Page 6 of Everything We Left Unsaid

Abby

2 years, 2 months ago...

My leg shakes, the heel of my sneaker bouncing off the cheap tile. I glance around nervously, unable to focus on any one thing for very long. The waiting room is nearly full, women with protruding bellies occupying most of the seats, some of them with equally nervous partners by their sides, and others, like me, waiting solo. My stomach knots as I think about what the future holds for me. How am I going to do this? How am I going to tell my grandmother? She’ll be so disappointed in me. Hell, I’m disappointed in myself.

I watch anxiously as the women around me are called back, one by one, disappearing behind the door that leads to the exam rooms. Maybe if I leave now, I can pretend this was all a dream. Run away, fast and far enough that the truth can’t catch up to me.

“Abby?” My head snaps up at the sound of my name. I scramble out of my chair, grabbing my purse and clutching it protectively to my stomach. The lady who called for me stands at the threshold, holding open the door I’ve been dreading walking through. I hesitate, my heart galloping in my chest, my nerves threatening to get the best of me. She smiles at me kindly and I imagine I look like a scared little animal, all wide-eyed and trembling.

“Right this way, dear.” Her calming voice does little to soothe me. I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. I already know about the little life growing inside me. I should be getting used to the prospect by now, but I’m still scared. Scared of what my grandmother will think. Scared of what Jacob will say when I tell him I’m carrying his child. But what I’m most afraid of, what absolutely terrifies me, is that I’ll turn out like my mother. Not the drug addiction part. I don’t worry about that, but I’m worried I won’t be any good at this. What if I screw up somehow and my kid ends up hating me? What if I do something wrong and they get hurt? What if I do everything right and they still turn out bad, like my mom did? My grandmother is a wonderful, loving, caring woman who is the epitome of motherhood, yet her daughter still turned out to be a terrible human being.

“Do you need to use the bathroom? We need to collect a urine specimen before you leave today.” I blink up at the woman, lost in my own thoughts. She motions toward the restroom sign, the door standing slightly ajar, indicating it’s unoccupied.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I hurry inside and lock the door. Leaning over the sink, I grip its edges and try to catch my breath, unable to meet my own gaze in the mirror.

When I finish up, the nurse leads me to an exam room and instructs me to remove my clothes and replace them with a paper-thin gown. Cold chills cover my arms even as sweat coats my palms. I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a knock on the door. It opens to reveal a familiar face.

“Ms. Harris,” Dr. Lopez announces in greeting. She grabs a rolling chair and pulls it up next to the exam table. Her already short stature shrinks as she sinks down onto the cushion. “I hear you’re expecting.” Her head tilts to the side, eyebrows raised, seeking confirmation.

My chin quivers and tears well in my eyes, and all the emotion I’ve been trying to keep bottled up threatens to spill over. Her warm brown eyes soften and a sympathetic smile graces her lips.

“It’s okay. You’re going to get through this.” She grabs both of my hands and squeezes them reassuringly. I take a few deep breaths, and she allows me this moment to collect myself before continuing. “How did this happen? Did you stop taking the birth control I prescribed you? Were you on antibiotics at any point and forgot to use backup?” Her tone lacks accusation, but I still feel defensive. I have to explain myself. I have to make her see that I’m not completely irresponsible.

“No, I was taking it. My periods were still a little irregular, but it was starting to help.”

“Did you miss any doses?”

“No,” I begin uncertainly. I know I didn’t completely miss any. I was all caught up until... “I may have been late on a few pills,” I explain sheepishly. “But I took them as soon as I realized,” I add hastily. That night we went camping. I forgot to bring it with me, but I took it as soon as I got home that evening. And the day after Caleb tried to... I was late on that one, too. Maybe once or twice more.

“Sometimes that’s all it takes, especially with low dose birth control like you were taking. That’s why we always recommend a backup method.”

Condoms. She means condoms. I should’ve insisted on protection. How could I be so stupid? I really didn’t even know him but I trusted him. Blindly. He said he’d never done this with anyone else without using something, but how did I know for sure?

“We didn’t use anything,” I confess, my voice low and laced with shame. I search her face, waiting for the disappointment, the judgment, but she shows nothing. I guess in her line of work, you’ve got to have a pretty good poker face. “Should I…” I begin, my cheeks flushed in embarrassment for needing to ask this question. “Should I get checked for, um, any STDs?” I hate to think that way, but I need to be realistic.

“We routinely check all expecting mothers for any sexually transmitted infections,” she assures me. I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful we got that out of the way. She regards me a moment, her dark eyes assessing, and I feel like my sin is on full display. “Is the father going to be involved? Is he supportive?”

“He doesn’t know.” My voice cracks and I barely suppress a sob. I haven’t talked to Jacob in days. He’s not returning my texts and I fear the worst. He no longer wants to be with me. And I need him. God, do I need him right now.

“Abby,” she begins in a tone more serious than I’ve heard her use before, “Do you plan to carry this pregnancy to term?”

It takes my brain a moment to understand what she’s asking, and when it does, it feels like a knife slicing through my heart. A memory I buried deep long ago tries to resurface, but I push it back down, not wanting to relive that painful moment.

“Y-yes. I am.”

“Okay, then let’s get started. First, we’ll do a routine exam. I need to take some swabs, so you may feel a little pressure. Then we’ll do an ultrasound.” She glances over my chart before continuing, “It looks like it’s still pretty early, so we’ll have to do your ultrasound transvaginally.”

I wince. The procedure sounds incredibly uncomfortable, but the excitement blooming in my chest at the thought of seeing my baby smothers my dread.

A few minutes later, routine exam completed, she begins the ultrasound. I hold my breath when the black and white screen comes to life. The images start to take shape and I crane my neck to get a better view, even though I have no idea what I’m looking at. “There we are,” she announces as a white, kidney-shaped blob with tiny little nubs for limbs appears in the center of the screen. I exhale, a smile forming on my lips as my heart fills with joy. “Ready to hear the heartbeat?” I nod in response, too overcome to form words.

She turns on the sound and a rapid fluttering noise flows from the machine. My hand comes up to cover my mouth as my eyes fill with happy tears. Our situation may not be ideal, but in this moment, I know this was meant to be.

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