Unexpecting (Unexpecting #1)

33. Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Hearing the heartbeat of the baby is one of the most magical moments of the pregnancy. It should be something treasured by both the mother and the father.”

A Young Woman’s Guide to the Joy of Impending Motherhood

Dr. Francine Pascal Reid (1941)

W ith Brit’s stagette finally over, I could get back to the more important things in my life, being, of course, my first doctor’s visit. My baby doctor. I was going to hear my baby’s heartbeat. My appointment took place the Tuesday before Labour Day, the weekend of the all-important wedding.

I felt a little weird when I arrived at my appointment and found the waiting room packed with couples. I was the only expectant mother sitting alone in the waiting room. Everyone else had a supportive partner to go along with their beautifully swollen belly except me and my still unnoticeable bulge. I felt like I’d wandered into an Expensive Shoe Club meeting wearing Payless specials.

Being alone was what I had planned for. If everything had gone according to my schedule, I would have been artificially inseminated with a stranger’s semen, and I would be planning how to raise my baby alone, as a single mother. But J.B. and I… I may still be a single mother—and despite Brit’s opinion on the matter, I’m quite okay with that—but I may not have to go it alone .

I smiled at J.B. as he walked nervously into the waiting room. I couldn’t help but notice him goggling at all the baby bellies. As soon as he came in the room and sat down beside me, he grabbed one of my hands and held it in both of his. I didn’t know if he thought I was nervous and he was trying to reassure me, but I was just excited. The handholding was doing more for him, especially since I couldn’t even flip through a magazine.

″You okay?” he asked for about the tenth time.

″I’m fine. Are you?” We’d been waiting for twenty minutes, and I didn’t think his body had stopped moving. Either he was tapping his foot or patting his knee or fingering my hand.

″Sure, no problem,” he waved my question away. “Piece of cake.”

I laughed aloud at his show of bravado. “You’re full of shit.”

″Hey,” he narrowed his eyes at me. “Watch the potty mouth. Lots of babies in here.” But he gave my hand a squeeze.

Ten minutes later, we were finally called into the doctor’s office.

″How are you feeling, Casey?” Dr. Morrissey asked. She was a tiny, grey-haired woman, with glasses perched on the end of her nose, and somehow managed to appear ferocious instead of motherly. It was like the grandmother and the big bad wolf from “Little Red Riding Hood” morphed into one. My beloved GP, Dr. Dennis, referred me to her, saying that she was highly respected in the field of obstetrics at Women’s College Hospital, which was where I’d decided to give birth. Dr. Morrissey might be highly respected, but I was not getting any warm and fuzzy feelings about her right then. Maybe it was just because I was a little nervous, but I felt irrationally afraid of this woman. Maybe it was because I felt she held the health of my baby in her hands. A baby I was already very attached to.

″Okay,” I stammered slightly. I was sitting ramrod straight in the chair across from the doctor. This time I’d rammed my hands between my knees, so J.B. resorted to clutching the arms of the chair he was perched on. “I mean, I’ve been sick and I throw up a couple of times a day, but other than that, I feel fine.”

″Morning sickness is unfortunate, but very common,” she said without looking at me. She was reading my file. At least, I hope it was my file. “I’ll give you a prescription which should help. And you’re the father?” she asked J.B.

″Well, uh… you see, I…um… ”

″Either you are or you’re not,” Dr. Morrissey said with an amused smile. “Makes no difference to me.”

″Yes, I am the father,” J.B. gulped. He glanced at me with a sheepish expression. I hoped it would get easier for him to admit that as time went on.

″Glad we cleared that up. Let’s get started, shall we?”

We had a short chat about my periods—to J.B.’s obvious dismay—and she told me my due date was February 16, which Dr. Dennis had already told me. Then Dr. Morrissey asked me to hop up on her table and we’d listen to the heartbeat. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I jumped up so eagerly, I tripped over my purse on the floor beside me.

″Should I… do you want me to leave?… I don’t need to…” J.B. floundered. I saw his eyes go wide as he noticed the stirrups on the edge of the examining table.

″It’s probably nothing you haven’t seen before,” the doctor told him briskly.

″It’s okay with me if you want to stay,” I tried to smile reassuringly at him. He only managed a faint one in return and hovered at the side of the room, near the door so he could make a quick getaway if he needed to.

I lay on the table, and the first thing Dr. Morrissey said after I pulled up my shirt did nothing to improve my first impression of her.

″A bit on the chubby side,” she commented absentmindedly as she pressed on my stomach. “Baby doesn’t give you a free rein to snack, you know?”

