Page 74 of Power Move
I tried to take her mind off the stress of our genetic report.
“I just want something safe and simple,” Eva said. “Lower budget.”
I rolled my eyes. “Eva, I am not assuming you want a Bugatti, but I’m not buying you a Ford Fiesta, either. What about a Mercedes?”
She snickered. “Me… what? Driving your hand-me-down G-Wagon.”
“Nah. I’d not give you a secondhand car. The truck?—”
“It’s gone. Dad drove me this morning. He’s worried without the airbags. That said, there’s no way I’m riding in that tiny car of yours for the same reason.”
“Oh.” The thought of safety never occurred to me, but made sense.
“What about we meet in the middle?” Eva asked. “Like a Volvo. It’s a nice, solid car. It’s upmarket, but it’s not a Ford Fiesta.”
“Are you sure? Parts cost a fortune.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “They make electric hybrids and the safest cars on the market. It’s either that or Rivian.”
“You want an electric?” I gasped, shocked.
“Yeah. Or a plug-in hybrid. Why not?”
“Hello, hello!” A cheerful man with a wide grin entered, and our attention turned to the more important of the two tasks—the genetic screening.
“So, the first thing I wanted to ask is before I hand you these results, would you like the sex-blind results or the ones with the babies’ sexes? I always want to confirm.”
“Oh, as we said,” I answered, “we want to see the sex of the babies.”
“Technically, your wife is the patient.”
“I’mnothis wife,” Eva clarified. “But we’re on the same page. Please show us the sex of the babies.”
“Great,” the counsellor said. “The second thing, I didn’t find anything elevated in these results that would be cause for concern, but I do want to be here to answer any questions you have.”
“That’s good,” Eva said as he handed her a piece of paper.
“It’s wonderful, but not surprising. You’re young and healthy.”
She read through the results, mouth dropping. We were having not one, but two boys.
“Two boys. Two boys!” She gasped, then teared.
I didn’t care either way, but she clearly did. I couldn’t tell if this was bad, good, or overwhelming. Treading carefully, I squeezed her good hand, minding that the right remained in a sling. The poor woman looked pitiful.
“But, as I said, based on this and the scan, the babies are developing well. We don’t see elevated risks. Now, do you have a meeting with your specialist upstairs? If so, I will take you up.”
Eva nodded, crying. We were transferred to a maternal fetal medicine specialist—an MFM—because of the pregnancy complications with Mo-Di twins. Upstairs, a man in his fiftieswho looked like he hit the gym six hours a day greeted us enthusiastically. Eva was still a sobbing mess.
“Is there a concern you want to start with?” The doctor asked. “You seem… upset.”
“I’m… overwhelmed. We’re having two boys. I wanted girls!” She sobbed. “But I’m okay. I will… feel better about it. I’m just sad and excited and… hormonal.”
I rubbed her back, having compassion for the woman I’d done dirty with two boys.
“Of course. It’s a big day.” The doctor’s tone felt dismissive and condescending. “So far, you’re healthy. Your blood pressure is good. Your OB said you are measuring well, and the babies are of similar size and date. That’s what we want to see. We will regularly check your placenta and fluid levels. That is key. Now, regarding weight gain…”
He flipped through the chart on his computer. “You shouldn’t gain more than 20 pounds… given your weight. A normal woman, I’d say fifty. But you came in here overweight.”
