Chapter 12: Not Again...
The weeks flew by after that wonderful weekend at Pemaquid Beach and before I had even realized it, it was December. Of course Emmett came up as often as he could to visit Catherine and me, and I would occasionally drive down to Boston to see him, but despite how elated I was to be back again with him, the stress of trying to raise our daughter while living so far away, as well as my continued unemployment, was beginning to lag on my body. I was restless and often times even irritable. Once, I had even snapped at Catherine for the silliest of things, and I felt awful. My interrupted sleep left me feeling exhausted, sometimes ill, and even weak. And even though I had never been a snacker, I would occasionally find myself snacking thoughtlessly, but I took it to be a nervous reaction to the stress. But I gained five pounds.
My jeans became tight, my bras didn't fit right, and one day I realized the strangest thing: even my shoes didn't fit.
My shoes?
Sitting down on the edge of my bed, I looked down at my feet in despair. They looked like a couple of overgrown potatoes. My anklebones didn't even show!
Something was wrong. I added it all up: fluid retention; irritability; fatigue; tender breasts; weight gain. A flash of terror tore through me. What if I was starting my change? Two of my mother's sisters had started theirs around their early thirties and I'd heard of strange cases of women even younger. What if this was early menopause? I would have considered the possibility that maybe I was pregnant, but that was impossible. If I were pregnant, my monthly flow would have stopped. But it hadn't. It clearly must be something else. So I made an appointment with a gynecologist in Portland.
Dr. Lucille Spencer's office was lilac, and the ceiling had been painted with a floral motif. I distracted myself with it, trying to name all the flowers that I could identify. Tulips, lilies, roses, and lilacs, I knew, but I was unsure of a couple others. The lighting was diffuse, illuminating the painted ceiling indirectly. The room did its job and made me feel much more at ease than I had been on the car ride over here.
Dr. Spencer completed her examination and lowered my paper gown, helping me to ease my legs down from the contraption that held them up.
I watched her roll her stool back over to the counter where she wrote something down in a manila folder. She could not have been more than five years older than me. She had a lovely, youthful face and mocha-colored skin, and kind, brown eyes. She glanced up and asked me, "When was your last period?"
"Three weeks ago," I answered confidently.
"And has there been any changes in your flow in the past couple of months?"
I paused, suddenly remembering the changes that had almost been too subtle to take note of. "Actually, not that you mention it, I guess they've been a little lighter than usual, and not quite as punctual as they've always been,"
"M-hmm… tell me, have you experienced any other signs of menopause that you may have overlooked? Any hot flashes or night sweats?"
"No."
"But your breasts have been tender?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"I don't know, a couple of months maybe… I don't remember exactly,"
"Have you noticed any frequent urination? Maybe been waking up at night to go to the restroom?"
"N-actually, yes. I guess around two or three times on average,"
"Is that normal for you?"
"No, I guess not."
"Have you been irritable? Depressed?"
"I suppose so, but I've been unable to find a job for a while, because I was let go in late-August."
Dr. Spencer nodded and turned around to face me completely. "Well, Ms. Hale, I'm quite certain that this is not menopausal as you'd feared," she smiled. "Quite the opposite, in fact. My best guess is that you are around twenty weeks pregnant."
Had she slugged me with a nine-pound hammer and knocked me to the floor, she could not have stunned me more. I couldn't speak for several seconds, but when I finally found my voice, I cried, "That's impossible!"
"You mean you have not had intercourse in the past five months?"
"Well, no—I mean, yes. I have, but I…"
"Did you use any precautions?"
"Yes, of course! I've been on the Pill and we used condoms until I was sure that it we were safe!"
"Well you realize, Ms. Hale, that Birth Control pills do have a failure rate of 9% with typical use,"
"Yes, but I never forgot a pill! I always took it at 6:30 A.M. after I woke up my daughter for school. This can't happen again!" I ran my hands through my hair in despair. "Doctor, could there be anything else?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Hale. I can take a look with the ultrasound to know for sure, but all the symptoms are there."
"No, please. You don't understand. This has already happened to me once; I had Catherine when I was twenty-two, barely out of college, and after my boyfriend had left me, this cannot happen to me again! Is it possible you could be mistaken?" I pleaded.
"I'm afraid not. All the symptoms are there—the wall of your cervix is slightly bluish in color, the genitals are swollen, your breasts are enlarged and tender and the veins highly colored, you've been experiencing water retention, fatigue, increased urination, weight gain, and probably a number of other symptoms—such as heartburn, cramps, constipation, lower-back ache, leg cramps, and you're a bit more emotional than you normally are. Am I right?"
I recalled many of these symptoms and my outgrown clothes and shoes, the numerous late-night trips to the bathroom and the times I'd burst into tears for no apparent reason. I nodded glumly and lowered my tearful eyes down to my hands in my lap.
Dr. Spencer tolled her stool nearer and placed a sympathetic hand on my arm. "I take it from your signs of distress that you're single."
"Yes,"
"Well, I can understand that that complicates your situation."
"I already have a seven year-old, no husband, no job, and I'm facing losing the house if I can't make the house payments soon…" I sniffed and Dr. Spencer reached back to grab the tissue box off the counter and offered me a couple before placing it on the seat next to me, but I continued. "How can I handle everything with another baby to take care of?" I wiped my eyes with the tissue she'd given me as she patiently waited for me to gather myself up. When I'd finally calmed down, she said, "You realize, of course, that you're beyond the stage of fetal development where abortion is either safe or legal."
I shook my head. "Yes, I realize that. But it wouldn't have been an option for me anyway."
Dr. Spencer nodded. "And the baby's father—is he still around?"
I met her kind, brown eyes and dried my own. "He lives in Boston and there are… complications," I elected not to mention that he was married to a stubborn woman who refused to give him a divorce.
"I see, well I will advise you to tell him as soon as possible."
"Yes, of course, I'll tell him."
"And your daughter—how old did you say she is?"
"She just turned seven last month."
"I have twins that age," she smiled at me. "And if I know seven year olds, I'm sure she'll understand. In fact, she'll probably be excited to have a little brother or sister." She patted my arm encouragingly but I couldn't speak. So I just nodded as I listened to her instruct me to eliminate all alcohol and over-the-counter drugs that I might have been taking, she asked me whether or not I smoked and handed me a few sample bottles of prenatal vitamins. Then she went on to tell me to cut down on the use of salt and increase my take in of dairy products, and to start trying some moderate low-impact exercise like walking and finally to make an appointment for a return visit, which I did as I left the clinic.
I climbed into my car and started the engine, waiting for the hot air to start warming the interior of the van and a sudden wave of nausea struck me and the sensation brought the bewildering truck back with vicious ferocity: you are pregnant again! I scolded myself.
So what are you going to do, Rosalie?
I'm going to tell Emmett.
Do you really think he can get divorced and married to you before this baby is born? He didn't do it last time!
That isn't fair. He didn't know last time.
Because you didn't tell him about his own child!
Stop it! I have no idea how much different things are going to be this time around.
You really think Vivian is going to let him go if she finds out you're pregnant with her husband's child?
I don't know… I don't know…
Propelled with the hope that she might, I pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.
Author's Note: Hey y'all! Sorry it took so long to update and I'm sorry it's a little bit shorter than the others, but I've been debating about the whole pregnancy thing for a couple days. But now I have a much better direction of where this story is heading. So, while there's still twenty weeks left, anybody got any names or suggestions on whether the baby should be a girl or a boy? I'm open to hearing them! REVIEW PLEASE!