Chapter Twenty-two
The paper under my butt crinkles as I shift and tap a message to Holland.
She stayed at my place until Warren called in a panic, wondering where she was.
I haven’t heard a word since, and I’m trying to be patient, but I’m worried about my friend and her husband.
I hit send, sleep the screen, then blow out a breath and look at the picture of a uterus hanging on the opposite wall.
The first pregnancy test had one bright line and one very faded line.
The second had one line, but then overnight it grew a twin.
I figured I’d be safe and get a professional opinion.
“Okay,” I tell myself as the nerves ping and pop in my stomach.
“If it’s negative, no harm no foul.” And I ask about birth control methods that I don’t run the risk of forgetting.
My eyes swivel from the display IUD over to the take-apart pregnant, torso-only mannequin.
It has different size babies, like one of those Russian Matryoshka dolls, starting from peanut to watermelon.
I rub my tummy mindlessly, the material of the hospital gown catching on my paper cut.
What do I do if it’s positive?
What’s the next step?
I think about the life I have and the life that it’ll turn into and even though I pictured it the night that got me into this mess, it terrifies me.
I’m not a mother; I don’t have the patience, the know-how, the strength that I see in my sisters, in my friends.
Motherhood suits them, just like I know fatherhood would suit Cooper.
Something warm crawls through my chest, and the corner of my mouth twitches as I look at that plastic baby.
If it’s positive, I tell Cooper, and we deal with this together.
That’s the next step.
A knock sounds at the door, and my spine straightens as the doc comes in.
She’s young, maybe my age, and I wonder if she has a family.
And if she does, how does she juggle them and this?
“Sorry for the wait, Maya,” she says, her smile friendly, but also like it’s taking a lot of effort for her to keep it there.
I’d chalk it up to an occupational hazard if it wasn’t for that gut feeling that it’s most likely the news she has to deliver.
“It’s okay.” I let out an awkward giggle-snort that instead of calming me, just makes my cheeks warm.
“So… what’s the verdict? Life sentence?”
My joke falls dead between us, even the doctor unable to muster up some laughter just to humor me.
Her lips turn down, and she reaches behind her for the rolling stool and wheels it toward the bed I’m perched up on.
She gently takes a spot, her fingers delicate as they adjust her white coat.
I brace myself for my life to change.
“You’re not pregnant,” she says.
There is a two second beat of shock, followed by a long, loud sigh of relief.
Not pregnant , oh thank heavens.
No harm, no foul, just like I said before.
Next step is talking birth control, and then I’m going out for a strong drink .
I grin, the nerves in my stomach evaporating, and I start to relax, my body stiff and sore from the tense position I hadn’t realized I was sitting in for so long.
“Gah, don’t do that,” I playfully chastise her, and her brows pull in.
“The look on your face made me think I was dying or something.”
Sympathy fills her eyes, and an uncomfortable itch invades my relief.
“Maya, your bloodwork has me concerned.”
“ Am I dying?” I ask, partly joking, mostly panicking.
She lets out a tiny laugh, and I wish she would just spit it out so that I could stop having these emotional mood swings.
“No. But, there are some more tests I’d like to run.”
“Why?”
Her lips press together, and she sets her clipboard on the counter behind her.
She starts slowly, medical jargon getting tangled among words that I actually understand.
The longer she explains, the emptier I feel—emptier than I’ve felt in my entire life.
Am I understanding her correctly?
My fingers twitch against the hospital gown, tickling my stomach that not three minutes ago had the possibility of carrying something in it, but now…
“I can’t have kids?”
Her eyebrows push together, her eyes swirling with concern for me, just another patient.
“It’s a very low possibility.”
A dull thud rings through my chest. “How low?”
“Under one percent. ”
My world fuzzes around me.
This wasn’t on my list of outcomes.
I don’t know what the next step is.
There’s this empty pit growing inside of me that I can’t explain.
There is a black cloud over my head, a heavy onslaught of hail pelting down on my shoulders.
My insides crumple and shatter, screaming out in a pain they can’t feel.
I don’t understand, not one bit; I never wanted kids.
I was so relieved when I found out I wasn’t pregnant.
How can I feel such crippling grief over something I never wanted?
I can’t find the words, only an empty joke on my tongue about how God just knew that I’d mess up being a mother.
The doctor’s voice muffles through my fog about making sure with more tests, but I can tell it’s just a formality.
She leaves, and I dress in that same fog that’s clouding my mind and numbing my body.
My phone buzzes against the crinkle paper, Cooper’s face on the screen.
And suddenly I’m no longer numb to the pain; it’s not dull or aching, but sharp and fresh, slicing through my chest and burrowing under my skin.
I clutch at my stomach, curl into myself, and sob into my palm.
Oh gosh, Cooper… If losing the idea of children hits me like this, it would kill him.
Would he leave me then?
Would he leave if he knew that it’s not just that I don’t want kids, it’s that I will never have them?
Another sharp pain shoots through my chest, and I lose it right there on the gyno floor.
An image of me telling Cooper I’m pregnant a year, two, even three down the road hits me like a dream that will never come true.
His face lit up and his arms around me.
He’s so happy to be a father that he’s already getting the measuring tape, he’s already kissing my belly, he’s already planning on which room to paint, which sibling to name god-parent, whether or not to announce on social media.
I never saw it before, never thought there was a good, joyful moment to be had in the midst of morning sickness, up-all-nights, and terrible twos.
Now that image is darkened, and all I see is the heartbreak down the road.
Cooper’s holding a baby that isn’t his.
We’re babysitting or at a christening or some random family event.
He’s so content with the baby, but there’s an underlining sadness in his eyes that won’t ever disappear.
The sense of loss that he won’t have one of his own because he fell in love with a broken woman.
I can’t do that to him.
There is a difference between being unwilling to change your view on things, and forcing him to give up his views because you can’t change.
It’s the hope that the love you have for each other will allow for some compromise.
There was hope for a future family.
He nearly had me convinced.
But now, there’s a “less than one percent” chance of that happening.
My butt hits the hard floor, and I hide my face in my knees.
I know what the next step is now, but I’m not sure if I have the strength to do it.