″No,” I murmured. Chubby! I’m not chubby! So I hadn’t been exercising lately. And maybe I’d put on a couple of pounds. It’s hard when the only foods I could keep down were carbohydrates. Babies are chubby, not me! Nasty old bat.

″These will only get bigger,” she told me next, with a curt nod at my breasts.

″Really?” I groaned. “I’m not going to be able to fit into my wedding dress this weekend.” I was already overflowing my quite substantial D-cup, and I couldn’t imagine how big I’d be when this thing was over. Double F-cup maybe.

″Are you getting married?” Dr. Morrissey asked politely.

″Oh, no, I’m just the maid of honour for my best friend—I’m not married. I don’t want…” I paused for a second before I added, “Is it a problem if I’m not married? ”

″Not for me,” the doctor replied in a tone that implied that being unmarried might well be a problem for me.

Then Dr. Morrissey did the whole stick-her-fingers-up-my-who-who and poked around a bit. I could feel J.B. cringe across the room. “Your pelvis is a bit narrow,” she said, still absentmindedly.

″No, it’s not,” I couldn’t help saying.

″It is, through here.” She poked one of my hips.

″Is that a problem?” The way she said it, I felt I must have an irreparable defect.

″Again, not for me,” she told me, withdrawing her hand and pulling off the latex gloves. “But I doubt you’ll be able to have a vaginal delivery.”

″What? How am I supposed to get it out?”

Dr. Morrissey squinted at me like I was some kind of idiot. I admit it didn’t make me appear to be some Rhodes scholar, but what did she expect? She was not being at all nice to me. “In all probability, you’ll have a long and difficult labour that will not result in a vaginal delivery. This is without knowing how big the baby will be, but based on your size, I’ll most likely schedule you for a Cesarean delivery.”

″What? What if I don’t want a C-section?” I cried.

″Do the words long and difficult mean anything to you?” She lifted a grey-haired eyebrow.

″It’s okay, Casey.” I knew J.B. was trying to soothe me, but it was difficult when I could hear his voice shaking. “My sister had a Cesarean, and she was fine.”

Dr. Morrissey began pressing on my belly while I lay pouting. First I’m chubby, and then my pelvis is too narrow to give birth. What kind of doctor is she? I want a new one. I pulled my arm up, cradling my head; my shirt pulled up and my pants pulled down to reveal the expanse of my belly and its slight bulge. After spending a few minutes pushing down on my belly, Dr. Morrissey coated the skin with a jelly-like substance and ran a microphone thing over my stomach. I held my breath. It was about time for some good news.

″You can breathe, Casey,” Dr. Morrissey told me with doctor disdain. I let out my breath in a whoosh and tried to breathe normally—when I heard the faint thump- thump.

″Is that it?” I practically yelled. J.B. quickly moved closer.

″No, that’s you.” She moved the microphone a little to the right. “This is your baby. ”

″That’s it?” I could hear the quicker thump-thump-thump, and to my embarrassment, my eyes filled with tears. “That’s my baby?” I could feel J.B.’s hand against my arm, and I glanced up at him. “That’s our baby.”

″Wow,” he said, staring at my belly with awe. “That’s really it. It’s really in there.”

″It really is.” J.B. clasped my hand, and this time I was so glad he was there to hold it. I was picturing myself holding a little creature swaddled in blankets and J.B. smiling down on us, when I noticed the doctor frowning. “What’s wrong?”

She moved the roller to another part of my stomach. “And it seems this is also your baby.”

″It moved? Already?”

″No.” She moved the roller all over again. “I think we should get you in for an ultrasound right away. Seems like you’ve got two of them in there.”

″Two of what?”

Dr. Morrissey actually laughed at that. “Twins, Casey. I think you’re having twins.” She listened for another moment, moving the roller around. “Goodness. Did you take any fertility drugs?”

″No. Why?” I could hear the note of hysteria creeping into my voice. At the word twins, J.B. paled, and now he was a ghostly white colour.

″What are you talking about?” he croaked.

″Is there any history of multiple births in either of your families?”

″How am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know his family!” Dr. Morrissey blinked at my outburst. ”Why? What’s going on?”

″I can’t be positive…” The doctor moved the roller around on my belly some more. “One, two… Casey, I think there might be three babies in there, actually. Let’s get an ultrasound for you right away.”

After almost casually mentioning that I was about to be a mother to triplets, Dr. Morrissey left J.B. and me alone for a couple of minutes—the worst thing she could have done.

″Is she serious?” J.B. whispered. “Are there really three of them in there?”

