I tried to tune out as Amber got sorted, not sure if to try to reassure her or distract her, so basically coming out with a load of shit that probably wasn’t useful.
The doctor was quiet while all this went on, which started to make me anxious. I knew it would be worse for Amber, and it was just at that point I felt the guiltiest that I had done in months.
This was my fault. I’d been responsible for the condoms and I hadn’t even thought to check they were in date.
“Okay.” The doctor put the wand thing down. “You have a slightly shortened cervix, which means there’s a risk of premature labour. At this point, I just want to monitor you. If it shortens any more – and cervixes do shorten before labour – we can look at the options and there are options. I want to see you back here next week.” She backed away from the table. “You don’t need to panic. You don’t need to be worried. Any changes – pain, bleeding, back ache, pelvic pain or changes to vaginal discharge, I just want you to turn up here so we can check.”
“Should I have come here when I had that weird pain in my pelvis?”
The guilt in Amber’s voice was clear.
“No. Because it could’ve been anything. It could be connected to this, or it could’ve been wind. We don’t know. But from now on, don’t become obsessed with it, but do be aware.” She looked at me. “Sex is still on the table, as are orgasms. I’m not recommending anything other than regular checks for now.” She went into more detail, explaining what a shortened cervix was and what the implications could be. I listened as best as I could, my brain on overdrive, as she talked about how to reduce the chances of a premature delivery.
The facts that we’d got to twenty weeks with no spotting and that our son was doing well were really positive. That was the bit I was taking home with me.
That, and the fact that Amber maybe taking things a little easier would help.
I had one suggestion that I knew she wasn’t going to like, or be open to, but it was being made.
We went straight back to my house, a quick text sent to Jez to ask her to find somewhere else to be for the rest of the afternoon, and to take the girls out for tea.
The house had been cleaned that morning, washing had been done and ironed, and someone – probably Pauline who I employed as a housekeeper – had made a thick vegetable soup and a plateful of chunky sandwiches.
I put the kettle on, Amber sitting down at the kitchen island, her phone in front of her, googling whatever the doctor had said.
“It isn’t going to change anything, searching for it on the internet.” I heated up the soup on the hob. “We’ve got an appointment next week. Then every two weeks, and if it gets too short, there are all the options she’s suggested.”
Amber locked her phone. “I know.”
“It will be fine. He’s healthy and growing well. Maybe too well.” Because he was hitting the ninety-eighth centile for length and other measurements. “The doctor said this was being cautious.”
“I know.”
“She recommended you take it easier than you would normally.”
“I know.”
“Why don’t you move in here?”
Amber looked like she was about to fall off her stool.
I left her with that thought for a few minutes while I brewed the tea and dished up the soup, taking the covering off the sandwiches and demolishing one in about three bites.
Now that the shock was over, I was hungry enough to eat the contents of the cupboard.
“I like my house, Nate.”
“Not true. You’re looking to move.”
She sighed. “Okay, I like my own space.”
“This place is fucking huge. You can have your own wing.”
“Your daughters–”
“When they see you in a few hours, they’re going to know that you’re pregnant. That hoodie doesn’t hide anything anymore.” She wasn’t going to win any of these points.
“I’m fine on my own. I take it easy in the evenings anyway.” She tucked into the soup.
