“I…don’t know.”
“I’m only asking this because you look terrified. Was the conception consensual?”
My responding laugh is watery. I nod and meet my doctor’s eyes. “Very consensual, yeah.” Then it suddenly registers. Oh my god, I’m pregnant with Patrick’s baby.
“Okay. Do you want to know your options?”
I nod again, not trusting myself to say anything intelligent.
“You can terminate the baby, but that will depend on how far along you are. You can look into adoption. There are many families who cannot bear children and I can put you in touch with the right people.”
My left leg bounces, a nervous habit I picked up from my father and one Velliamma tried to make me quit. It didn’t work. My joined hands press against my knee, but the movement doesn’t cease. A loud thought is what my mother would have done in a situation like this. The problem is, I don’t remember a whole lot about her or my father. I have more memories of my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Then I think about how there were days when I did wonder if I’d ever get the happily ever after everyone around me did—a partner, babies, a home full of life. I thought I’d have that with Kabir, but he did a damn good job of taking those dreams away from me.
“How could I not know I was pregnant again?”
About three years ago, I woke up in a pool of blood while Kabir was out of town. At first I thought it was my period and slapped a pad onto my underwear, stripped the sheets and cleaned the bed. When a shooting pain followed minutes later, I knew something was wrong. I called Vera and she drove me to the hospital. Dr. Gopalan was on shift and was the one to give me the bad news—I’d miscarried.
For our entire relationship, Kabir wore condoms. Even when we talked about the future, he insisted that until we were truly ready, he’d continue to use protection. So how did I get pregnant?
Soon after I saw Dr. Gopalan, I asked Kabir to come home early. He showed up angry and frustrated, complaining about how I’d cost him a deal that would change his career. All the while I lay in a hospital bed, keeping my tears at bay and mourning a baby I didn’t even know I was carrying.
Back then, everyone insisted it wasn’t anything I did or my fault that I lost the baby. These things happen was the usual refrain. I stayed with my aunt and uncle for a week—Kabir insisted on going back to work to save his job—and Tessammai held me every time I burst into tears. I didn’t tell anybody else about the miscarriage until I was able to say the word without falling apart. Varun and Vikram were ready to rip Kabir into shreds, but I wouldn’t let them. Looking back on that time, I was so sure he loved me. Now I know better.
“Tamara, please trust me when I say what happened in the past is not your fault. And it might not happen again.”
“But it could, right?”
Dr. Gopalan sighs and I nod slowly. “With your age, history and hormonal imbalances, yes, we have to keep a closer eye on your progress.”
“My age?”
“After thirty-five, it’s called a geriatric pregnancy. There are increased risks we have to consider. But I also want you to know this could be a very normal pregnancy.”
The whooshing sound returns as I nod. Thanks to my irregular periods, I never would have known I was pregnant if it wasn’t for the other symptoms. When the dizziness and nausea started, I should have taken it more seriously. There was also the excess in vaginal discharge I brushed off at the time. Now I can admit it was more than usual.
I could have gone through this entire pregnancy not knowing until I was too big to do anything about it. I want to scream, but I rein myself in. I focus on the statistics and information Dr. Gopalan continues to give me. She’s not the warmest of doctors, but I like that she doesn’t bullshit or beat around the bush.
“We’re going to do everything to help make this pregnancy comfortable, okay?”
The words register in a bubble and I nod. Blowing out a breath, I sit back and lift my head. If I focus on Dr. Gopalan, maybe I can keep myself steady.
“I’d like to do an ultrasound to determine how far along you are.”
I frown. “I know when it happened.”
“We don’t calculate from the date of conception. And because of your irregular periods, we might need a better idea. Are you okay with that?”
Making a note to do more research about this, I nod. I wish I didn’t remember, but I have vivid memories of the night with Patrick. On the kitchen counter, in his bedroom, up against a wall. I also recall the number of condom wrappers strewn around the house when I snuck out in the morning. So how did this happen?
Dr. Gopalan gets up and pulls back a curtain to reveal a bed. She hands me a green robe-dress-like thing. “You can change into this or just take your pants and underwear off. I’ll get the nurse, make yourself comfortable.”
I follow her instructions as she tugs the curtain back into place. I strip out of my clothes, folding everything and setting it to the side. Once I have the robe on, I perch on the edge of the bed and look around the room. I’m not comfortable, but I’m doing the best I can. I’ve been here so many times before, but I never noticed the posters on the walls. A few are for medicines, there’s one with illustrations showing the progress and size of a pregnant woman. I’ve only been in rooms like this twice in my life before, but sitting here with the antiseptic smells and strange beeping, I understand why nobody wants to be in the hospital.
When the doctor returns, I’m feeling even more nervous, but I tamp it down. I have my options, I know what I can do. Right now, I just have to get through this scan and go from there. Breathe in and release, I repeat to myself.
“Are you still seeing your counsellor?”
I nod. Anxiety has been a constant companion since I was a kid, but I didn’t do anything about it for years. During a routine IBS check, the doctor identified my anxiety was possibly a trigger. I consulted Dr. Gopalan, who gave me the number for an old medical school friend. Dr. Sunita’s a godsend. She helped me navigate losing my parents at a young age, the pressure Velliamma put on me to be perfect and the heartbreak I felt when Patrick left me. She’s also been a good sounding board when I’m struggling at work. In fact, Dr. Sunita is the reason why I finally decided to take a step back from my usual workload and focus entirely on building and designing sex rooms.
