Page 42 of Forever Writing You

“No.”

“Did she ever refer you to any type of specialist for fibroid testing?”

“I really want to get the ultrasound printout first,” I say. “Can we get into the technical stuff and the blood reasoning after that?”

She looks over at the nurse and nods. Pulling on a pair of gloves, she motions for me to lean back and spreads a cooling gel on my stomach.

While the nurse hits the lights and turns on the screen, the doctor presses a wand against my skin.

The screen powers on, revealing a grey and white image.

“Here on the screen—” She points to a white and grey blip. “This is where the fetus typically develops, but can you see these orbs that are around it?”

“Yes...”

“Those are called submucosal fibroids,” she says. “Due to their shape and how they are positioned, it will be difficult for you to carry a pregnancy full term.”

“I’m not understanding.”

“Plenty of women have this condition, and due to the severity of yours, there’s a five percent chance that you’ll be able to successfully remain pregnant, let alone get past the first trimester.”

I shake my head, confused.

“I’m pregnant now, though,” I say, my voice faint. “Why are we talking about another pregnancy?”

“I typically recommend freezing eggs for a potential IVF procedure with similar patients.” She keeps talking. “Even so, I must warn you that even then, having a child is not guaranteed. There are also wonderful adoption agencies, foster programs, and…”

The rest of her words come in muted, and I suddenly feel alone in this room.

It’s not until I hear her say, “I’m sorry for your miscarriage” that the situation hits me.

When I come to, the nurse is gently shaking my shoulder.

“You’re lucky it was so early so that way you couldn’t get too attached,” she says.

“Lucky?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “You’re very lucky, Miss Foster. Take your time getting dressed and be sure to place the garment back in the bin.”

She leaves the room, and I sit motionless until the office closes.

The scent of freshly cut lavender wraps around me when I return home.

Everett’s mother and my mom are sitting at the dining room table, packaging gifts for a local wedding.

“Hey Dahlia!” My mom smiles. “After you get settled in, come help us so we can mail these off by tonight.”

Too numb to respond, I walk to the kitchen and wash my hands.

“Hey babe.” Everett pulls me into a hug from behind and kisses my neck.

“Hey.” I can’t bear to face him right now. “How are you?”

“Good.”

“Did you tell her what we decided, Everett?” His mother calls out.

“Not yet.” He grabs my hand and walks me to the dining room. “You two can tell her.”

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