Chapter 22
KARINA
T he strangest thing about today isn’t even the technician’s cheerful announcement that she’s going to do my ultrasound, which she then flashes a grin that’s just a shade too wide, the kind an evil clown wears right before a birthday party turns into a bloodbath.
I match her smile, determined not to let her deranged enthusiasm rattle me.
The truly weird part is that Dima is here, standing against the narrow exam-room wall like my personal bodyguard.
I feel exposed; he’s in a bespoke suit while I’m stuck on a cold table in a crinkly paper gown, a stranger poised to shove a sensor wand into my cervix.
I think ruefully of my treasure chest of vibrators and dildos and how this moment is the polar opposite of that kind of fun.
It’s all business here and zero pleasure.
I stare at the ceiling and inhale, willing the muscles that are about to protest this invasion to relax.
I refuse to dwell on how clinical and humiliating this feels, how it might make my husband see me as a patient after the nurse handed me a pamphlet on pregnancy hemorrhoids.
Nothing murders newlywed mystique like being told to eat more fiber so you don’t have to strain.
The pinch when the tech slides the wand in and presses on my abdomen makes me hiss through my teeth.
Dima is beside me now, his hand captures mine and holds it.
I look at him, questioning. He looks back at me steadily.
The enthusiastic tech makes noises about my ovary and where you can see the baby on the screen.
I can’t see it. It’s a snowstorm of white sound waves on a black screen with no discernible shape.
I wish he wasn’t here to see this , I think desperately, that I could just give him a printout picture or something.
That he didn’t see me shiver with cold and gritting my teeth because this hurts and trying to act patient and pleasant when I want to kick this woman with the freezing hands and her nonstop chatter.
He bends down and places a kiss on my forehead, “I know,” he says in a low voice and cuts his eyes to her as if to indicate that he, too, finds the tech annoying.
I don’t let myself read more into what he said.
He can’t be saying that he knows I hate this, that he knows it’s kind of scary and that I don’t like being seen as vulnerable.
He isn’t saying he knows I want to jump off this table, put my real clothes back on and tell them to email me the results of all the tests.
Because if I have to lie here while a doctor tells me something is wrong with my baby, I think I’ll die.
My throat feels tight and I’m sick to my stomach.
It’s not morning sickness. It’s pure terror.
What if everything isn’t all right? What if our baby isn’t healthy or isn’t going to make it?
She still hasn’t let us hear the heartbeat.
Everything online says you get to hear it at the first ultrasound.
I mean, it’s practically a rule. Her freak-show smile hasn’t slipped a millimeter, which only convinces me she’s hiding something.
Maybe that’s why they hired her; no one asks tough questions when the technician looks that unhinged.
The minutes drag, at least ten so far. She lets out a distracted hmm and has long since stopped babbling.
Keys click, images zoom, and the silence stretches forever.
My imagination spins nightmare scenarios until I can’t stand it.
I glance at Dima, brows knit, lips tucked in. For one second I let him see the fear.
The instant my fear registers, fury flares in his eyes. He clears his throat and addresses the tech.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asks.
“Oh? No problem. Just getting the images the doctor needs. I have to get a number of different views.”
“My wife is clearly uncomfortable. I suggest that you complete the necessary test within one minute and provide her with privacy to get dressed. The room is cold, have that remedied as well.”
“Sir, I,” she begins, but Dima stays silent about who he is and how far his influence reaches and he doesn’t need to say a word.
Instead, he checks his watch, casual as can be.
The motion reveals his ring tattoos. She swallows hard, taps one last key, and blurts, “Looks like we’re all done here.
Sorry for the delay. I’ll send these to your doctor, and someone will bring you a heated blanket. ”
She bolts from the room faster than she’s done anything all day. I smirk at my husband. “Hey, something finally wiped that grin off her face,” I quip.
“Tell me the moment you’re uncomfortable, Karinka,” he admonishes, eyes dark with concern. “I could have stopped it instantly. You never need to endure that.”
“Yeah, there is. It’s how we make sure our baby’s healthy,” I say, aiming for matter-of-fact but letting my voice rise at the end.
Just like that he’s on the narrow table with me, sitting on the edge and pulling me into his arms. “Everything will be well, my darling,” he murmurs into my hair.
