16. McKenna
Our team lost in the first round of the post-season last week on our home court. To be honest, I’m surprised we got a playoff berth with how bad our record was in September and early October. And honestly, it’s been difficult being a spectator on the sidelines during home games—unable to contribute.
But it’s for the best. I’m still feeling the effects of my concussion. The headaches I still get cause waves of nausea to hit at the most inopportune of times.
Like now, for instance. I’d been in the library studying for my finals for the past few hours when a serious bout of nausea hit. I’m currently in a public bathroom stall dry-heaving. Talk about hitting a new low.
After a few more minutes, I think it’s safe to conclude that I’m not going to throw up. I make my way back to the study room I reserved with Brooke.
When she hears me shut the door, Brooke takes out one of her AirPods. “Hey, are you alright? You don’t look so great. Another headache?”
I nod, then shake my head. “Yes and no. My head doesn’t even really hurt right now. Maybe I just need to grab a bite to eat.”
Brooke stares at me for a few beats before she says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, and feel free to ignore me completely, but I remember during training camp that you had like, the worst period ever. We’ve been hanging out a lot since then, and I can’t remember that happening to you again . . .” She doesn’t finish; she just lets her thoughts linger in the silent room.
A small bout of anxiety squeezes my chest at her insinuation. “I mean, my endometriosis typically makes my periods unbearable. But it also makes them irregular. It’s not uncommon for me to go two or three months between my periods.”
“Did you typically get headaches and nausea this much before the accident?” she presses on.
“No. But the doctors did say the recurring headaches could be a short-term side effect from the accident.” I sound defensive—I know I do.
“Right, but you just said your head didn’t hurt right now. Have you had your period since August?”
My stomach sinks. “I see what you’re getting at. But I can’t be. I haven’t had sex since . . . like my birthday. Well, Boston, actually. But that was over three months ago. I think I would know something like that by now.”
“Kenna, you’ve been grieving Katie and mending your broken heart. You’ve been understandably preoccupied. Not only are you grieving, but you’ve been focusing on studying and getting back on the court. Would you take one if I go to the pharmacy and get some tests?”
I shake my head. “That’s not necessary. It’s not possible, B.”
“Then it’s settled. There’s no harm in confirming you’re not pregnant. If the test is negative, you should follow up with your doctor. If it’s positive, well . . . then I’ll be there for you either way.”
Her words are both soothing and unsettling. Brooke has been a really good friend to me. Could she be right? It sounds bad when she lays it all out. But I’ve always had unpredictable periods.
I cave, knowing I’ll feel better once I confirm I’m not pregnant. “Alright. Let’s go to a drugstore off campus. I’d like to avoid being recognized by anyone we know.”
Brooke barely has the door to my dorm room open before Carson comes barreling into my room.
“What the fuck happened?” he grinds out.
He stops short when his eyes land on the three pregnancy tests lying on my desk. The three positive tests.
His head slowly turns to look at me. I’m on my bed, cradling my stomach in the fetal position. When his confused gaze meets mine, it turns to concern. I throw my head in my hands as the sobs rake my body all over again.
Brooke clears her throat and grabs her jacket. “I’m going to give you guys some space. Kenna, call me if you need anything. Please. Actually, you know what? Just call me when Carson leaves, no matter what. I’ll plan on staying the night in here.”
I hear Carson’s tender voice tell her, “That won’t be necessary. I’ll stay here. I’m not letting her out of my sight tonight. Thank you for texting me, Brooke.”
“Of course. Kenna is the one who asked me to text you,” she informs him before quietly closing the door behind her.
I feel the weight of Carson’s stare. “Mack, talk to me.”
“I can’t bear to look at you, Carson. This is so fucking bad,” I choke out.
He sighs. “Mack, come on. It’s going to be okay. You haven’t even confirmed you’re pregnant yet, have you?”
I turn to look at him. “I think three positive tests suggest I’m very clearly pregnant, Carse.”
