Out On a Limb(14)
So I shove them all away as best I can.
Here, it’s just Doctor Salim and me. The way it should be.
“So, symptoms you could expect before our next visit…” Doctor Salim begins listing off the most horrible-sounding possibilities. Sore boobs, nausea, increased saliva, irritability, exhaustion. “But what you don’t want to see is…” Even worse stuff. Bleeding, intense cramping, blurred vision, extreme bouts of depression. “… then you call me, okay?”
I nod, feeling entirely emptied out.
“If you’re unsure of what the next step is, I suggest treating this like a viable pregnancy.” She stands, reaching into the cabinet above her desk. “Prenatal vitamins once a day. We recommend no smoking, drinking, or recreational drug use. There’s a pamphlet in the waiting room about which foods to avoid, as well.” She smiles softly, handing me a vitamin bottle. “Though I will tell you I enjoyed sushi and an occasional glass of wine with my second pregnancy, and all was well. Moderation is key.”
What is she talking about? Sushi? How delicate are babies that you can’t have a goddamn maki roll?
“Okay,” I say, standing as Doctor Salim holds the door open for me.
“I’ll see you in a week but feel free to call before then,” she reminds me.
I hug her. I’m sure it’s not appropriate, but I do. Right now, she and I are the only people in the world who know this secret, and I feel as if we’ve formed some sort of bond.
Doctor Salim accepts the far-too-tight hug, patting my back before moving to shut the door behind us. We stand in the empty hallway as I watch her professional mask slip just a little, a weary, gentle compassion overtaking her features.
“I know this may not be any consolation, but my patients who plan for pregnancy feel overwhelmed too. All of this is a lot to process. But you’re very capable, Win. Whatever you decide for yourself will be for the best. You have my full support for any choice.”
I’m about to thank her again, and perhaps force her into another hug, when I hear my name called from the lobby, and the concern in Sarah’s voice is obvious.
I turn around and instantly feel a tear fall at the sight of my friend. She looks half thrown-together in sweatpants and a messy bun put up in a claw-clip. She really did drop everything to come here right away.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, possibly just to myself, as she jogs to me with her arms open at her sides. We collide in a hug.
“What’s going on?” she asks quietly over my shoulder, her voice cautious—as if she’s afraid to hear my answer. I immediately think of her mom, Marcie, who, in so many ways, was my mom too. How, nearer to the end of her life, every piece of news we got from her doctors felt like another blow.
“I’m okay,” I reassure her. “Promise,” I say, stepping back. “Can we talk in your car?” I wipe my tears on my sleeve.
“Of course, babe. Come on.” Sarah drags me toward the exit, her hand wrapped tightly around my wrist. I thank the doctor silently over my shoulder as we make our way outside.
CHAPTER 6
“You’re moving in with us.” Sarah’s grip tightens even further around my forearm. She’s taking the sudden, life-altering news as she normally does—by attempting to take control. It’s our way.
“Sar, you’re being ridiculous. I have my own apartment. You and Caleb don’t even want your own kids.” I sigh out through my nose, chewing my lip. “Plus, I don’t even know what I’m going to do yet.”
“You’re going to keep it, Win. We both know that.”
She’s probably right.
The moment I left the office—before I’d even worked up the courage to tell Sarah—I took a prenatal vitamin and added the reminder to my phone, hitting repeat for the next nine months without another thought.
But I could delete that reminder. Easily. I could.
“I should consider it, right? An abortion?” I ask.
“Have you?” Sarah asks, her tone free of judgement.
“Not yet.”
We sit in silence, our eyes on each other absently.
I begin drafting a list in my head entitled reasons to not have this baby. And while Sarah shouldn’t be such a snob, she is right. My apartment building is trash. There’s been pretty much every kind of vermin imaginable, and when they manage to get rid of one, another always seems to show up.
My neighbours are loud and inconsiderate. The train passes at four every morning, so loudly that the walls shake. And there’s mould growing under the kitchen sink that my absentee landlord claims is “healthy bacteria like yoghurt.” But kids have grown up in worse. Sarah and I did. And we turned out fine… ish.
I also add my job to the baby-don’t list. The café pays slightly above minimum wage, and I’m fairly certain that parental leave in Canada is about 50 percent of your normal income. I don’t know if I could reasonably live off that. Money is tight as it is. If I did need to get a new apartment, it would probably mean paying more for rent, and then I’d have even less money to work with. On top of that, I’d have another mouth to feed, a second body to clothe, and diapers to buy.
But our moms always got by on next to nothing. And growing up without money builds character. I think. I hope.