I can almost see the wheels in her head turn as she does the math–eight weeks pregnant, and dad is dead. That means he died recently. And probably unexpectedly.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, honey,” she says, voice wavering. I am so goddamn sick of hearing those words, but when I see the tears glistening along her waterline, I can tell it’s not just empty words. She really means it.
And that means the world to me.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
She turns away, trying and failing to subtly wipe away her tears as she gathers up more things that I’m not convinced she actually needs. After she regains her composure, she turns back around, suddenly looking very serious.
“Is something wrong?” I ask, bewildered by the change.
“No, honey, nothing is wrong,” she says, expression softening. “But I am going to ask you a difficult question, is that okay?”
I nod, breath hitching as I wait for whatever awful thing is coming.
“Is this a pregnancy you want to keep?”
I blink rapidly, trying to process what she’s asking.
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean,” she responds slowly, in the tone you might use while approaching an animal that gets easily spooked. “Have you been told what your options are?”
“My…options,” I repeat slowly.
“I am asking if you have considered terminating this pregnancy. Or if you were aware that the option is available to you.”
My jaw drops, and her eyes widen in horror.
“I don’t mean to imply anything,” she stammers, “And I’m certainly not trying to offend you.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” I say reassuringly, resting my hand on her forearm. “It’s just…we’re in Texas, and in a small town, and well, we know where most of the state stands on that.”
“Yes, we do,” she says bitterly, a muscle in her cheek twitching as she clenches her teeth. “But I’m in the business of caring for babiesandmothers, and it’s no good for babiesormothers if you’re forced into something you aren’t ready for.”
Before I can stop myself, I hop off the table and pull her into a hug.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hugging her tight.
“You’re welcome,” she says, patting my cheek when we break apart.
“You know, I did consider it for a moment,” I say, staring at my feet where they dangle off the table I climbed back onto. “Whether it would be too painful. To do this without him. Or if I even wanted to try.”
I haven’t said those words out loud to anyone, and I can feel my cheeks heat with shame.
“But I couldn’t do that to his family. Or to myself.”
Tears stream down my face as I give myself a moment to feel the full weight of carrying a piece of Aaron without him here to do this with me.
“Little One’s dad was the very best of us,” I say with something between a sob and a laugh. “The world will be a brighter place with a bit of him still here. And we’ll all be better for it.”
“And that baby will be so lucky to have you as its mama,” the nurse adds, voice thick with emotion.
I smile at her, unable to find the words to express how much this conversation has meant to me. I went back and forth for so long about whether this was the right choice, whether I’m even cut out to be a mother. But facing the option today, there is no doubt in my mind–being Little One’s mom will be the greatest privilege of my life.
After an hour of being poked, prodded, and desperately battling performance anxiety to pee in that damn cup, the doctor tells me everything looks great and that she’ll see me in a few weeks.
“Well, wait a minute,” I shout in alarm. “Don’t I get to see them? Or hear the heartbeat? Anything?”
