The doctor arrives. He’s a slender man with a neat moustache and an air of sympathy. He knows too, even before he examines me. I put my feet into the stirrups and stare at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights burning my eyes.
“I’m going to order a blood test, Mrs. West,” Dr. Paulson says as he inserts a speculum inside me and locks it open, “but I’m sorry to tell you that it does look as if you’ve lost the pregnancy. You have quite a bit of bleeding and tissue loss.”
I can’t speak. The doctor and nurse confer in low murmurs. There’s some poking and prodding before the speculum slides out of me.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do to stop a miscarriage,” Dr. Paulson tells me as he puts the bloody speculum on a tray and sheds his gloves. “But you should know they’re quite common, and many women do go on to have successful pregnancies. Have you experienced a loss of pregnancy symptoms?”
“I… my nausea went away about a week ago. I still felt like I was pregnant, though.”
“Likely because of hormone levels, though that was probably when the actual loss occurred.” He moves up to prod my abdomen. “As I said, we’ll do a blood test. Any severe pain?”
“Just cramps and some lower back pain.” I struggle to sit up when he indicates he’s finished. “What… what happens now?”
“You’ll bleed for perhaps a week or two.” Dr. Paulson punches a few keys on the computer. “The cramping should stop within a couple of days. You can take ibuprofen for the pain. We’ll also give you a list of grief counselors, since the emotional component can be quite difficult. Your body should take care of things, but in the event that not all the tissue is expelled, a D and C might be necessary.”
God in heaven. Yesterday I was taking our child to Wizard’s Park and the ice-cream parlor. Today I’m expelling tissue.
“You should schedule a follow-up within about a week,” Dr. Paulson continues. “Of course, call your primary physician sooner if the bleeding increases, you develop a fever, or if you notice an unusual discharge.”
He gives me a list of reminders, and he and the nurse do some more conferring. My cell phone rings inside my satchel.
Dean.
I let voicemail pick it up again.
“Do you have someone to drive you home?” the nurse asks me, after the doctor has expressed his condolences and left.
I nod, even though I told Archer to leave. The nurse hands me a folder of information about dealing with a miscarriage and points out the telephone numbers of grief counselors. She gives me a few extra maxi-pads before going to print a copy of the doctor’s report.
I get back into my stained underwear and jeans. A phlebotomist stops by to draw blood from my arm. The nurse brings me the report, which I put in my satchel. I gather my stuff and return to the reception area.
Archer is sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for me.
“W-what are you doing here?” I stammer.
He pushes to his feet, wary. “Well, I wasn’t just going to leave you alone.”
I press a hand to my cramping stomach. I’m too frozen to feel anything.
“You, uh…” Archer shifts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He glances past me to the doors leading to the exam rooms. “You’re okay now?”
I shake my head. I have nothing left, no strength to lie. “I need to go home.”
I need to be back in Mirror Lake, in our apartment on Avalon Street. I need my old, warm quilt and my padded bathrobe. I need my husband.
My tears spill over. I swipe at my face with my sleeve and try to stop the sobs inching up my throat. Archer takes some Kleenex from the nurse’s station and hands them to me.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll drive you back to the house.”
We leave the hospital and walk out to the car. Shivers are still racking my body. I’m glad he’s driving.
“Can we stop at the drugstore?” I ask.
To my gratitude, Archer doesn’t ask why. He pulls into the parking lot of a Walgreen’s and waits in the car while I go in and buy a box of maxi-pads and some more ibuprofen. We’re both silent on the way back to the West house.
“Could you please not tell anyone about this?” I’m unable to look at him as I reach for the car door handle. “It’s a personal thing… I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Yeah, sure. If you’ll be okay.”
I’m not sure I will be, but I nod and escape into the house. I go upstairs to our room and lock the door. A wave of loneliness and grief overwhelms me. I collapse onto the bed, bury my face in the pillow, and cry.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Olivia
iv, where are you? Flights are canceled for the rest of the day and maybe tomorrow. I’m still at home. Love you.”
I press a button to erase the message. Early evening light slants between the curtains of the bedroom. The afternoon has passed in a slow, torpid haze of devastation.
A knock sounds on the door. I push my hair away from my face and school my features into a calm expression as I go to answer it. Joanna is standing in the corridor, a phone in her hand.