I like this, I like it a lot.
“You okay?” She asks, sitting on the edge of the exam table.
“You were fast.”
“I had four roommates, and now a toddler, privacy and time are scarce.”
“Not even a nip slip,” I whisper and mock gasp. She shakes her head. “How is Lucy today?”
“Lucy was nervous before we even got here,” she says quietly.
“Why?”
“We visited two preschools this morning. Both said they require up-to-date immunizations before enrollment.”
I nod slowly.
“She’s mostly caught up,” Hildy continues, “but Dr. Kaplan wants to review a few things.”
Dr. Kaplan is Lucy’s pediatrician.
“She thought she was getting shots while you were up here?” I ask.
“She thought maybe,” Hildy says. “I assured her Dr. Kaplan wouldn’t do so without us talking first. Reassured her she was just looking at her arm, checking records, and we’d discuss it when I got done.”
“She didn’t want you to leave.” I surmise.
Hildy shakes her head. “No.”
Something tightens in my chest.
“I told her I’d be right upstairs,” she says. “Same building. Just different floors and rooms.”
“She trusts you. That speaks volumes.”
“She wants to. It’s just when she gets to that place, there’s more change.” She shakes her head. “I know that’s part of life and she’ll adjust, but…” She leaves it at that.
“How do you feel about the schools you visited?” She glances at me briefly.
She lifts a shoulder, “They’re better than where she was, and they are recommended by OCFS.”
The Bears have an on-site childcare center. Secure. Structured. Staffed. I could take her when I’m home. Pick her up after practice. Less transition anxiety. Many friendly faces. I don’t say it yet. That conversation isn’t for now, it’s for later.
There’s a knock.
A female doctor enters. Late thirties. Blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Direct eyes.
“Good morning. I’m Dr. Elise Hartmann.” She shakes Hildy’s hand first. Then mine. “How are we feeling?”
Hildy answers with facts. Nausea tapering. Fatigue is present but manageable. No bleeding. Mild early cramping that resolved.
Dr. Hartmann nods. “At sixteen weeks, that’s all consistent with a healthy progression.” She scrolls through the tablet. “I see your early HCG levels were elevated.”
“Elevated is bad?” I ask.
“Elevated can mean many things,” she replies smoothly. “Hormone levels vary significantly between pregnancies. Your numbers were on the higher side but not outside normal limits. We monitor patterns more than single values.”
Patterns. Progression. Measured language. I can handle this.
