Page 18 of Power Move
She pulled a pee cup from the drawer, and I went to the bathroom. I knew this drill. My heart pounded—not out of fear of pregnancy—but from the many complicated and failed attemptsat it. I felt sick thinking about how this road ended and how it cost me everything as I placed the cup on the tray by the lab window.
I returned, pulled on my clothes, and waited to talk about what options worked best, ashamed to admit I’d never before had such a discussion. In high school and early university, I used condoms. My parents weren’t okay with the pill for a teen. And by my early-twenties, I only slept with women. I didn’tneedthe pill. My periods were mostly regular, only altered by stress occasionally. I had a thirty-day cycle and knew what to expect most months.
When the doctor returned, she had a packet in her hand.
“So, the test was positive,” she said.
“For which disease?” I asked. “You said?—”
“Not a disease. Your test results for the STIs were negative. You’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” I gasped. “But I’m not sick. And… I took Plan B.”
She sat on the stool before me once more, empathetic.
“I… I had a miscarriage earlier this year,” I explained. “I had symptoms right away. And my cycle is…”
My voice trailed as I pulled out my phone. I scrolled through my calendar app and did the math. “Well, fuck. But I took Plan B.”
She grimaced. “With your BMI—even at 170 pounds—this drug is less effective. I’m not going to tell you to lose weight now, since you’re already pregnant, but you will want to watch your weight.”
I beat down an urge to roll my eyes. I was a runner. I was active. I moved my body because it made me happy. I didn’t apologize for my BMI in the “overweight” category. I’d spent my teen years torturing myself next to skinny-minnie Ellie. I didn’t argue but also did not accept her judgement.
“I am sorry, Eva,” she said. “But at this point, I’m going to give you information on our OB clinic. I don’t handle OB patients,unfortunately. Head over and schedule an ultrasound… or ask about… abortion resources.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
Why was Ithankingher for the worst news I’d ever gotten on a lunch break?
I didn’t know what to do. In my experience, this could all still end poorly. I’d never made it past twelve weeks, and I was only about five weeks along now. I stepped up to the OB window and handed in the paperwork.
“Hello,” the medical assistant said.
“Hi. I need to schedule… something. But I’ve had a chemical pregnancy and a miscarriage already. I want you to know that in case you do something differently.”
“Two losses? I’m sorry.” She looked at my paperwork. “Five weeks? Do you have time for a blood draw?”
I checked my watch, knowing my next appointment wasn’t for half an hour. “I could do it quickly.”
“Sure. Let’s do two 48-hours apart to make sure you’re progressing as is protocol. I’ll have the midwife send your orders. Do you want to schedule your eight-week scan?”
“Yes, please,” I pulled out my phone.
We scheduled it. I went to the lab to sit through another poke. I wandered back to my office, in shock and awaiting results, and made it through the rest of my day somehow. I didn’t plan to be pregnant. I didnotwant to have a baby with my asshole boss, but what if this was my last chance at motherhood? The perfect man may never come. In my early twenties, I’d have ended it without a second thought. Now, my gut told me I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye yet—or ever.
Davey
“So, what did you think?” Daphne asked, eyebrows raised.
“About what?” I sighed, my headache worsened.
I wanted this day to end. On top of my normal anxiety, I now had to avoid Eva Pavlak. I saw her making tea this afternoon and doubled back around the office to avoid her. This wasn’t sustainable. I didn’t care what Daphne wanted. It could wait until I fled the scene.
“Our new BISO?”
“Oh, Eva… what’s her name?”
“Pavlak. It’s Polish.”
