A/N: Sorry for the long and definitely unplanned writing break. Hope there are still readers out there! :P
Tuesday, May 27th
My fingertips are tapping unsettled on the ochre cardboard folder that contains my medical records. Sitting in the doctor's waiting room with Will, the urge to open it and sneak a peek at the previous ultrasound for the millionth time is overpowering. As my gaze wanders around with impatience, memories from the last time I've been here reemerge, one by one, causing a fleeting lump in my throat. It's been two months. I can still feel loud and clear the discomfort, the fears, my personal conflicts. Will didn't know anything back then, I was here all alone with my doubts, growing as I glanced at the other patients, with the second thoughts I never shared with him about the convenience of having this baby or not. Many of those fears are still there but I'm confident that this visit is going to dissipate a few of them. Or at least it should. I have no idea what to expect, I don't know if to trust my instinct that the pregnancy is going well or to trust my body that seems to tell another story. It's only a few minutes between us and meeting our child again, a few minutes which look like endless hours, for my patience has already been tried by the forced rest. Will takes my hand and stops its restless rap. Instinctively I stare at him.
"You okay?" he murmurs in the soft buzz of the room.
"Yep," I reassure him with a tense smile. Though the apprehension that's making me shake like a leaf in the wind probably sub-zeroes my credibility.
At the steadfast call of my name, we both turn around in synchrony, then stare at each other in mutual encouragement. It's the moment of truth. With a deep breath, I convince myself that it's only a visit, though the vigor with which I press Will's hand sort of betrays my inner anxiety.
The familiar old sterile smell of the doctor's office welcomes me, but this time it's different. With the nausea gone and Will by my side it's a whole new feeling; the anticipation, the veil of worry, the excitement, the sheer delight of sharing this moment with him makes it special. It's fulfilling. And I try to ensure that Will knows the importance of his presence here with me. My eyes don't miss any opportunity to find his, and so do my fingers, venturing with discretion to find the comfort of his hand.
I give the folder to the doctor, then accept her gestured invitation to both me and Will to take a seat across the desk. She doesn't seem to recognize me from the last time but it doesn't bother me. She asks questions that I'm sure I've already answered and I patiently repeat the salient events of the last couple of months. Her eyes skim quickly and impassively through the medical records, and when done she looks up and requests me to prepare for the visit. Her grimace at the mention of cramps gives me the not really faint impression that she doesn't like the situation. My gaze shifts with discretion in Will's way. I wonder if he caught her same negative response or if it's just me, but judging from his clenched lips he seems more lost and tense than actually worried, probably striving to fit in a place he's definitely not acquainted with. I smile at him as he helps me on the doctor's bed and his tension doesn't seem to turn into worry even when I squeeze his hand forcefully in a pang of pain. He got so used to these sudden attacks that either they don't scare him anymore or he has learned to fake very well. But the moment the doctor asks me about the bleeding his face turns pale.
I stifle a gulp. Bye-bye to not wanting him to know this little detail.
"More in these last few days," I admit, my voice sunk to a whisper. And as I do, my gaze doesn't dare to alight on Will. Suddenly I regret my decision to not tell him anything about it. How could I think it was a good idea to keep him in the dark? The matter was obviously bound to come out in the visit and now I want to slap myself. But in my defense there were already enough issues. I was trying to protect him and I can't even say exactly from what. The only thing I'm sure of is that this will come home to roost the moment we leave this room.
The loud scratching of the ultrasound comes as a godsend and interrupts my inner self-reproach. I shiver as the chilling gel meets my skin. It'll never get pleasant. I'm thrilled at the thought that we are about to see our baby again, but I can't hush the bit of worry whispering from some mischievous corner of my mind. With a tentative smile I turn my gaze towards Will.
He's undoubtedly tense, probably even more than me, nevertheless he smiles back and with a faint nod he reassures me that everything will be fine. His attention is suddenly drawn by something behind me. His ghost smile that was barely showing only a second before turns swiftly into a beam and by instinct I follow his gaze. Our child is there, black and white, in all its volcanic energy. And unless I'm crazy or missing something, it looks very much healthy. I can clearly distinguish the features. A tiny nose and little dancing legs that can't seem to stop moving for a second. My gaze shifts between the screen and my belly, trying to visualize this little hurricane inside of me.
"Looks like someone is happy to show itself to mom and dad," the doctor observes with an amusement in her voice that clashes pleasantly with her previous indifference.
I burst into laughter and I'm not sure if it's happiness, relief or just nerves. I can't help being completely awe-struck by this tiny miracle. Will is silent behind me but his quivering hand is very eloquent, so I turn to face his delight.
"It's… it's so little," he whispers. And his eyes are gleaming with pure amazement. For a moment I almost forget about the baby, completely lost in a stare that makes me fall in love with him, deeply and more intensely each time.
"Three inches and a half," the doctor answers his adorably naïve observation.
Three inches and a half. So little and so vulnerable. For six more months my body is supposed to be its only shelter and it weighs on me that so far it hasn't really done its job in the best way. It's a shadow I can't banish. "Is the baby… safe?" I ask tentatively, in need for some reassurance.
The few seconds of silence that follow my question don't reassure me at all. Neither does the doctor's almost unperceivable exhale.
"You're officially entering your second trimester in a couple of days," she starts. "It's good news because generally the chances of a miscarriage are noticeably reduced. But in your condition, the risk is still high."
My condition.
The risk.
My heart sinks down to my feet under the weight of words that shouldn't really shock me or upset me. It's something I already knew. Yet they do.