He shifts on his feet. “Aren’t there false positives? I mean, maybe you got a bad box.”
I scoff at his suggestion. “I don’t need to go to the doctor to confirm anything.”
Carson’s brows furrow. “No, but you do need to go to the doctor to confirm how far along you are and make sure everything is okay. You have been really sick, but I guess I just thought that was from the accident.”
When I don’t respond right away, he adds, “I have to ask. Is G the dad?”
My chin begins to wobble. “Yes. I haven’t even talked to another guy.”
Carson hangs his head and takes a deep breath. “Well, that’s good. Griff is a good guy. I know you guys are going through a lot right now. But he would never abandon you.”
Angry tears sting my eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure. He already abandoned me when things got hard. He won’t speak to me, won’t return any of my calls, or reply to my texts. I’m not even sure how I’d tell him. This isn’t exactly something you say over a text or leave in a voicemail.”
Carse pulls me in for a hug. “It will all work out, Mack. You’re the strongest person I know. I’ll be by your side, supporting you no matter what you decide to do. Let’s tackle step one together. Where’s your computer?”
I point to my desk, where my laptop rests next to the tests.
“Alright, we’re going to find you a doctor to see. If they have any appointments available that I can make, I would like to go with you if you’re okay with it.”
“I don’t think I could go without you at this point.”
Carson’s unwavering support causes the floodgates to open—I cry in his arms until I can’t physically cry any longer. He doesn’t lecture me. He doesn’t tell me I was irresponsible. He just holds me in his arms and lets me get it all out.
It’s Friday mid-morning, and Carson is sitting with me in the waiting room of my new OB’s clinic. Dr. Bahati had great reviews online, and she’s a woman, which made me more comfortable. I’ve got a lot of questions about if and how my endometriosis will impact my pregnancy and if the baby is okay after the accident.
Carson’s leg continues to bounce up and down next to me, so I ask, “Are you anxious?”
“One hundred percent. Aren’t you?”
“I have so many thoughts, questions, and concerns running through my mind at a constant rate that, at this point, I think my brain is too exhausted to be anxious.”
“I get that. Did you write down your questions like the article we read suggested?”
“Yes, brother bear.” I shoulder-check him, and he rubs his upper arm, pretending like I could actually hurt him.
“Good. I wrote mine out, too.” He proceeds to show me a note on his phone with twelve questions.
“Twelve? How do you have twelve questions about my pregnancy?”
“It’s not just about you now, Mack. I have questions about how my little niece or nephew is doing, too. Speaking of . . . question number two: when do we get to find out the gender?”
“From what I read online the past few days, I think I could find out today if they do an ultrasound. But I decided I don’t want to find out the gender right now. Maybe not until the baby is born.”
“What? How are you going to plan? Can I have the doctor slip me a piece of paper with the gender on it? I don’t think I can wait until the baby is born.”
“Well, I was thinking that if I do find out the gender beforehand, I should probably wait for Griff to be here, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, that makes sense. Have you thought more about how you want to tell him?”
“Like I said before, it’s not something I can say in a text or leave on his voicemail. I guess I’ll have to wait until he’s home for Christmas.”
Carson stiffens beside me. “Didn’t Mom and Dad tell you? Jack sold their house and moved to Boston right around Thanksgiving.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “I just thought he went to see Griff for Thanksgiving because he had games that weekend that wouldn’t allow him to come home.”
“Nope. Mom said Jack took the Chief of Surgery job at a big hospital in Boston so he could be closer to Griff. I don’t see why, though. G is only going to be there for another year before he signs with Colorado.”
“And he already sold their house?”
“Yeah. He’s already moved out and everything.”
I can’t believe I’ll never step foot in that house again. It feels like my childhood home has been taken out from under me. I feel cheated that I didn’t get to see it one last time before he sold it.
“So how the hell am I supposed to tell Griffin he’s going to be a dad?”
Before Carson can answer, I hear my name called by a nurse in mauve scrubs holding a clipboard.
