My brain is thick with anxiety, but his question cuts through all of that as I think back to what I’d been working on before we left for this appointment. Why is he asking thisnow?
“Nearly. I just have to organize them by last name and then our new system will be ready to go.”
“And you can help me figure it out?”
I smile. “You’d be lost without me.”
A crease forms between his brows. “I’ve been using the same system for fifteen years. Of course I’d be lost without you.”
“You’re going to love the new setup. I’ve color-coded everything so that you can quickly glance at a patient’s file to see what the diagnosis is, if you’ve previously prescribed medication, as well as flags for all the common medical history notes.”
He squeezes my hand again. “You need a raise.”
I scoff. “I won’t say no, but you can’t keep giving me raises. It’ll look bad since we’re dating.”
“To whom? I run my own business.”
I hardly hear the doctor knock, and when she enters, I realize that all of the anxiety from earlier is gone.
He’s distracting me on purpose.
I quickly look at Dante and he winks once before turning to face the doctor.
“Hi, Francesca. I’m Dr. Hartfield. How are you feeling?” the doctor asks, washing her hands before turning to face me.
I shrug. “I’m okay. Just a little nervous.”
She’s young—and I briefly start to panic that she’s not experienced enough—but Dante squeezes my hand. He’d looked into all of the doctors for me, and she was his choice. Apparently, Dr. Hartfield is known for her care with mothers who have previously had miscarriages. At first I didn’t want to have that label thrust upon me, but as the weeks went on, I realized having someone who was familiar with my medical history would only work to my benefit.
“I can assure you that you’re in good hands.” She looks at Dante. “Is this Dad?”
I nod, looking over at Dante—who is here between meetings, so he’s in a light blue Oxford shirt and dark gray slacks. To an outsider, he might seem like a formal doctor. But to me, I know the man underneath the nice clothes.
It’s hard to remember how I used to see him before I got to know him.
“Good.” She grabs my chart and her eyes skim over it. “Blood pressure is good. You’ve had a recent Pap test, so we don’t have to do that today. I see you’re taking prenatals—that’s excellent. I would like to do an ultrasound to check the viability and estimated due date, if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine,” I squeak.
“Any symptoms? Nausea, vomiting, things like that?”
I shake my head. “I’m just exhausted all the time.”
She walks over to the ultrasound machine. “That’s totally normal.”
“And I?—”
I bite my tongue. How do I phrase my next question? My hands are shaking as I run one of them through my hair.
Dr. Hartfield must notice, because she looks down at me and gives me a reassuring smile. “I’ve read your chart, and I know it can be nerve-racking to conceive after a loss. Your medical history says you lost your last pregnancy at 20 weeks?”
I nod as my eyes begin to sting. “Yes.”
“A history of placental abruption in a previous pregnancy can raise the risk in subsequent pregnancies, but please don’t worry yourself too much.” My pulse spikes with every new word out of her mouth. “The chances are still low, and we will keep a very good eye on you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dante scoots closer and grips my hand firmly as Dr. Hartfield takes a transvaginal ultrasound wand and gets it ready for me. The room begins to spin, and Dante reaches his other hand out to my sweaty forehead.
