"What? No, Marshall, I have too much to do. And besides, the nurse said if I was going to"--she hesitated, then made herself say the word--"miscarry, that this early there wasn't anything they could do to stop it."
"This isn't up for discussion, Allison. I'll be there in five."
In a strange way, it was a relief to be told what to do, even if it might be more symbolic than anything else. She marked herself out for the day and took the elevator down to meet Marshall. If he showed up at work in the middle of the day, there would be too many questions.
At home, he insisted she lie down and then sat beside her, stroking her hair. But his very touch distracted her. She was listening. Listening to her body. Before, there had been a little hum of connection between her and the baby. Now it was gone. Or was it gone? Maybe she was just imagining it. Everything was probably fine.
Finally she asked, "Can you just hold me?" They lay together in the darkened room, his knees pressing into the backs of hers, each of them with a hand on her belly. Marshall whispered prayers into the nape of her neck until it was time for them to go.
In the doctor's office, the receptionist told them to wait. Allison turned obediently toward one of the flowered couches, but Marshall said to the receptionist, "Look, something might be wrong. Isn't there any way you can get us back there now?"
"Oh." The young woman nodded as she looked from Marshall to Allison. "Of course. I'll see what they can do." It was only a few minutes before they were called back, a minor miracle.
The nurse weighed Allison--up one pound--and took her blood pressure--normal. They had to wait a few minutes in the exam room. Allison sat on the edge of the exam table. Marshall put his hand on her shoulder.
Dr. Dubruski finally came into the exam room. "How are you today?" She turned her head to look at them as she washed her hands in the sink.
"I've had some spotting." Tears slipped down Allison's face before she could will them away.
The doctor dried her hands and then handed Allison a tissue. "I'm sorry," Allison said, trying to stop crying. Marshall put his arm around her.
"No, I'll bet you've been holding this in all afternoon, haven't you?" Dr. Dubruski wasn't much older than Allison and Marshall, but her words had the calming cadence of a mother's. "Let's check right now. Once we've heard a heartbeat, it's very unusual for spotting to mean anything serious."
She squirted jelly on Allison's belly. But no matter where the doctor pressed with the Doppler, nothing but an agonizing silence filled the room. Allison turned to look at Marshall. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he listened for the sound that never came.
Dr. Dubruski finally lifted the Doppler. "We should really look with the ultrasound. With you only barely being at twelve weeks, sometimes the baby can just be in the wrong position for us to hear it on the Doppler. I'm sorry. I should have thought of that."
Marshall helped Allison pull on a gown, and they walked down the hall to the ultrasound room. There the doctor began to move the ultrasound sensor over Allison's belly. Allison watched Dr. Dubruski's kind face as she leaned toward the screen. She looked serious, but not worried. That's what Allison kept telling herself. That the doctor simply looked intent.
Dr. Dubruski peered closer at the screen, then pulled back a little. At the same time she moved the sensor around, picked it up, put it down, pushed it from one side to the other, tried a new angle, started again.
"I know this must be uncomfortable," she said at one point. "I'm sorry."
And there all along on the screen was the baby-shaped gray blob inside the black space of Allison's uterus, quiet and still.
"I'm not seeing what I want to see," Dr. Dubruski said. "But I am not sure ..."
Minutes passed. Marshall moved to Allison's side and took her hand, his forehead creased with worry. She willed herself to be quiet. She was not going to jump to conclusions. She was not going to panic.
She was not going to be the one to say it first.
Finally, the doctor stopped looking. "Let me take some measurements," she said. "Yes, I think ..." she said, and looked down. "This is measuring at about eleven weeks. And I can't find a heartbeat." Dr. Dubruski looked at them. "I'm so sorry?'
Even though she was flat on her back, Allison felt as if she were falling. The table couldn't keep her from tumbling into the abyss.
Chapter 38 Hedges Residence