“Hi, that’s me,” I say and hold up my hand. “Is it okay if he comes back with me?” I ask and point to Carse.
“Absolutely. Dad is welcome to join you for any of your appointments.”
“Oh, no. He’s not the dad. He’s my twin brother.” I quickly correct her.
The nurse’s cheeks tinge with embarrassment. “My apologies. Yes, your brother is welcome to accompany you.”
We walk down a hallway, stopping when the nurse asks me to step on a scale. Once I get weighed, I realize I’ve only gained two pounds. I wonder if that’s normal. I’ll have to remember to ask the doctor. I do have a small swell to my lower abdomen, though I wouldn’t necessarily call it a bump yet at this point. The nurse also has us stop by the lab to get a urine and blood sample from me.
We’re taken to a room that has photos on the walls of a woman’s bump, a woman holding a newborn baby on her chest, and a woman nursing her baby. There are also diagrams hanging on the wall of the female anatomy. I don’t miss how Carson’s eyes widen as he takes in the room’s decor. Leave it to Carse to make me laugh during a stressful situation.
The nurse asks some standard health history questions, takes my vitals, and then says, “It looks like your urine test is already in the system. Congratulations, we can confirm you are definitely pregnant. Your hCG levels are in range for when you said your last period was, but we will do an ultrasound to get a better measurement of your due date. Do you have any other questions for me before I grab Dr. Bahati?”
“No. Thank you.”
Once the door is closed, and it’s just Carse and I in the exam room, he turns to me. “Are you freaking out? They’re not going to like, look down there while I’m in here right?”
Just as the words leave his mouth, there’s a light knock on the door before my doctor peeks her head in. “McKenna?” she asks, then holds her hand out for me to shake when I nod. “Hi, I’m Dr. Bahati. Nice to meet you.” She then looks over at Carson and holds her hand out for him to shake. Instead, he grabs her palm in his and smacks a kiss on the top of her hand. Dear lord, please help me.
“Hi, I’m Carson, Mack’s twin brother. I’m the funcle.”
“The what?” I squeak.
“Funcle. The fun uncle.” He rolls his eyes as if that should have been obvious.
“Nice to meet you, Carson,” she says politely before turning to me. “So, McKenna. I hear congratulations are in order. I saw in your chart that you weren’t sure of the exact date of conception due to your irregular cycles. Were those caused by your endometriosis?”
“Yes. It isn’t uncommon for me to go two to three months without a period.”
“That can be common with endometriosis. When, then, did you find out you were pregnant?”
“Well, I didn’t think I was. I only took a test earlier this week. I was in a bad car accident about three months ago, and I thought the nausea and headaches were a result of my concussion.”
Carson cuts in. “It was more than a concussion. She was in a medical coma for almost two days due to her brain swelling. If she was pregnant then, shouldn’t they have caught that with all of the bloodwork and testing they ran?”
“That depends on whether or not McKenna was far enough along at that point for the pregnancy to show in bloodwork,” Dr. Bahati explains. “I would like to do an ultrasound today to get a better idea of how far along you are, and to ensure all is well. Because we know that you’re at least three months along, we can do an abdominal ultrasound.”
I nod my head in agreement, my anxiety spiking with each step as I follow Dr. Bahati down the hall to the room where the ultrasound scans are done.
As she washes her hands in the sink, Dr. Bahati tells me to hop up on the exam table, lift my shirt up, and tuck it into my bra.
“You’ll feel some cool gel, and then you can look up there at the TV to see your little one.”
Carson and I gasp in unison as we watch the screen’s display—it’s the twin connection. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I didn’t realize I would see anything that resembled a baby. Weren’t they supposed to look alien at this point still?
But instead of a blob in front of me, the most beautifully developing baby is on the screen.
After doing some measurements, Dr. Bahati says, “Alright, McKenna. It looks like you’re right about seventeen weeks pregnant, and the baby is looking great. I’m just going to take a listen to baby’s heartbeat.”
