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I cross my ankles and nervously drum my heels on the hollow metal base of the exam table, waving with my fingers. “Hi.”
“Your Majesty.” The doctor curtseys to me, then to Nathan, and somehow pulls it off while balancing an open laptop on her arm. “Your Majesty. I’m Doctor Campbell. It’s an honor to serve you both during this blessed time.”
“Um, thanks,” I say, still not used to this type of formality.
“Your wrist looks like it healed well,” the doctor notes. “Any troubles with that, at all?”
I look down at my stump. I barely feel my phantom fingers anymore. “No. Just adapting.”
“And are you still on pain medication for that?” Dr. Campbell asks, sitting on the wheeled stool and sliding the laptop on the counter.
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“She’s tough,” Nathan says with a chuckle. “She barely needed anything at all.”
“That’s probably for the better, then,” Doctor Campbell says, her fingers tapping across the keyboard. “All right. Do we know the first day of your last menstrual period?”
“No,” I admit sheepishly. “I used to track it on an app because it’s been irregular in the past. Lately, with so much happening in the pack—”
The doctor nods in sympathetic understanding. “We can estimate fetal age by other means.”
“We do know when the baby was conceived,” Nathan says. “We were only together once between my recovery and her injury, and we learned she was pregnant shortly after that.”
I think back, quickly trying to remember those jumbled events, and realize he’s right. “Yes, because I had my period while you were still convalescing. You’re right.”
“I know I’m right,” he says smugly.
“So that would have been…” The doctor looks between the two of us.
“Six weeks?” I shrug. “Eight? To be honest, I lost track of a lot of time while I was recovering. And then there was that… other stuff.”
“I’m sure. It’s been a stressful time for you,” she says, nodding, and I honestly want to throw my arms around her and hug her and cry because I can’t remember anyone else, not even my friends or my sister, recognize that all of the turmoil has taken a toll on me.
The doctor tilts her head. “It’s still very early. How did you know?”
“I could tell,” Nathan answers while I try to figure out how to phrase, “He tasted it in my pussy juice.” He’s much more tactful about it. “She smelled different.”
A smile touches the corner of the doctor’s mouth. “A lot of males know first, if they’re especially in-tune with their mates.”
I’m not sure we can describe Nathan as being “in-tune” with me, but I smile back weakly, anyway.
The doctor runs me through a barrage of questions: am I experiencing morning sickness? have I noticed weight gain? what about swollen feet, dizziness, fainting?
Every time I answer, I wonder if it means something, if my answers will reveal that surprise, I’m not really pregnant at all.
I must not be the first person to worry about that in this office, because Dr. Campbell says, “Relax. This is just a thorough record of your symptoms. We’re establishing a history for you and baby.”
“Oh. Good.” I feel a little silly. “I know it’s weird, because we had the blood test and everything, but I still can’t believe it’s real. That there’s really a baby in there.”
“Well, we’re going to have a look with the ultrasound today, so you’ll have photographic evidence,” the doctor says. She pushes a button on an intercom and says, “We’re ready,” and just a minute later, a nurse arrives with a knock at the door. There’s brief, low conversation; Xiao is standing right outside, probably interrogating everyone who comes in.
The nurse does appear to be a little shaken when she enters, pushing the machine.
Doctor Campbell explains that a traditional ultrasound won’t show anything yet, so I have to put my feet in the stirrups and let them get a look with a probe that looks like an electric toothbrush in its travel case.
“Dad, if you want to stand—” Dr. Campbell sheepishly corrects herself, “I’m so sorry. Your Majesty, if you’d like to stand on the other side of the exam table, you’ll both be able to see.”
“I quite like the sound of ‘dad,’ actually,” Nathan says, and the mingled hope and pride on his face makes my heart squeeze.
“All right,” the doctor says, “Relax, this will be cold.”
She’s right. The probe is cold, and I change my opinion of the travel toothbrush case to popsicle for the first few seconds it’s in my vagina. The doctor taps some things on what appears to be a truly ancient keyboard, then turns the screen to face us.
“You’re right,” she says, gesturing to what appears to be a tiny circle with a blob stuck to it. “About six weeks.”
“That’s…” Nathan’s voice is thick with emotion. “That’s our baby?”