I sink against him for a moment and wish I could believe him.
I’d like to take the comfort but he doesn’t know any more than I do about those test results.
“What if there’s something wrong?” I ask in a voice so small I despise myself for a coward.
“Then we will make it right. There are excellent specialists we will go to, anywhere around the globe. I will take care of you and our child. You have to know that by now.”
“Dima, I’m afraid,” I confess into his shirt, not looking at him.
“There is nothing for you to fear. I’ve got you,” he says decisively.
I shut my eyes and let him hold me, biting back the confession that I love him, that he’s all that’s keeping me together. A nurse enters with a warmed blanket; Dima snatches it, dismisses her with a glare, and wraps it around me. I sink into the heat, and when he starts to rise, I seize his arm.
“Don’t go,” I say before I can stop myself. I’m seized by a rising panic that he is leaving me alone here, that the doctor could come in at any second and tell me something horrible.
“I’m only moving so you can dress,” he says indulgently.
I must look crazy and paranoid, but I don’t care; I need his hand, not three feet of distance.
Once I wrestle into my clothes I huddle under the blanket.
Moments later a rush of hot air blasts from the vents, as if someone set the thermostat to eighty. I roll my eyes.
“Guess you made an impression on her.”
“You won’t need that blanket much longer,” he notes. A minute later he sheds his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. “It’s getting pretty warm in here. Should I tell them that’s enough?”
“Nah, let’s see how the doctor reacts to coming into this sauna. It’ll give me something to think about besides my nerves. I guess it’s hormones or something.”
“You’re worried about our child and that’s natural,” he says.
My doctor comes in and for an instant his eyes widen as if startled by the heat wave that assails him. “How are you feeling?” he asks.
“She was cold,” my husband says. “Good afternoon. I’m Dmitri Petrov.”
“Mr.Petrov, of course. Lovely to meet you,” he says, shaking my husband’s hand with the air of a man being led to execution.
The doctor is solicitous and gracious, even. He explains in the friendliest terms that the ultrasound shows a perfectly healthy child and that the technician has been formally reprimanded for alarming a patient.
“Her job,” my husband says coolly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“She should be terminated.”
“I see. I do apologize again for the distress you and your wife experienced. I can assure you personally that the proper protocols are being followed regarding her skills and patient communication?—”
“Her job,” he repeats.
The doctor visibly pales. I hold his gaze, making no move to temper Dima’s demand.
I feel untouchable, shielded by the fearsome power at my shoulder who intends to guard me from even the slightest discomfort.
Maybe if I’d been coddled growing up, I wouldn’t crave this, his insistence that I be treated as something precious.
As it is, I lap it up like a kitten at her first dish of warm milk.
The doctor nods and says he will see to it at once, as soon as my appointment is completed. He is sorry for the misunderstanding. He resumes, quieter, less jovial now. I’m told the due date and instructed to take vitamins. When we leave, Dima turns to me.
“I half expected you to argue with me about the woman’s job.”
“Not at all.” I say. “You think I’d behave that way in front of the doctor?”
“Yes. I think you’d argue with me in front of a priest and all our ancestors,” he chuckles. I roll my eyes.
“I didn’t see any reason to disagree with you. I wouldn’t have insisted on her firing, but you made your decision there.”
“Thank you,” he says and it surprises me. “I find that I appreciate your support. I did not expect to find you supportive.”
“Only stubborn? Difficult? A dish of cabbage?” I challenge playfully. He hugs me to his side with his arm around me and kisses the top of my head.
“All that and more, darling.”
“No one has ever stood up for me like that. Or like anything. I think I might get used to it.”
“Why would I not fight your battles? You are my wife.” He says it like it’s nothing, like it’s to be expected that he would stick up for me, take my side, and not treat me like an idiot or an inconvenience. I lift my face for his kiss and he gives it to me.
The car takes me home while Dima goes to the office.
I had intended to work some today, but I’m queasy again.
The short nap I decide to take ends up lasting about four hours.
I wake up groggy and nauseated. It takes forever for me to have a bath and wash my hair.
I try to stay awake until Dima comes home, but after some tea and toast, I go right back to sleep.