Just then, the most amazing sound floats through the speakers. Tears flood my eyes as I listen to my baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
“Baby’s heart rate is 155 beats per minute, which is great. Did you want to learn the gender today?”
I say no, just as Carson says yes. Dr. Bahati chuckles and shakes her head. “We can wait on that for now, McKenna.”
She continues to take some additional measurements while Carse and I both stare at the screen in awe.
“Hmm,” Dr. Bahati says to herself as she takes a few more measurements below the baby.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” I ask, my voice pinched in fear.
“Nothing is wrong, McKenna. But your cervix is measuring shorter than I would anticipate at this early stage in the pregnancy. I would like to place you on light activity restrictions throughout your pregnancy so we can monitor this. A shortened cervix can lead to preterm labor, and we want to avoid that as best as we can,” Dr. Bahati informs me.
“Is this because I was too active when I didn’t know I was pregnant? I play college volleyball, but I’ve only recently been cleared for normal activity after my concussion. The season just ended, so light activity shouldn’t be a problem once I talk to my coach.”
“A shortened cervix is not uncommon. There has been no research to show that overexertion or heavy exercise causes a shortened cervix. However, I want to stress how important it is to remain on light activity—drive instead of walk when you can, take the elevator instead of the stairs when able, and try not to lift over fifteen pounds for the time being.” Her response is reassuring.
She hands me a towel to clean my abdomen before she continues, “I saw on your intake paperwork that this was an unplanned pregnancy. Do you have any questions for me? We have materials I can send home with you so you can be informed about your options.”
Carson squeezes my hand beside me, letting me know he’s here for me.
I clear the tickle of anxiety in my throat before responding, “Thank you. It wouldn’t hurt to learn more about adoption, though I don’t foresee myself going that route.”
She places her hand on my arm in a gesture of endearment. “Of course. I will grab those materials and the prescription for your prenatal vitamins and be right back.”
As soon as she’s out of the room, Carse turns to look at me. “That was amazing, Mack. I’m sorry if I pushed you into thinking I wouldn’t support your options. I’m here for you no matter what. I shouldn’t have assumed you would keep the baby.”
I shake my head at him. “No, Carse. You don’t need to apologize. I want to keep the baby. It’s just all still so new. I haven’t told Griff, or Mom and Dad. I have no idea if they will all react the same as you did, with unwavering support. I just want to educate myself on all the possible options.”
He nods in understanding while I untuck my shirt and sit back up.
A few moments later, Dr. Bahati comes back in the room with the materials and says, “We will have you back in about a month to do another ultrasound. That one will be the full anatomy scan. In the meantime, take your prenatal vitamins, drink plenty of fluids, try to eat small, frequent meals to help with the morning sickness and curb the nausea, and take it easy.”
“You got it, Doc. I’ll make sure to keep her in line,” Carson replies with his hand across his chest. “I take my duties as funcle seriously. I won’t let you down.”
Maybe telling my parents won’t be so bad. That way, maybe my mom can come to some of these appointments instead of Carse. He’s going to get me in trouble with my doctor.
I’m woken up by one of the best feelings in the world—Ranger’s wet nose nuzzles mine before he lays on a long lick across my cheek. I giggle in response and he paws at my hand, his way of telling me to pet him. He’s always so needy first thing in the morning.
As the sleep clears from my brain, I realize it’s Christmas morning. That means I’m nineteen weeks pregnant. As the thought crosses my mind, my phone chimes with an incoming text.
Carse:
Merry Christmas, Mack Uncle’s little mango. I miss you!
Me:
Mango?
Carse:
Yep. 19 weeks. According to my app, the baby is the size of a mango.
Knowing the size of mango’s parents, we probably should skip ahead a week…
Merry Christmas, little sweet potato.
Me:
Merry Christmas, Carse. We love you and miss you too! Good luck tomorrow—kick some ass!
Carse:
Good luck to you, too, sis. It will all be okay.
