Page 92 of Geordie

I'm about to follow the tech out of the room to give Lily privacy when I hear. “Geordie, please stay.”

I close the door and take a seat in the corner on the other side of the high leather exam table. The dim light is more suitable for a theater during a performance. The technician's station is the only area illuminated. As Lily unbuttons her jeans, I fish in my pocket and pull out my phone. I keep my attention on the glow of the screen as Lily readies herself. It's hard not to watch her, so I sneak a glance, just enough for my heart to swell at the small rise of her belly, the pride almost too much to contain. She turns away to place clothes on a nearby chair. The tissue crackles as she adjusts her body on the table. “You can look now,” she says, her words teasing. “I'm decent.”

I look up from the news article I was trying to read. “Although I'm in this chair, I wanted to give you some space. Are you warm enough?”

She stretches out her hand to me, and I rise to hold her palm. “I like how you take care of me,” she says as she smiles. “It's a little chilly. I'll ask the technician for a blanket when she comes back.

Two taps on the door are followed by, “Can I come in?”

We both answer yes and the tech walks into the room. In her hand is a blanket, and she offers it to Lily. “It can get cold in this room. I thought you might need this.”

Lily takes the thin white blanket, draping it about her shoulders.

“Will we find out the sex of the baby?” I ask with nervous excitement at the thought of meeting my child for the first time.

The nurse takes a seat behind the screen. “We can try, but it's a bit too early for that. We can see the heartbeat at this stage. Are you ready?” she asks Lily.

“Yeah, I can't wait.”

“Great, I'm going to raise your gown a bit and place this gel on your belly.” She moves the Doppler over Lily's mid-section, taking photographs and measurements. The tech is the only one who can see the screen. Her gloved hand moves the Doppler, then she taps at the computer. No one is talking while she works. Tensions mount as she stares at the screen, shaking her head, mumbling something I can't catch.

I look over at Lily, who has the same question on her face.

The tech stops, switching off the machine. “Can you give me a minute? I need to consult with someone.”

Lily pushes onto her elbows. “Is there a problem?”

Her chair scrapes the floor as the tech gets to her feet. “I need a minute. I'll be right back.” She rounds the machine and is out the door before another question can be asked.

“There's something wrong with the baby,” Lily whines. “I just know it.”

I get to my feet. The same concerns twisting my insides. “Don't worry, Leannan. I'm sure it's nothing. The baby is fine.”

The tech reenters the room with our doctor, who offers a weak smile. “The tech wants to verify what she was seeing. Just give me a minute,” slipping into the seat and switching on the machine, the glow from the screen on their faces. The doctor adds more gel, then she runs the handheld device over Lily's belly. More clicking, no talking, more tension.

The tech points at the screen. “That's it there.” She moves closer to the doctor, reaching for papers. “This is what the chart says.”

“Yes, I see it,” the doctor says.

“Is the baby alright?” I ask, trying to keep the menace out of my voice or having more words spill out that I might regret. This is new for me and I don't like the unknown.

The doctor glances up. “I can see a heartbeat. During the ultrasound, we can determine how far the pregnancy is along. According to your chart, you estimate that it's ten weeks. Measuring the size of the baby, there was a miscalculation. The baby is eight weeks, not ten. That just means we adjust your due date. Everything else looks fine.”

Lily lets out a sigh, releasing the grip on the table.

“I'll let the tech finish the exam, but I suggest you come back in the twelfth week so we can do the additional tests we discussed at your first visit. Your age makes this a good idea; let's book it now.

”We're quiet on the way to the restaurant. Lily looks out the truck's window, a hand on her belly, lost in thought. For me, I never considered the loss of a baby. To ease my mind, I spoke to the doctor outside while Lily was dressing. She reassured me the baby is fine.

“I've never been so scared or helpless when I was lying on the examining table and the tech bolted for the door. How did you stay calm. I was about to scream my head off from the frustration.”

“It wouldn't have helped if both of us lost it. If we didn't get an answer soon, I was going to join you in that howl.” I reach for her hand and she squeezes my palm. “Let's just concentrate on the fact that the baby is fine and leave it at that.” She's chewing her lip, not letting this go.

Maybe I need to say more to help ease her mind. “Lass, sometimes medical professionals are so concentrated on their job, they don't realize that a lack of communication can spark fear in a patient.” I throw on my signal to make a left. “Maybe they do and they don't care, giving them a sense of power. There was a wee bit of that behavior when I was in the hospital after the motorbike accident.” I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant and ease into a spot. “No more worry,” I say, turning off the ignition. “We're all fine here.”

Chapter forty-five

The Blessed Madonna

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