I was almost in tears and wouldn’t let go of my belly, as if that was going to prevent any egg from splitting into thirds—too late, Casey! I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how on earth I could possibly raise three children. Not all at once. Sure, I’d love to have three kids, but not all at once, and I definitely needed some time in between. I was a bit of a basket case already when the nasty old bat of a doctor returned, pushing a computer on a cart.

″I gave the lab a call, and they are fully booked for the day. We’ll have a little look here to confirm what’s going on.”

″So it’s not triplets?” I asked, like someone asking, “So it’s not diphtheria?”

″Oh, I’m pretty sure you’re having triplets, but it’s always nice to double-check these things.”

She was right, of course. There were three tiny alien creatures growing in my uterus. Having actual aliens growing inside me would have been less of a shock than having three babies. Dr. Morrissey pointed them out on the screen, but it was like I was back in math class, trying to figure out equations. Plus, I couldn’t see much through my tears, but I got the gist of what the doctor was telling me. In about six months, I was going to give birth to three babies.

How on earth could this possibly happen to me?

It’s all J.B.’s fault. That asshole put not one, not two, but three goddam babies in me! Three! In me! How…? What…? Oh my God!

″How did this happen?” I asked weakly.

Dr. Morrissey gave me a look like she was concerned for my mental health, but I was beyond caring. All I could think about was how I could possibly raise three babies by myself.

″Either you had one egg split after it was fertilized, or you released three eggs, all of which were fertilized separately, which means you would have fraternal, rather than identical—”

″I know all that,” I snapped.

″I don’t,” J.B. said quietly.

″Maybe you should have figured it out before I let you and your super-sperm anywhere near me!”

″How is this my fault?”

″It’s not,” Dr. Morrissey said so firmly I was scared to argue with her. “Please listen, both of you. You are having a multiple pregnancy, which means you’re a high risk. There’s a greater possibility of severe nausea and vomiting—”

″Now you tell me!”

″—and premature delivery. You’ll also have a higher weight gain, and I want you to make sure you take your vitamins.”

I tuned out the rest of the lecture until the doctor suggested I come in to see her again in a month. In the meantime, I should get an ultrasound as soon as I could. I was trying to take all this in, but all the while Dr. Morrissey’s words here’s your baby… and here’s your baby… and here’s another one… were ringing through my head. I chanced a glance at J.B. as we were leaving. His face was white with shock. I could hear his ragged breathing. For once I didn’t give a good goddamn how he was reacting, because as far as I was concerned, this was all his fault.

″Whoa,” was the only thing J.B. said as soon as we were out of the office. Like I was some sort of horse.

″Is that all you can say?” I asked, still with that note of hysteria evident in my voice, even to me. “We get this horrible news—”

To make things worse, as we left the building and I was doing my best just to breathe, I was not looking where I was going and I bumped into an elderly man on the sidewalk and practically knocked him down.

″Casey, watch where you’re going,” J.B. chided me as he helped the man to his feet.

″You should have watched what you were doing,” I suddenly snarled. “I can’t have these babies! I did not sign up for this! There’s no way I can do this. Why did I even think I could have a child? I don’t know the first thing—”

″Casey—”

″—about raising a child properly, let alone three! How the hell can I have three kids? That’s, that’s a whole family already. How will I fit them in my car? I need a minivan. Did I ever tell you I hate minivans? They’re nothing but slow-moving boats for suburbanites! There’s no way I can fit three carseats in my car. Three babies! What if I have three girls? Oh my God, what if I have three boys? I can’t do this! What was I thinking? thinking can just go get some sperm and that’ll make me this wonder mother who can do everything herself when—” By this time I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk yelling at J.B. People were crossing the street to avoid me, but I was still getting quite the audience.

″Casey, slow down. Let’s just go home. Talk about this. Calm down.”

″I can barely dress myself some days. How can I think I can handle one kid, let alone three of them? Three of them!”

″Let’s get out of here.”

″I have to get rid of it. I have to get rid of them! Women used to drink a bottle of gin or vodka or something and sit in a bathtub—I can do that. I’ll go home and try that. Or I can fall down a set of stairs—women always used to miscarry after that. Or I can just go throw myself under a bus, that should do it, because the way my life is these days—”

“Casey! Shut up!” J.B.’s words finally registered in my hysterical brain. “Let’s just get out of here.”

″She said I’m having triplets!″ I screamed at him, so loudly people across the street stared at me. I made a face at them. “She said I’m having three babies! ‘There’s your baby,’ she said, and then, ‘There’s another one! And whoops, there’s one more!’ Three! Three friggin’ babies! I didn’t sign up for this! What am I supposed to do?”