Page 65 of Implode

“I see it,” I sigh. My sweet baby.

“You are indeed pregnant, Miss Nettles. A singleton.”

I let out a breath in relief.Just one. I watch as he draws some lines and hits a button on the keyboard that captures the images. He does this several times from various angles. Then he clicks onto the screen, and a muffled thump-thump sound fills the room.

“Is that the heartbeat?”

“Sure is. Healthy and strong. I am measuring you at seven to eight weeks, which puts the date of conception about five to six weeks ago. I saw in your chart that you left the box unchecked for known father.”

My eyes droop despite the doctor not seeming judgmental. Maybe this is a common occurrence. Or perhaps I am in the minority. Regardless, it makes me extremely anxious that I do not know who fathered this child.

Nic told Tara the morning she surprised us in his office that he doesn’t want kids. That alone should have made it clear to me that he is not the one. Because if this child is his, then he would just be going through the motions to not look like an asshole, when deep down he will be harboring resentment toward me or the baby. I don’t need negative feelings toward this baby, and no matter how I run through each scenario in my flowchart of thoughts, the result is always the same.

A small part of me wishes Nic and I never blurred the lines again this week by cohabitating and acting like we are a couple. I can’t keep doing this to my heart. All of this uncertainty is fucking with my head.

Ethan, on the other hand, would be pissed off that it was his or maybe just angry it is mine. One can’t be sure with him and his moods. Plus, he is so impulsive that I have no idea what he would say or do in reaction to the news. Just the lack of respect he showed toward me over the apartment and storage unit lets me know that he would be a horrible coparent. I know it’s not fair to keep a secret this big, but I don’t think I can handle his reaction.

The doctor removes the wand and fixes the sheet I have draped over my legs. The nurse steps out of the room, and I watch fixated as the doctor peels back the used condom and disposes of it into the trash. It is ironic that the only thing penetrating me while using protection for the past couple of months is the inanimate object officially letting me know I am indeed pregnant.

“I was taking the pill,” I defend, despite the doctor not giving me any reason to feel defensive.

“Oral contraceptives are only about ninety percent effective, with the assumption that it was taken correctly, which means on time and without antibiotics.”

I nod. I know this. Well, I know how to take it correctly. I guess I just never expected to be part of the less than ten percent that it fails for. I am not an idiot, and yet I acted stupidly for not insisting on a double form of protection. At the very least, I should have been watching the calendar to decrease the odds of this happening.

My hands rest over my lower abdomen, directly over where the baby is growing and developing. While the news of its existence is shocking, I want this baby. I want to try to be a good mother and break the cycle of bad parenting that I was subjected to. I never want my child to wish I put them up for adoption rather than to raise them. A tear slides down my cheek and I wipe it away.

I look over at the doctor who is typing out some notes on the computer. “Why do you think I am bleeding? Did the fall hurt the baby?”

“There’s no way of knowing with certainty that the fall didn’t hurt the baby. However, everything from the scan today looked good. This is your first pregnancy, right?”

“Yes.”

“I know everything is new for you and can be a bit scary. Your body is going to change to accommodate this new life. However, please know that your hormones are going to shift and your mental clarity is just as important as your physical health. So many things are outside your control right now and especially this first trimester, which you are only halfway through. While it is too soon to know for sure, you could have a condition called Placenta Previa. If this is the case, we will handle it. I will give you a pamphlet on the condition to proactively prepare you. It is not too serious to worry about, and I won’t be able to confirm until you are further along. But knowledge is power.”

“Okay,” I say with a shaky voice.

“When was the last time you had sex?” he asks in a professional tone.

“Umm,” I hum, looking to the side of the room, “about five hours ago.”

“Miss Nettles?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not here to judge you or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. I just want to point out that your cervix and all of the surrounding area is increasing with blood volume, as well as sensitivity. The act of sex alone can cause bleeding. This all may seem alarming, but it is basically normal. Right now, I need you to stay hydrated and to start taking a prenatal vitamin if you haven’t already. You are now considered high-risk due to the unexplained bleeding, so you’ll need to be monitored closely. Therefore, I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Okay.”

“However, if you are bleeding more than a pad, you have to go straight to the hospital, just like you did today. Spotty vision or sharp pain on the right side, you come straight here. Otherwise, I can see you at my office complex where I do routine checkups.”

“Thank you, Dr. Blackstone.”

Once the doctor exits, I get dressed in the clothes I arrived in and get pushed along to the nurse at the big circular desk, where they watch all of the patients’ monitors.

“You are free to go, as soon as you sign this discharge document,” the nurse states, pointing to the line where I’m supposed to write my signature.

I expect a hefty bill to be sent to my residence, even though I do have health insurance. I know I have a deductible to meet, plus all of these appointments are going to add up with copays and facility charges.

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