We have some choices," Dr. Dubruski told Allison and Marshall. Her narrow face looked drawn, the skin stretched tight over her cheekbones. But she never looked away from them; she let them see that their pain was hers as well. "We could do a D & C. There's a slight risk associated with that. Or you can wait and let your body miscarry on its own. But some people find that too painful."
As she would in a courtroom,Allison sought clarification."Physically, you mean?" She had become all mind, no heart. She could calculate, communicate, prevaricate.
The doctor shook her head. "It's not a comfortable process, no, but I meant more emotionally. The waiting can get to some people. It can take up to two weeks."
Marshall looked at her, and Allison realized this was one decision that only she could make. "I think I would rather wait for it to happen." Part of her just wasn't ready to admit that it was really true. She hoped that if she had to wait for it, she would also come to accept it.
"Okay. But remember you can discuss it at home. If you change your mind and decide you want a D & C, just call me."
When Dr. Dubruski hugged her, Allison's arms stayed limp liy her sides. When the doctor pulled back, her eyes were wet, but Allison couldn't cry. Wouldn't. Not anymore.
All she could do now was wait.
Marshall insisted that she not try to work, so Allison told the office she was sick, without getting into specifics. He stayed home from the advertising agency the first day, but then she made him go back. It was bad enough having one of them slowly going crazy. When he left for work, she tried to pray, but her thoughts could not find a fix on anything.
The time dragged on. The only thing that distracted her was talking to Cassidy and Nicole. Cassidy reported that her doctor was doling out a reduced amount of Somulex, one night at a time, and that she had already attended four NA meetings. She also was growing desperate from lack of rest, and Allison tried to assure her that eventually she would sleep through the night.
But it was Nicole who had the most exciting story, even though she didn't say much about it. She and Makayla had fought off an armed intruder, although ultimately only he had been hurt. Closing ranks and pulling a few strings, the FBI had managed to put a damper on the news. Allison sensed there was more to it than Nicole was telling, but she was too focused on her impending loss to try to get more information.
On the second day, when the shock had lessened a little, Allison wanted to read in more detail about what would happen. But none of her pregnancy books had more than a paragraph or two. It made sense, she supposed. After all, these were pregnancy books, and a miscarriage ended a pregnancy. Nothing to see here. Please move along.
"I guess it is possible to be a little bit pregnant," she told Marshall that evening.
"What?" He looked up from the minestrone soup he had made her, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He was the person she needed the most, but how could they comfort each other when they both were in agony?
"I always used to think that being a little bit pregnant was the stupidest idea," she said patiently. "You were either pregnant or you weren't. But that's exactly what I am. I'm in limbo."
On the third day, in her restless search for more information, Allison found the Fit Pregnancy magazine Marshall had picked up for her at the newsstand a few weeks earlier. On the cover, a woman in a yellow bikini, her dark hair flowing past her shoulders, rested her hand on her baby bump, smiling proudly at the camera. Allison had never even had much of a baby bump. She had kept her pregnancy a secret, and now she would suffer in secret. The stupid girl on the cover looked ten years younger than Allison. She could have a dozen more babies, easy.
But what about Allison? She might not ever have a baby. "Why, God?" she cried out. "Why? It's not fair!"
She whirled and threw the magazine across the room. It slapped against the wall and then fell to the floor. She picked it up and began to rip it apart, page by page. Pictures of bellies ripe with promise and adorable babies and pregnant women doing yoga and running barefoot along the beach.
Twenty minutes later, that's where Marshall found her when he came home at lunchtime to check on her. On her hands and knees, weeping amid strewn scraps of paper.
That evening the bleeding started. Heavier than she expected. Marshall sat with her as she lay on the bed, biting her lip. The TV was on, but neither of them paid any attention to it for more than a few minutes, even when Cassidy came on and began talking about the Jim Fate case, pointing out that there were still loose ends. All Allison's thoughts were concentrated on the work of her body.
An hour into it, she suddenly felt panicky, breathless, and nauseated. Marshall ran out of the room and came back with a blue and white ceramic bowl, and before Allison could tell him not to be ridiculous, of course she was not going to vomit in the same bowl she mixed cookie dough in, she was throwing up into it.
The worst part was over by morning. She even managed to sleep a little.
When she woke up around ten, she felt as if she'd been emptied of everything. Of blood, of tears, of pain.