Chapter 23 Jada #2
“Do you need cash? I know you don’t have insurance...” She was already reaching across the table to the pretty pile where she’d stashed her billfold.
The worry in her tone was palpable. But it wasn’t like she had tons of money to spare either. I knew because I handled the bills. It was the one request Grandpa had made before he passed. Take care of her. She’s never had to worry about the bills before. I know it’s asking a lot but–
I will, I’d promised him. It was an easy promise to make when he always provided, never asking for anything.
Guilt washed over me for not having my health insurance under control. I was supposed to be helping her, not the other way around. “It’ll be fine,” I said. “I found a free clinic.” A little white lie while I waited to see what the damage would be.
“Good.” Her shoulders relaxed. “I’ll see you tonight for supper. I found a roast on sale at the grocery store.”
Roast and potatoes was my favorite meal, but my stomach was unsettled with nerves. “Thanks, Glamma,” I said anyway. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“See you, baby girl.”
My smile held for all of a second after I went outside to catch the bus. Acting like everything was okay had been exhausting, and I had a feeling there was a lot of that to come.
The ride to the New Hope Clinic felt like hours. Even longer was the walk from the front door to the reception desk. This early in the day, the lobby wasn’t super full. Only a young couple with an infant carrier sat in the waiting area while I went up front to check in.
In a haze, I brought my paperwork with me to a chair and filled it out while the nervous pit in my stomach grew heavier. Surprise pregnancy was something that happened to other people. Not me. Not when I’d been told all my adult life that I was infertile.
“Jada?” a low voice rumbled.
I looked up to see a man in butter-yellow scrubs with tattoos up and down his arms. Any other day I might have ogled his arms, the way the blue-and-red ink contrasted the light yellow of his uniform and danced over toned biceps.
I could barely spare them a glance, I was so on edge. “Ready to head back?” he asked me.
No. “Sure.”
He gave me a warm smile and led me farther into the building.
He took my vitals, got blood and urine samples from me, and then led me back to a room with an ultrasound machine.
“You can change into this gown.” He gestured to a light-green square of papery fabric on the counter.
“Leaving on a bra is fine, but no bottoms just in case you need a transvaginal ultrasound.” He waited for me to acknowledge I understood and once I did, he added, “Dr. Blake will be right back.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
He shut the door, and the heavy click of the latch was like a punctuation mark separating me from answers that would change my life forever.
My hands shook as I removed my work clothes and then balled them up in the chair. The paper gown was big enough to cover my body but felt rough against my skin.
My face was feeling hot, my vision blurring. So I sat down on the exam table and tried to breathe. But I couldn’t give myself any calming words. Nothing had soothed me since Dr. Martins had given me the news. You’re pregnant.
A knock on the door had my system on high alert, and then a doctor in butter-yellow scrubs and a white lab coat came in. They had short blond hair and a heavy dusting of freckles over their pale nose and cheeks. A dark-blue name tag at their chest said Dr. Shiloh Blake they/them.
“Jada, I’m Dr. Blake,” they said, flipping through papers on a clipboard. “I see you had a positive pregnancy test with Dr. Martins?”
I dipped my head in a nod.
They asked a few questions about my type 2 diabetes and treatment plan and then went to the ultrasound machine. “Let’s start with this to see what we can pick up.”
Grateful to dodge the vaginal option for now, I nodded and sat back. I linked my hands just under my breasts as Dr. Blake rolled up the gown and adjusted a sheet over my lap to maintain my privacy. Even so, I felt barer than ever looking at the static screen.
Cool jelly squirted from the tube and then spread over my stomach with the help of the device. Gray blurs moved over the screen, giving me hope this was all a mistake. Dr. Martins had mixed up the tests somehow. He must have. That was the only explanation that made sense.
I was infertile. I always used condoms to protect me from STIs.
But then the picture came into focus, and my jaw dropped open.
My degree might not be in radiology, but even I recognized a baby when I saw one. And it didn’t look like the little bean on ultrasounds my college friends posted on their social media accounts to announce their pregnancies.
No, this was a fully formed baby—with a nose and a chin tucked into its little chest.
“There it is,” the doctor said, clicking the image. “Would you like to know the sex?”
“You can tell?” I wracked my brain from my biology class. You couldn’t tell the sex until you were at least twenty weeks along. Five months? I couldn’t possibly be five months pregnant without even knowing it!
“Yes, I can,” they said. The grayscale image on the screen shifted to a different angle. “Would you like to know? We can keep it a surprise if you’d prefer.”
Dumbly, I nodded. I’d made it this far without knowing a thing, and it made me want to know everything I could. Namely, how was this even possible?
The doctor shifted the image and then smiled over at me. “It’s a girl.”
I swallowed, trying to smile. “A girl?”
My smile must not have been convincing because Dr. Blake said, “I know this must be surprising.”
My mind latched onto that. “It’s impossible. When I was sixteen, I had a period that lasted for months. I saw doctors, specialists. They told me my endometriosis was so bad I’d never have a child. If we hadn’t found a birth control pill to help with the bleeding, I’d have a hysterectomy by now.”
Compassion filled Dr. Blake’s eyes. “Even the best doctors get it wrong sometimes, and no birth control is a hundred percent effective.”
I shook my head in disbelief. But the picture on the screen couldn’t lie. So I asked, “Can you tell me how far along I am?”
“One second...” They clicked several places on the screen, taking a series of images and measurements in a matter of seconds.
“It’s hard to tell for sure without knowing the date of conception.
But you’re measuring twenty-five to twenty-seven weeks.
.. That puts your due date three months away, give or take.
” They continued talking, explaining that with my endometriosis and diabetes, I’d need to return every other week to monitor the progression of my pregnancy because I was at a higher risk for complications or pre-term birth.
“Do you have any other questions?” they asked.
I bit my lip. I wanted to ask how I’d never noticed I was pregnant, but then I realized I’d been sick on and off for months. The headaches, change in smells. It all made sense now. But, “Why haven’t I felt her kick?”
“Most people feel the baby move between sixteen and twenty-two weeks,” Dr. Blake said, leaning back.
They removed the transducer from my stomach and wiped off the jelly.
“You have an anterior placenta, so the uterus can act like a kind of cushion against the movement. I wouldn’t be concerned if you feel them later on or miss the movements altogether. ”
My eyebrows drew together. “Is that dangerous? The anterior placenta?”
“Totally normal, and it could change as time moves on.” They explained the concept using a model of a pregnant woman, and it started to make sense. I ran out of questions, and they said I could call back to the Clinic any time I needed.
Then Dr. Blake handed me a printout of the ultrasound and left me in the room to change back into my clothes.
There, in the paper gown, looking at the black and white image... it hit me.
I was having a baby.
And in that moment, I knew I would do whatever it took to make sure she had the best life possible.