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Two days later, I’m sitting in the waiting room at the obstetrician’s office, fiddling with the strap of my purse. I can hardly sit still. I had to tell something far too close to a fib to Nate in order to get this time to myself. He isn’t going to sit idly by and let me visit doctors without him anymore, so I had to work around him.
Not that I can blame him. I’m mature enough to admit that I should never have excluded him from the appointment where I got my official diagnosis. Nate needed to be a part of that, and I’d denied him, even though unintentionally. In retrospect, I can see the symptoms of denial written all over my decisions back then. I didn’t really think I’d get bad news.
Certainly not the worst news.
My head snaps up when I hear my name being called. I stand, a bit unsteadily at first, take a deep breath, and plaster on a smile for the person who’s taking me back.
“How have you been, Lena?”
Sherry is Dr. Stephens’s primary nurse, and she’s had trouble getting pregnant herself. We have a lot in common and have gotten along well from our very first meeting.
Sherry holds out a hand and indicates for me to step up onto the scale. I do so obediently. I haven’t been back to see them since my diagnosis, so Sherry has no idea what’s going on in my life.
She’ll undoubtedly hear soon enough.
“I’ve had better days,” I reply vaguely, conscious of the people surrounding us.
Sherry writes down my weight, but makes no comment of the three pounds I’ve unintentionally lost. I’m surprised by it, actually, because I thought I’d eaten well in Europe. I made a point to feed my body (and, therefore, my baby) well. Very well. Unfortunately, I can’t control the fact that I feel full quicker. That’s a result of the cancer, and yet another complication to pregnancy.
Maybe this whole thing is a pipe dream.
But just the idea that I might not be able to carry this child is a crushing blow to me. To my newfound hope.
My hand trembles when I take the urine specimen cup that Sherry holds out to me.
“Give me a specimen and leave it in the window, then I’ll meet you in room number two.”
I nod and turn into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I sit on the edge of the chair in the corner and drop my head down between my knees, letting the blood rush to my brain in hopes of fending off this sudden dizziness that I feel. Maybe I should’ve eaten more before I came this morning.
When I feel moderately better, I set about giving Sherry the specimen she’ll need to confirm the pregnancy for their records. It’s just a formality for the practice. I have no doubts about it at this point. I’ve missed two periods altogether, and my abdomen has begun to swell right above my pubic bone. That plus a whole slew of other symptoms assures me that I am, in fact, pregnant.
I cup my belly through my slacks and smile, letting the knowledge, the presence of the tiny life growing inside me warm me all the way down to my soul. I can’t let fear of the unknown or doubt or probability get me down. I’m going to fight for the miracle, for this baby, even more than I’ll fight for my own life. I just need to know how best I can go about doing that.
I slide the cup into the window built into the wall, wash my hands, and go to wait in room number two. When Dr. Stephens walks in, she’s all smiles. I can’t help but feel a bit sorry for her. As a nurse practitioner, I know how disheartening it is to find out that a patient you’ve come to know and like is suffering. Or, worse, dying. I know Dr. Stephens would be heartbroken for me when she finds out.
“Look who finally got pregnant,” she says, setting aside her tablet and walking to the chair to hug me where I sit. “I’m so happy for you.”
I bite back tears and a trembling lip. Yet when Dr. Stephens leans away, she still knows something is wrong.
“What is it, Lena?”
I gulp at the rock in my throat and make myself meet the doctor’s eyes. “I was diagnosed with stage IV stomach cancer in August.”
“Oh God,” Dr. Stephens whispers, closing her eyes and dropping her head. There’s a long, meaningful pause before she asks, “How long?”
“Ten months. Maybe a year. That’s without treatment, of course, which I declined. I guess it’s a good thing I did, or I wouldn’t be here right now.” I don’t have to try to inject positivity into my tone. Despite the rest of the tragedy in my life, in the situation, I’m happy. So very happy about the baby.
At that, Dr. Stephens raises her head and pins me with her frown. “You-you’re not going to try to carry this baby, are you?”