Adoption, abortion, vacuums, pills, bleeding, sedation, babies, crying, bottles, diapers. It was all swirling in my head like a picture book being flipped super-fast over and over. It was too much. I needed more time. Time. Time is what I didn’t have.
“He knows. He’s left it up to me.” I met his stare straight on. I lied. I didn’t want to have to explain any further.
Folding his hands in front of him, he shifted forward, appearing more serious than before. “Listen, I can tell this was a bit of a shock to you. I get it. I have a lot of women that come into my office and tell me similar things, wanting to know their options and how I can help them. And it is absolutely your choice. But I want to make sure you are making an educated one. Take a few days, think about it. Discuss it further with the father, or your family. I’m sure you have a lot of support in your corner. Your father- . . .”
“My father can’t know anything about this!” I nearly shouted.
He raised his hands. “No, of course. I’m not going to say anything to him. Doctor/patient confidentiality, remember? I was just going to say, your father would probably be thrilled.”
No, he wouldn’t. I’d likely be frowned upon and disowned for being the family whore. He wouldn’t understand that though. My dad had a lot of plans for me. I’d already gone against him by becoming a nurse. He may be accepting of my career choice because it is still in the medical field, but he would not be okay with his only child getting knocked up during a drunken rendezvous.
“Possibly.” I lied again. My family dynamics were not up for discussion.
“Have you been seen at all?”
“No.”
“I can schedule you for a quick ultrasound just so we can check the fetal growth and get a better time frame how far along you are.”
“I can’t. I don’t want anyone to see me on the roster and question what’s going on. Patient confidentiality may be one thing, but nurses do talk.”
He frowned. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
Tell me about it. “I’m just going to go by the date of my last period.”
“Macie, you do know that if you choose to not keep the baby, we don’t do that here.”
Unfortunately, I was aware. “Mhmm,” I mumbled.
“Planned Parenthood is a very safe place, and I could refer you to one of my good friends who works there if you’d like?”
My bag was sitting on the floor next to me. I stuck my hand inside and pulled out a pad of paper and pen. “Sure, what’s the name.”
He passed along the information, and then gave me a very solemn face. His dark eyes appearing even more tired. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” Standing up, I went for the door. My back was too him and I was about to step out when I added, “And, please, I’d like to just forget this little meeting took place. Okay?”
Silence spanned the room before he said, “All right.”
I went out into the hall and shut the door behind me. Five days. I had five more days to figure out what the fuck I was going to do. Either keep the pregnancy and let everyone know what’s going on, or terminate the pregnancy and try to move forward. I was never one to even consider the second option as a choice. It’s not how I was raised. However, in my current predicament, I had to consider it. A baby would change my entire life. It would change Dodger’s entire life. Well, that’s if I told him. I nearly busted out laughing at myself. Me, not tell Dodger he had a child? Oh, the hell I’d pay for that one. I’d have to move out of the state and away from everyone and everything that I know to keep that kind of secret. I didn’t want to do that. I also didn’t want Dodger Brooks in my life for the next eighteen years either.
Cheese and rice, I was in one hell of a pickle.
ONLY TWO DAYS HAD PASSED, and I was no closer to sorting this mess out than I was in Doctor Carrie’s office. My mind kept going to one thing: Dodger. Dodger, Dodger, Dodger. He was all I could think about. Flopping down onto a metal chair outside of a frozen yogurt shop, my mind was racing. Do I tell him? Do I not tell him? Do I give him the chance to have an opinion about this whole situation? Or do I just make the choice and handle the consequences afterwards? I took a massive spoonful of my cake batter yogurt with strawberries and shoved it in my mouth. It was cold, melting on my tongue and the liquid sliding to the back of my throat. Anything super solid didn’t seem to sit well with me. Popsicles and ice cream were the key to keeping the morning sickness mostly at bay. My hips were going to hate me, but I didn’t care. Anything to keep my face out of the fucking toilet. I’d pull in some extra cardio or something later. Who was I kidding, I don’t run. I put my hand up to shield my eyes. Jesus, who turned up the fucking brightness out here? For as bright was it was outside, the air was crisp, and we were well into the fall season.
Okay, I thought to myself, here was the deal—I am pro-choice. I’ve always thought the woman has a right to choose what would be best for her. However, depending on the situation, I also felt that the guy had a right to know and help with the decision. I mean, what if he wanted the baby and would want to raise him or her? It was only fair that the father had some sort of say even though the final decision was the woman’s. Now that this particular case involves me, and a giant six-foot-three man that I can’t seem to shake from my mind, all of that doesn’t seem to matter anymore.
The scenarios I that could happen ranged anywhere from Dodger and I yelling and a massive fight ensuing—I’m talking World War III, someone isn’t coming out alive type of fight. He could also be in total denial. He might accuse me of sleeping with someone else, getting pregnant, and then pinning the baby daddy role on him. Which would also lead to someone dying by the end of the conversation if he accused me of such things. Or best case scenario, and one I couldn’t see happening, he would be happy about this. He’d be excited about fatherhood, and we could hash out the details of raising a child as the pregnancy progressed.
No matter what though, all of these options led me to the one that weighed heaviest on me. Do I just not tell him or anyone else and get rid of it? While my brain wanted to reject that idea from the get-go, I didn’t know how to raise a child. I still lived at home with my parents. Dodger and I weren’t even in a relationship. I was barely taking care of myself. I scooped another huge spoonful into my mouth and gulped it down, not allowing it to even melt.
I sucked in air and brought my hand to my head. “Ouch! Shit, shit, shit.”