“If you’re going to continue with the pregnancy, then we need to start you on prenatal vitamins and book your next appointment. If you decide not to continue, we can start that process too.”
Courtney lay back on the exam table, the paper crumpling and tearing into pieces behind her back.
She tried to breathe, but suddenly even that was hard. Her nipples were fine, but breathing hurt.
Okay.
This was fine.
She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes.
“If you’re right…” She wasn’t totally on board with that theory yet. “I’m keeping the baby.” She said this so softly she wasn’t entirely sure that Dr. Carol heard her. “If you’re right about this, what do I need to do?”
Surely there was a test or something she needed to take. Like a driving test but for mothers.
That was a thing, right? They couldn’t just send her out of here pregnant and then home with a baby once they got to that part. She was the younger sibling, so she’d never even changed a diaper. What did it say that Linx would make a better parent than she would at this point?
Holy. Holy. Holy. Shit.
“Take a breath,” Dr. Carol instructed, illustrating deep inhales and slow exhales. “You have to breathe.”
Courtney breathed like Dr. Carol said because otherwise she’d pass out, and while that sounded fun to her at the moment, it probably wasn’t good for the baby.
“What does it mean that I’m not sick? That my boobs are totally fine?” she asked, eyes pressed closed. She resisted the urge to pinch her nipples and see if maybe it hurt more than usual? Then again, she didn’t make a habit of pinching the girls, so she wouldn’t really know if it was worse than before.
“Some women don’t get nauseated. For many women, symptoms don’t appear until well into the second trimester. By my calculations, based on your intake, you’d be six weeks along.”
Oh, well. Courtney sat up. “Then it’s not Bax’s baby.”
“Sorry?” Dr. Carol raised her eyebrows.
“It can’t be Bax’s baby. We had sex five weeks ago.” Thank. Hell. She held up her five counting fingers to clarify. “I didn’t have sex six weeks ago.”
“We count from the beginning of your last period,” Dr. Carol said, pulling out a little round card thing that looked like it belonged to a board game.
“My last period was two weeks ago.” Again, Courtney held up two fingers to illustrate her point.
“The period before that. My guess is that what you had was breakthrough bleeding or the like.” Dr. Carol turned the wheel of the card thing and held it out for Courtney to see. “This would be your due date.”
Oh. God. Courtney hadn’t had a due date since she was in high school algebra with assignments that she forgot to turn in. She was shit when it came to due dates.
She pressed her eyes closed again. Then opened them, sat up, and asked the wall, “Why is this so complicated?”
“Babies are complicated.” Dr. Carol moved to hold Courtney’s hand. “But you’ve got this.”
That was nice. She didn’t feel so alone right then. A little light-headed, but not alone.
You know who would have a good idea about what came next? Irina. She should call Irina.
“I thinkI’d like to pass out now,” she said, lying back down, ripping the paper more and not even really caring.
“Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Dr. Carol illustrated like Courtney was in labor on a television sitcom. But Courtney didn’t follow.
“I have to do that, don’t I?” Courtney asked, still holding her breath.
“Breathe?” Dr. Carol gave her hand a squeeze. “Yes. You have to breathe.”
Courtney did. She breathed because apparently it was important for the baby. “No. The other thing.”