I quickly brush my teeth, put my hair up in a bun, and wash my face before heading downstairs to breakfast. Nerves fill my belly, making me second guess if it’s nerves or if I’m finally feeling the baby move. I place a hand on my lower abdomen, the move soothing some of my anxiety.
Alright, little one. It’s time to tell grandma and grandpa about you.
Just then, I feel another flutter in my lower stomach and decide it must be the baby nudging me to let me know I’m not alone.
How does one really tell their parents they’re about to become grandparents far earlier than they were planning? If things had gone as planned, they wouldn’t be grandparents for at least another decade.
I take a deep breath as I round the corner and enter the kitchen.
“Good morning, Princess. Merry Christmas,” my dad says to me as he flips pancakes on the griddle.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
“Merry Christmas, hun. How did you sleep?” Mom asks me when she comes out of the butler’s pantry.
“Good. I always get my best night’s sleep when I’m home. I miss Ranger so much when I sleep in my dorm. I’m excited to get to sleep with him every night over winter break.”
We sit down for Christmas morning pancakes together, and I know I need to just tell them already.
“Honey, I saw a bill the other day from a women’s clinic. Is your endometriosis flaring up? You should’ve told me you were going. I would’ve gone with you,” my mom says as she places her hand on mine and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“I uh—went to the doctor to have some tests run.” I hesitate. God, this might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“What kind of tests? Are you still having the headaches and nausea from the accident?” she asks, worry etched on her face.
“I am, but it turns out it’s not because of the accident.” Just then, I decide to take a giant bite of pancakes. I try to chew quickly, but when I swallow, the sticky stack gets caught in my throat.
Holy awkward as fuck.
My parents share a look, and then they both stare back at me, waiting for me to finish chugging my glass of orange juice to clear my throat.
Buying more time, I don’t just take a few sips. I chug the entire glass. When I go to refill my glass, my mom places her hand on my arm to stop me.
“McKenna, talk to us. You can tell us anything.”
Well, hopefully, I don’t make her eat her words. Here goes nothing.
Looking down at my pancakes, I avoid making eye contact as I blurt, “I went to the doctor to confirm that I’m pregnant.”
I look up to see both of my parents’ eyes widen. They definitely were not expecting that. Dad’s grip on his fork tightens momentarily, and Mom’s eyes well with tears.
“I’m going to guess it’s Griffin I need to have a talk with?” my dad questions, breaking the tense silence.
What happens next completely throws me off. My mom jumps out of her chair and pulls me in for a hug. “I’m going to be a Grammy! Oh my goodness, I can’t tell you how lonely I’ve been since you two flew the nest. Please tell me I get to watch the baby while you’re at class and practice. When are you due?” she practically squeals.
What the fuck is happening?
My stomach sinks thinking about volleyball and school. I know there are plenty of people who go on to get a degree after they have a teenage pregnancy. But my dreams of volleyball and Team USA are shot.
“I’m still not sure what I’m going to do. My due date is May 18th. I haven’t even told Griffin yet. I’m going to try to finish school still, but I won’t be able to play volleyball next season. I can’t possibly think that after this season, in addition to being a mom, I’ll have a spot on the roster.”
My dad joins the hug, wrapping us in his arms, before he says, “You never know, Princess. Why don’t you go speak to your advisor and Coach after the New Year? As for Griffin, when do you plan on telling him?” I can’t help but notice my dad’s tone change when he asks about Griff.
“We aren’t really speaking right now. Well, he hasn’t been replying to me. It’s not something I want to text him or leave on his voicemail. Carson thought maybe I could fly to Boston for the game they play versus each other. It’ll still be my winter break.”
Mom’s gaze turns sympathetic, but Dad’s face reddens with anger.
“I don’t want you to fly there by yourself, Princess.”
“I’ll be fine, Dad. I promise.”
“Tell me your flight times, and I will bring you to the airport and pick you up.”
With just that one gesture, grief’s riptide pulls me back under. Making me wish that would’ve been the case on the last trip I took to Boston.