far along you are?”
“I think about twelve weeks, or so? If I had to guess, I’d say I got pregnant in early June.”
Roxanne’s eyebrow lifts. “Twelve weeks? That’s positive. We’ll need to get started on blood work right away. Would you like to test for chromosomal abnormalities liked we intended when you were trying last time?”
“Yes, absolutely. Barring any extreme complications, I’m planning to keep the baby, no matter what.” I cover my belly with my hand.
She folds her hands in her lap. “I think you should also keep in mind quality of life. If the child has exceptional needs that could place a high demand on your energy and your resources. You will need to take those things into consideration as well. But one thing at a time. I’ll send you to the lab for blood tests immediately, and we’ll set up an ultrasound as soon as possible. That way we know where we’re at and what we can expect in the coming months.”
“Okay. That’s good. I’d like to be as informed as possible moving forward.” I’m nervous about the tests, even more so now. “I just want to know if the baby is healthy.”
“Any cramping or spotting? We’re going to want to monitor you closely, especially over the next several weeks. The lower your stress levels, the better. Are you doing this on your own, or is the father involved?”
“He’s not local, but he’ll be involved.”
“And he’s supportive?”
“He is.” The messages since I’ve left Seattle have been exactly what I needed but am scared to want. Having Jake’s support is a double-edged sword. It means I’m not alone, but it also means I need to give him a say in what happens. Like one of us eventually having to move if we’re going to co-parent effectively. I recognize there’s a strong connection between losing the last baby and the end of my relationship with Gordon. I’m afraid to count on Jake too much, to get comfortable with the idea of having this baby and then have it all taken away.
