I watch Dr. Wu as she clocks the numbers, the cuff on my arm squeezing tighter and tighter. I swear I see a frown when she slowly removes it and pulls out the measuring tape. She opens the paper gown to expose my veiny belly, holds one end of the tape right under my boobs and wraps it down and across my tummy to measure the growth of the uterus, the growth of the baby. Before I got pregnant, I assumed I’d get an ultrasound at every checkup, that I’d be constantly peeking inside my uterus, watching the baby flip and wave, but they are few and far between. I wonder if there would be more if I had better health insurance. It’s pointless to even ask.
“Let’s check the heartbeat.”
There is a frown. I’m sure of it now. Dr. Wu isn’t as upbeat as usual. I move from imagining the worst and start praying for the best. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. I squeeze my eyes shut as the doctor rubs the gel on my belly.
“Is it too cold?” Dr. Wu mistakes my cringe.
“It’s fine.”
There won’t be a heartbeat. This is it. The baby is dead. My baby is dead, and this is exactly what we deserve. Revenge. Karma. Justice.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
The room is silent except for the thunder of my own heartbeat; the clatter of the busy office outside the door fades away.
I look to Lou for reassurance. My mom is tapping away at her phone, oblivious to the signs and signals that something is wrong.
And then there it is: that reassuring whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, the sound of a racehorse galloping across the finish line.
Little Bird’s—Chase’s—heart is strong as ever. I try to focus on the steady rhythm, to pay attention to the moment.
He’s alive.
Dr. Wu looks confused, and I realize that I said this out loud. He’s alive.
“Of course he is. He’s developing well.” Dr. Wu was there for all the miscarriages, so she understands my thirst for reassurance and patiently obliges. I’d maybe even consider her a friend if such a relationship was possible with the medical professional who has such intimate knowledge of the inner workings of your vagina.
The doctor rolls closer on her stool; our knees are almost touching. “How are you feeling, Jen? How are you feeling, really?” Her voice is thick with concern.
“I’m tired.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Not really.”
“And you’ve been more stressed than usual,” Dr. Wu says. More a statement than a question.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to be honest, but I don’t want you to panic.”
“We just heard his heartbeat.” My skin feels like it’s being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles. “It’s… he’s strong.” Chase is strong.
Dr. Wu grabs my hand. “Yes, he is. I’m more worried about you, Jenny. Your blood pressure is high. Your feet and fingers are swollen. Have you noticed?”
I nod.
“And you know what that means?”
I do. I’ve googled every possible pregnancy symptom to find out what’s good, bad, or meaningless. I’m aware of all the ailments and disasters. “I have preeclampsia.”
“Now, we don’t know that yet. But I’m worried. I’m worried enough that I want to check a few more things. We might need to put you on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. When moms have this condition, babies can come early. And we don’t want that. We want him to get to at least thirty-six weeks, so let’s keep him snug in there until then. Okay?”
“Is it stress? This is caused by stress?” Even asking the question makes my heart beat faster again. It’s a vicious loop, stressing about stress.
“Not exactly. Sometimes it’s genetic. Sometimes it just happens, but stress can be a factor. It can raise the blood pressure and it can sometimes exacerbate other problems.” Dr. Wu goes over and starts riffling through the sleek cabinets. “I’m going to give you a shot of a steroid that will help the baby’s lungs develop faster. Just in case.”
There’s a brown water stain on the ceiling. I zero in on it, trying to decide if it looks more like a palm tree or a pineapple as Dr. Wu pushes the needle into the fleshy part of my upper arm. I’m still pissed at my mom, but I also wish she’d scoot closer to the table and stroke my forehead the way Gigi used to when I was sick. But Lou’s not a toucher, never has been. At least not with me. Dr. Wu must be able to sense my need for human comfort, because, after administering the shot, she runs her own hand lightly over my hair, smoothing it away from my face.
“We’re going to keep monitoring you closely, okay? I’m going to send you down to radiology for an ultrasound. They should be able to get you in within the hour. Is your mom staying with you?”
We both look at Lou, her already pale skin pastier than usual now that she’s been called into action.
“I can stay.”
Dr. Wu nods in approval. “I’m going to let you get dressed. Rita will be back in with the ultrasound order, and you can head down.”
When the doctor opens the door, I spot the beautiful woman from the waiting room walking out of the bathroom in her flimsy paper gown, runny mascara creating black streaks down her face. When we lock eyes, I get the sense that she sees me as the lucky one today.
Lou hands me my clothes. “It’s not fair. All this stress on you while you’re pregnant.”
“Yeah, well, isn’t that what you always told me, Lou? Life isn’t fair?” Lou doesn’t respond as I slip back into my clothes. But it’s true, nothing about this is fair. I’ve done everything right. I read all the books, did all the stupid breathing exercises, took all the vitamins. I’ve worked so hard for this, wanted it so badly. I’ve come this far, and I can’t let it be taken from me. In my mind a slideshow plays out—butternut squash, pineapple, pumpkin, and… then a baby.
“Look, it’s Riley.”
I almost lose my balance and topple over with one leg in my jeans.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your phone just buzzed. Here.” Lou thrusts it in my face, never mind that looking at my phone is none of her business.
There it is, right on the screen: Riley. The last person I’m expecting to hear from. I finish getting dressed before I swipe at the screen with my damp hands.
Hey—I have on my calendar that your appointment is today. Hope everything is okay.
“What? What’d she say?” Lou asks.
“Nothing, come on, let’s go.”
Riley’s message and the fact that she has all of my appointments in her calendar are a surprise. A nice one. Of course, Riley would have come with me today if—if everything was different. So why am I annoyed? “Hope everything is okay”？ Well, it’s not. My stress levels are crazy high, and it could hurt my baby, and you’re taking the side of the people who want to lock his daddy up forever.
“Are you okay?” Lou is racing to keep up as I practically jog to the elevators.
“No, Lou, I’m not okay. Did you hear what the doctor said? I might have preeclampsia. It’s dangerous, okay?” I snap at her, my voice carrying down the hall.
The other woman waiting for the elevator looks at me like I’m a crazy person. I know I should be embarrassed. But I’m not, and I don’t feel bad when Lou takes a cowering step backward like a beaten dog.