"The placenta is still under the baby," she confirms apologetically, pointing at a white stain on the screen. "The baby's weight increases quickly, and the bleeding with it. I have to reconfirm absolute rest."
My eyes close briefly. To choke back an unjustified tear, to hide the letdown, to absorb a piece of news that in the end shouldn't be news at all. Only when I feel Will's hands enclose mine I breathe in and open them again to look at him and at his mix of sincere sorrow and powerlessness.
"Do you want to know the sex of the baby?" the doctor inquires of us. And maybe it's only to lift up our spirits but it definitely puts a weak smile back on my face.
My decided no is contradicted and drowned out by Will's enthusiastic yes, which causes the doctor to laugh and stare at us confused.
"Maybe you should make arrangements on this topic," she jokes.
"Isn't it too soon to know?" I ask out of mere curiosity.
"It wouldn't be a certainty but definitely a good guess," she answers.
"We'll decide," I nod and glance at Will with the conviction that I'll get the upper hand. With both Zach and Grace I knew beforehand. This time I'm resolute about wanting it to be a surprise until the end.
"Okay," she agrees. "In the meantime I will prescribe for you a more effective painkiller for the cramps. It won't do any harm to the baby but I want you to be particularly attentive regarding the bleeding. If you notice any change, you come here immediately."
"I will."
"And if nothing changes in the mean time, we'll meet again in one month," she reminds me.
"Okay," I agree with a pinch of resignation. One more month of house arrest.
And this marks the end of the visit. A visit that was supposed to make me feel better and it did in some ways. But at the same time it brought more worries. And the drive back home is filled with a tense muteness.
"You're quiet," Will observes. And the concern is very clear in his tone.
My gaze is lost somewhere outside the car window, looking absent-mindedly at the succession of grey buildings and pedestrians. "I don't want to spend all of the pregnancy like this, Will," I whisper, resigned to this whole situation but honest about how I feel about it. Isn't that what we are supposed to do? Be honest with each other? Even if it hurts? "I'm afraid I'll end up hating this baby by the time it sees the light."
Will remains quiet, for a few seconds, or minutes, I have no idea. I mark his long silence with the passage of buildings. I'm counting the sixteenth when he sighs, pulls over, then stops the car. For a moment he stares silently at the steering wheel. "You're bored and frustrated. It's totally understandable. And you can trust me when I say that it hurts too to just hang around helplessly," he confesses as he lifts an arm and pulls me close.
I let myself sink into his embrace; warm, comforting, sincere, it's just about what my heart needs now.
"I watch you writhe in pain and there is nothing I can do to help you feel better. I feel so… powerless," he murmurs, as his hand delicately moves down and rests on my belly protectively. "And you won't hate this baby. It's the one thing I'm sure of."
Powerless. The word echoes in my head, but not in the way Will means it. Or maybe does it? Maybe it's not just about a pain that can't be taken away or shared, but it's also about the need of a more constant presence and closeness in a moment that's so vital for us both. My sleep gets interrupted so often at night and it's never a nice feeling to turn around to an empty half of the bed and know that he might be awake and craving for the same physical proximity. My eyes look up and meet his thoughtful ones.
"You're not powerless…. You're here. And you love me and our child. The pain will go away sooner or later," my lips soothe him with a soft kiss, "and in six months from now I'll make sure to remind you of your own words when the ear-splitting cry of your child will keep us up all night," I jest, as reminiscences of a sleepless newborn Grace bring a smile to my face.
And Will's cornered expression to my warning is all sorts of entertaining.
"How did our child become my child in the space of a couple of sentences?" he questions me, and his stifled laughter leaves no doubt that he means it jokingly.
"Don't worry, you will learn quickly how it works," I poke fun at him. Sometimes it's amusing to play with his inexperience.
Though I try to avoid any kind of comparison, it's hard to not consider how different the situation with Zach and Grace was in respect to this pregnancy. Back then I had sacrificed everything to raise my kids, and everything to ensure Peter the career he was striving hard to build. I had taken on completely the role of mother and was happy with it.
Today that I have my own career and Will has his own, it feels completely different. Nobody has to sacrifice anything for the love of this baby, except maybe a few nights of sleep and a bunch of billable hours.
"We should go back home now," he points out softly.
"Do I have any other option?" I ask ironically, though I have to admit that I can't wait to be home. Sitting in the car might not really be the best posture and it's starting to take its toll.
"Not really," Will shrugs.
"Then home be it."
And the moment we walk into my apartment, I inhale deeply, drop everything on the couch and move to the kitchen. Will pours some orange juice for me while I quickly skim through the mail of the day. Utility bill, telephone bill, a real estate magazine, an invitation to some dinner event I won't attend anyway and make sure ends on Cary's desk on the first occasion.
"Get some rest now." Will gently covers my hand with his and makes me look up from the papers.
"Are you going back to work?" The tone of my voice begs for a no as an answer.
"I have to meet a client in a couple of hours, so I can remain for a while," he reassures me with a smile. "I'll wake you up before I go," he replies to my unvoiced plea.
I nod, then abandon everything on the table - there's nothing that can't wait until later – and stand up. "I'll just lie on the couch."
"Doctor said bed rest," he reproaches me weakly.
"Bed doesn't mean literally bed, you know that?" I observe jokingly.
"For now it's bed. Doctor's orders," he repeats, as he points at the bedroom.
"Are you the doctor now?" I mock him playfully.
"Don't I look like a doctor?" he plays along.
His diverted reaction makes me struggle to suffocate a laughter. "Don't give me any strange ideas," I flirt innocently, before heading into the living room and on the couch.