Page 80 of Bae

It was very inconvenient. I refrained from telling her that, though.

The thought of waiting another full week and a half to feel I was finally out of limbo and at least trying to move on honestly threatened what ground I was finally gaining.

Side bar: Why did the sayingmove onfeel so wrong? It was like those two words implied I was simply walking away, forgetting about whatever I was moving on from. I wasn’t. I was just trying not to allow it to hold me hostage. I needed a better term.

Dr. Crawford must have heard the disappointment and underlying anxiety in my reaction because she offered to fit me in before she left. By fit me in, I mean she offered to stay late the day after tomorrow (since her schedule was already beyond booked).

One problem: Romeo wouldn’t be home by then.

If I didn’t take the appointment, I’d have to wait until after she got back. Who knew if that would even fit with his schedule? To go or not to go?

In the end, I accepted. It was just some tests, possibly an exam. Romeo didn’t really need to be there, other than for emotional support. I could handle the appointment. Then when she returned from vacation, she could review all my lab work with both of us. It was going to suck waiting that long for the results, but at least the tests would be done.

It was incredibly generous Dr. Crawford offered to extend her hours for me. I wasn’t naive enough to think she was doing it just because she liked me. It was because of who my husband was. Because of my “celebrity status.” I usually hated that.

Not this time.

This time I was glad, and I had no qualms about using it to my advantage to get a special appointment. After all, it seemed a lot of drama and “bad” came with that status of ours… It was kinda nice to get something positive out of it, too.

An added bonus was the offices and lab would be more private. Since the media was sniffing around so viciously, that was a definite silver lining.

I thought about asking Valerie if she would come along, but in the end, I decided to go on my own. I was a big girl; I could handle it. I could have asked Trent. I probably should have… Romeo likely expected it. But I wanted to do this on my own. It felt really personal to me. Like something I needed to do for myself.

It was late afternoon when I walked into the office. It was quiet, sterile, and clean. The receptionist looked up and smiled brightly when I appeared.

“Mrs. Anderson,” she said. “How good to see you again.”

“Thank you,” I replied, signing the clipboard at the desk. “I’m here for Dr. Crawford.”

She nodded once, the dark, short curls on her head bobbing. She hit a button on the phone and then spoke into it. “Mrs. Anderson is here.”

I didn’t even have time to sit down. A nurse wearing dark-blue scrubs opened the door to the back. “Right this way.”

I followed her back and did the usual: weight, blood pressure, blah, blah. I was pretty sure I weighed about a thousand pounds more because of all the water I drank before arriving. I was hoping she’d do a sonogram, you know, just to make sure all was well. Sonograms worked better with a full bladder.

“Rimmel.” Dr. Crawford appeared from a long hallway. “You look well.”

“Thank you,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Ahh, I recognize that dance,” she said warmly. “Hoping for an ultrasound?”

“If you think that might help?” I asked. I really had no idea what to ask for. I’d told her what I wanted on the phone, but she didn’t detail everything she planned to do.

“Sure, we can do one. Come on back. We’ll do it first. That way you can empty out that bladder.”

Again, I found it convenient that Romeo and I were “celebrities” and everyone knew he made an insane amount of money. Doctors didn’t question the things I wanted—like extra sonograms—because they knew we had the money to cover it and wouldn’t have to fight with insurance companies. I didn’t care about the money Romeo made, but it was a true blessing when it came to the health and well-being of my future child.

After the sonogram, I peed in a cup, got a basic exam, and went to the lab for some lab work. Of course, it seemed like they took half my blood volume, and honestly, it made me a little queasy. I didn’t complain, though.

Once I was fully dressed and had a small container of orange juice in my hand (to replenish some energy and sugar), I was led to my doctor’s spacious office, where she was already sitting behind her desk in her white coat.

She was an attractive woman with long, dark hair, green eyes, and a kind smile.

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the chairs in front of her desk.

I did, suddenly feeling very nervous. During the sonogram, she pointed out things and generally told me everything looked wonderful, but it seemed I was sitting down right here to be given the final verdict on the chances of me conceiving again.

I’d also like to note I realized there were a lot of women out there who suffered worse than me. More miscarriages, years upon years of struggling to conceive or even not being able to have a child at all. I realized some might find it silly I was so frazzled and worried about conceiving because it took over six months to get pregnant, and then when I did, I lost her during my first trimester.

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