Page 39 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

Chapter eighteen

Amanda

“Whataboutwork?”

Jackson looks over at me from the top of the textbook he’s been reading. It’s part of his studies for Margur’s disease. Even here in the waiting room for my prenatal appointment, he’s still trying to get some extra research done.

It makes me smile, my lips curling up at the edges, even though the topic at hand is serious.

Jackson says, “You’re going to get better treatment here, at a specialized clinic. And I’ve known Dr. Kuhns for years. Sarah’s an amazing woman, and she knows her stuff. She stays on top of all the most recent seminars and treatments.”

“I don’t mean the doctor,” I say, with a laugh, my hand resting on my belly. “I’m happy that you were able to get her to fit me in. I know that must have been difficult. I was talking about… us, at work.”

Jackson marks the page that he’s on and closes the book, setting the heavy tome down on his thigh. “Us and work. There aren’t any policies about having a relationship with someone on the staff, if that’s what you mean.”

“I know that. But… Are you worried about what they’re going to say, once I start to show? I’m a lot younger than you, and I don’t want to do anything that’s going to affect your career,” I tell him. The truth is, I’m just trying to distract myself from thinking about the baby.

Jackson looks amused, “I think it’s a little bit late to consider whether this is going to affect either of our careers. We’ve already made the decision to officially betogether, and I’m thrilled about it. There’s nothing that could dissuade me from taking care of the two of you.”

My smile grows a bit warmer. I reach out, putting a hand on his arm. “Even if people start to talk?”

“People are always talking. You would be amazed at some of the rumors and stories that get passed around the nurses’ station. It's like we’re back in high school.” Jackson shakes his head and makes a disapproving cluck of his tongue. “I don’t see any reason to make an announcement about it and shout it from the rafters. We don’t want to stir up issues on purpose. But I’m not concerned about people finding out on their own.”

I give a slow nod, thinking that over for a moment and deciding that I like the way it sounds.

At the end of the day, having a child isn’t going to stop me from pursuing my career as a doctor. If anything, it’s going to make me more determined to get people to respect me, so that I can make the connections I need to continue pursuing my research.

Especially now that we know about the baby’s illness.

At that last thought, my smile fades. I look down at where my hand is settled, and I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts aside. Jackson is always good at reading what’s going on in my head. He reaches over and takes hold of my hand, pulling it up and pressing a kiss to the back of my knuckles.

“We’re going to figure this out. If people at work want to talk, then let them. I don’t care how old you are, or what our jobs are,” says Jackson. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I twist my fingers into his and lean forward to press a kiss on his cheek. Just something chaste and quick since we’re in public. It's not the first time we've declared our love to each other. But it's still so new that each time I hear it I glow from the inside out. I spend the rest of our time in the waiting room leaning up against him and trying to prevent myself from panicking at the thought of the 3D ultrasound.

If something else is wrong with the baby… I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.

Eventually, it’s our turn to go back, and all that worry wells up in my chest like a wet sponge. It sits behind my sternum, so chokingly full that even pulling in a full breath is a challenge. Jackson holds my hand through everything: the introduction to Sarah, the quick rundown on what we know about the baby’s health, how we’re fairly certain that the child will be a boy.

Every time that my nerves get so bad, I falter, Jackson reaches over, gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and handles the conversation. He is an anchor in the middle of a rising flood, and I am glad to have him.

By the time the gel is being smeared onto my belly, I’m bordering being a full disaster. My eyes are so glued to the screen, I’m surprised that I’m aware of anything else. Slowly, the static-riddled shape of our son comes into view.

Dr. Kuhns says, “You’re right. It looks like you’re going to have a baby boy.”

“He’s amazing,” says Jackson. His hand hasn’t left mine since the waiting room, but the grip goes a little softer now that he’s able to put eyes on the image of our son.

Looking at him is indescribable. Tears burn in the corners of my eyes as emotion wells up inside of me again. I press my free hand to my mouth, so overcome that I can’t get out any questions.

Jackson takes charge, “Does he look healthy?”

“Outside of what the blood tests have already shown, yes,” says Dr. Kuhns, with a nod. The black hair framing her face bounces. “It looks like he’s developing just fine. Prints are a bit outdated so our clinic will email you the files from the ultrasound, and you can have them developed yourself.”

I nod, finally able to get myself under control enough to blink away the building tears. I drop my hand down to my lap, and say, “He’s perfect.”

We make arrangements for our next appointment, and Jackson keeps hold of my hand the whole way out to the car. He only lets go of it when I climb into the passenger seat, and even then, it seems like a reluctant motion on his end. I watch as he hurries around the front of the car and gets in behind the wheel.

The moment that he’s sitting, his hand is back on mine, fingers overlaying the tops of my own.

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