Page 95 of Captive Omega

“It is?”

She nods firmly. “It is. I have some questions about your health and any family diseases to minimize any bad surprises. I have your blood test and urine results, but I’d like to get your weight and height on record.” Her grin is impish as she releases me to place a hand lovingly on her rounded belly. “My OB shames me for my love of chocolate. Every prenatal appointment, she knows how much I’ve let myself go.”

Is it weird that I want to smile?

“I discovered fancy apple juice.”

“Then you must have your men get you more of it.”

My men?

“They are not my men,” I deny.

Isaura’s gentle smile says she doesn’t believe me. “They will want to look after you.”

I don’t know how she can be so sure of that. Maybe it’s because they’ve agreed to wait. I wonder if maybe not everyone waits.

Isaura must have spoken a little more with Sadie than she let on because her questions about my health and family center only around me. She doesn’t ask about the birth father, and even if she had, I wouldn’t be able to tell her.

“Your blood tests look okay, though I would recommend some iron. Your levels don’t suggest anemia, but let’s see if there’s something we can do to improve the situation, hmm?”

The questions she asks me aren’t difficult.

Yes, it’s my first pregnancy.

No, there are no diseases in my family.

I don’t remember when I had my last period.

My awareness of time after I realized I was pregnant shifted dramatically. I went from wanting to set every alpha on fire to thinking about how I would keep my child alive.

I don’t know if my mom had problems having me.

I don’t smoke or drink or do drugs.

The only medication I’m taking are the prenatal vitamins Sadie left me.

Isaura nods approvingly, and I feel strangely proud of myself for something that doesn’t deserve any pride. It’s taking a vitamin, and I didn’t even do the work of getting them. Sadie did.

The physical part of the examination starts awkwardly.

I take the blue hospital gown that Isaura gets for me. One of those backless ones I wore the last time I was here and hoped never to wear again.

I change in a small side room, with nothing in it but a small table, a plant and a wall chart showing the stages of pregnancy from inception, a teeny tiny tadpole-like sperm, to a baby cradled in a woman’s arms.

Try as I might, I try to envision myself holding my baby in my arms and I can’t.

It feels like something that might be a million miles away, not the approximately six months, Isaura said. Even then, I’d be rare if I actually gave birth on my birth date. Few women ever do.

As we’ve tackled each part of the examination: the questions, discussions about my blood and urine test, checking my weight and height, more of my tension and fear have lifted away.

Back in her room, I settle on the table and lie down so Isaura can do a breast and pelvic exam. She explains what she is doing and it makes an awkward experience a little less so.

Everything is about reassuring me that everything is progressing well and that I’m healthy.

She presses on my stomach next. Not hard but searching. “I’m checking if any of these organs are enlarged. That might be a sign of problems that need more assessment. Any pain or discomfort?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

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