Page 46 of Geordie

She nods, and I'm relieved we're back to what's normal for us. Before she changes her mind, I grab utensils for our meal and head to the dining room.

She tells me about the restaurant. It's interesting to hear about the workings of the kitchen. All the stories she tells are fascinating. The tales of her crew, some of the outrageous clientele, and their demands should be turned into a book. I purposely let her chatter on. I noticed this helps her relax. She runs a napkin across her lips. “I've monopolized the conversation. Tell me about your day.”

“I will, if you'll let me help you with the washing up.”

I hand her dishes to place in the dishwasher. “It was a typical day at the winery, but I did get a reminder from my doctor's office that I have a checkup tomorrow at 10. Will you take me?”

She places the last dish in the dishwasher and presses the button. “Yes, I had it on my calendar and I made a doctor's appointment tomorrow at the same time. My doctor is in the same facility.”

Chapter twenty-two

Geriatric Blues

Lily

IpulltheSUVup to the front of Geordie’s apartment building. It’s a twenty-minute drive to his doctor, and I’m relieved when I see him leaving the lobby when I appear in the loading zone. Geordie opens the back door and slides his crutches inside. I push out of the driver's side to help him. He hasn’t moved when I reach him because he’s staring into the back seat.

He turns to me. “Are you planning on taking a trip?

Shit, my suitcase is still in the back. The one I packed to return to Stephen. I've taken a trip to watch his house only twice this week; I'm not stalking him every night since I moved in with Geordie. Six years is a long time to be with someone. I'm lonely and I miss him. If it wasn't for my promise to help Geordie, I might have gone back to my ex.

“No,” I lie. “I'm planning to donate the case and the clothes in it to charity. They've been back there forever. I'll try to remember to do it tomorrow.”

I drop Geordie off at his doctor's office about ten minutes before his appointment. It's just enough time for me to take the elevator up to the fifth floor to see my GP. I've been putting this visit off for ages, but every article I've read about preparing to have a child says to make certain that I'm healthy enough to get pregnant. For me, this is just a preliminary step. I have no chronic conditions. I do all my female wellness checks on time and I hardly ever see my doctor. Getting a medical okay will help me check off one more item on my to-do list.

The tissue paper on the examining table crinkles beneath me as I sit waiting for the doctor to appear. I've already taken the standard tests. Once the physical check is done, I'll swing by Geordie's doctor's office on my way out to pick him up. There's a soft knock.

“Come in,” I say.

Dr. Bennett, with thin, gray hair and as about as old-school a physician as you can get, has been my doctor since I was a kid. His nurse trails in after him, a silent observer in the corner. The doctor parks himself behind the computer, peering at my information, then turns his gaze to me. “I see the reason for your visit is two-fold: your yearly checkup, and you want me to determine if you're healthy enough to have a child. Is that correct?”

I cross my legs at the ankles, wringing my hands at the blunt question. I expected a congratulation that I've chosen to bring life into this world. The last thing I expected was a clinical approach, but that's why I'm here. “I'm thinking of having a baby and want to know if it's possible.”

The doctor nods, his attention turning back to the screen. “From the test we've run, everything seems to be fine, although your blood pressure is a little elevated. We find that happens a lot when the patient is sitting here, already a little anxious at the thought of seeing me.” He smiles at his joke. “We'll take it again just before you leave,” nodding at the nurse as a silent request, “to make sure it's isn't something I need to be concerned with.”

I slowly let the air out of my lungs. “Great, then I can move forward with my plan.”

The doctor sinks into his seat, the chair squeaking a protest. “When do you expect to become pregnant?”

“If all goes well, within three years.”

“Hmmm, I would advise you to talk to an OB/GYN. You're considering what they call a geriatric pregnancy, or the modern term is advanced maternal age pregnancy.”

My brain scrambles, trying to process the information, but it makes little sense. “I'm not 40 yet, for Christ’s sake. I'm only 38,” I blurt out, “look at all the celebrities that have given birth well beyond 40.”

The nurse gives a demure cough as if to remind me I need to calm the fuck down.

The doctor glances back to the safety of his screen. “That may be correct, but each case is different. The truth is, there's a risk of complications because of your age,” tapping on his computer. “You waiting one to three years more, well, you see my point. And then there's also the question if you can conceive, and that's why I suggest making an appointment with an OB/GYN. I'm printing out a list for you now. The nurse can help you make an appointment, or you can do it online.”

The doctor continues talking while I concentrate on my hands in my lap. I've turned down his chatter to background noise, enough for me to get the gist of his lecture. All the while, I'm screaming inside, denying that I'm old.

He's advising me to consider freezing my eggs. Reminding me that women are born with all the eggs they'll ever have and that they become less fertile with age. I look up again. His nurse nods. Is that sympathy in her eyes? She doesn't appear to be anywhere near thirty.

I pull my gaze back to the doctor's concerned face. “Lily, it's not all doom and gloom. There have been studies where people waiting longer to have children are better parents; that's something to consider.”

Geordie is waiting in the lobby, long legs stretched out, his crutch leaning against the chair, on his phone playing a game. From the looks of it, he's involved in an epic struggle to save the world. He looks up at my approach and I manage to smile back. “Everything good?” I ask.

His grin is enough to tempt a saint to sin. “My doctor said I'm in prime working order. He also mentioned my injuries are healing as well. I should start light exercising a few days a week.” Getting to his feet, he grabs for his crutches. “How was your appointment? Everything alright?”

---