17
“I…w-w-what?” I stammer. “What do you mean, congratulations?”
Jamie, who had been pacing restlessly, sinks to the chair, his hand over his mouth.
The doctor tugs on the ends of his stethoscope. “You’re pregnant.”
“I—no, I’m not.”
He smiles patiently. “Yes, you are. The results were unequivocal. Your hCG level says you’re about…oh…seven, maybe eight weeks along.”
“I…I haven’t—um.” I blink, swallow, try to think, to remember. “I haven’t had any symptoms. Not one.”
He shrugs. “You don’t always get early pregnancy symptoms. Some women have terrible symptoms for one pregnancy, and essentially none for the next.”
“You’re positive?”
He nods. “I mean, I’ll administer a blood test if you want, but I’m one hundred percent certain, Mrs. Thomas.” He smiles again. “You’re pregnant—I’d say just over seven weeks.”
I stare at Jamie and he stares back.
I’m pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
I’m…pregnant.
* * *
Jamie hasn’t saida word since we received the news. Of course, there’s barely been time.
I don’t get the X-ray, but an ultrasound is ordered. Since they can take me right away, we are shown into an examining room right away.
Sitting in the darkened room, a brusque but kind older nurse slides the wand over my stomach, Jamie is in a chair in the shadows, watching with a carefully neutral expression as the technician smears the jelly around and adjusts the wand, taps a button, and then there’s a distorted whooshing sound, which warbles and distorts further as she wiggles, tilts, and twists the wand, and then the staticky whooshing sound turns into a sound which is familiar to me…and absolutely terrifying:
Ba-BUMP-ba-BUMP-ba-BUMP-ba-BUMP-ba-BUMP…
Steady, rhythmic, quick.
The technician smiles at me. “There it is. Nice strong heartbeat.”
I feel like I could pass out. “Yeah…” I mumble. “A heartbeat. Guess I didn’t have the flu after all.”
Her eyes go from me to Jamie and back. “Not expecting this little nugget, huh?”
I shake my head, speaking for both Jamie and I, “No…no, we weren’t.”
Jamie is visibly pale, even in the dark ultrasound room.
“Well there it is, ready or not.” She taps a button again and the heartbeat goes silent, and then as she taps some more and adjusts the wand she says, “Let’s see if I can get some measurements.”
She does whatever it is ultrasound technicians do, making certain things light up, measuring, labeling, taking still shots and printing them out. She freezes the wand in a certain position and points at the screen. “There’s the heart, left side and right side, contracting and expanding beautifully.”
She takes the stack of printed glossy ultrasound photos, puts them in a folder, and then uses a new clean towel to clean the worst of the jelly off me before handing me paper towel to take care of the rest myself.
“You have a nice healthy fetus, Mom. We’ll see you in a few months for the gender ultrasound.”
“Thank you,” I say automatically.
