“It’s nice to meet you, Daphne.What brings you in today?”I keep my voice calm, my body language open as I settle into my chair.
She takes a deep breath, fingers still working the backpack strap.“I’m pregnant,” she finally says, the words coming out in a rush.“And I need help.”
I nod, keeping my expression neutral despite the surprise.She looks so young.“How far along do you think you are?”
“About three months, I think.”Her hand moves unconsciously to her stomach, still flat beneath the baggy sweater.“I haven’t seen a doctor yet.I… I can’t go to the regular hospital.My parents don’t know, and they’d…” She swallows hard, eyes darting to the door as if expecting someone to burst in.
“Everything you tell me is confidential, Daphne,” I assure her, making a quick mental calculation.Eighteen, maybe nineteen at most.“How old are you?”
“Eighteen.Just turned last month.”She meets my eyes for the first time, and I see a determination beneath the fear.“I’m keeping it.The baby, I mean.But I need… I need to know about adoption.And medical care.I don’t have insurance or money, but I heard this place helps people who can’t…” Her voice breaks, and she blinks rapidly, fighting tears.
My heart squeezes in my chest.This is exactly why I opened this clinic, for people like Daphne who fall through the cracks of our healthcare system, who need help without judgment.
“You heard right,” I tell her, reaching for a notepad.“We can definitely help you.First, let’s get some basic information, then we’ll talk about your options, all of them, so you can make the best decision for you and your baby.”
Relief washes over her face, her shoulders dropping slightly as some of the tension drains away.“Thank you,” she whispers.“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Can I ask how you heard about us?”I inquire as I jot down her name and age.“We’ve only been open a short time.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking back to the photo on my wall.“I saw it on social media and the pictures made it seem like a safe place.”
“I understand,” I say simply.“Let’s focus on you right now.I’d like to do a basic exam, if that’s okay, check your vitals, and then we can discuss prenatal care and your options moving forward.”
She nods, some of the wariness leaving her eyes.“Will it… will it cost a lot?I have some money saved, but not much.”
“We work on a sliding scale here,” I explain, standing and gesturing toward the examination area.“No one is turned away for inability to pay.And there are programs that can help with the medical costs of pregnancy, even if you’re planning to place the baby for adoption.”
As I guide her to the examination table, I notice a bruise peeking out from under her sleeve.Yellowing, a few days old at least.My doctor’s radar pings, but I don’t comment yet.First, establish trust.
“Can you roll up your sleeve so I can check your blood pressure?”I ask, keeping my voice casual as I prepare the cuff.
She hesitates, then slowly pushes up the fabric, revealing more bruising along her forearm, finger marks, unmistakable in their pattern.She doesn’t meet my eyes, but her chin lifts slightly, defiant.
“That looks painful,” I observe neutrally, wrapping the cuff around her upper arm where the skin is unblemished.“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It’s nothing,” she says automatically, the response too quick, too practiced.“I fell.”
I’ve heard this excuse hundreds of times in the ER.The blood pressure reading is elevated, not dangerously so, but higher than I’d like to see in someone her age.
“Daphne,” I say gently, removing the cuff.“Part of my job is to make sure both you and your baby are safe.If someone is hurting you, that affects your health and your baby’s health.”
Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them back fiercely.“It’s not… He’s not always like that.He was just scared when I told him about the baby.He’s under a lot of pressure with his family and everything.A bunch of them were murdered and they’re trying to rebuild their lives.”
The boyfriend.Of course.“Does he know you’re here today?”Then my mind goes to the fact that a bunch of them were murdered.holy shit.
She shakes her head, a single tear escaping to track down her cheek.“He thinks I’m getting rid of it.That’s what he wants.But I can’t… I just can’t do that.”
I hand her a tissue, mind racing through protocols, resources, options.“Daphne, I want you to know that you have choices.All of them.Whether that’s keeping your baby, placing them for adoption, or termination, though that would need to happen soon given how far along you are.But, most importantly, you have the right to be safe.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she admits, the words barely audible.“My parents kicked me out when they found out I was dating him.He’s… His family isn’t the kind they approve of.”
“There are safe houses,” I tell her, making a mental note to call Tiana’s women’s shelter after this appointment.“Places where you can stay while you figure things out.People who can help you with resources for you and your baby.”
Hope flickers across her face, quickly replaced by fear.“He’d find me.He always does.”
“Not if you don’t want to be found,” I say with more confidence than I feel.“Let me examine you, make sure everything’s okay with the baby, and then we can talk about next steps.Would that be all right?”
She nods, some of the tension leaving her body.As I guide her through the examination, checking her vitals, listening for the baby’s heartbeat with a Doppler and finding it strong and steady, much to her tearful relief, I make mental notes of other bruising.Older marks on her ribs, her back, her thighs.The story they tell makes my blood boil, but I keep my expression neutral, professional.
