Chapter 32 – Transformation

"Next patient!" I heard Martin yell and sighed for he could be so… abrupt. I know that he didn't mean to be; well he did mean to be quick, just was not aware that it sounded rude. I was typing on my new laptop at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of my notes from the most recent lecture on adolescent development. It all seemed very jumbled, but perhaps it was the state of pre-teens and teens in any case, with all those hormones along with brain and body changes. Personally I hated being a teen, and not just because of puberty.

I heard Morwenna walk up to his consulting room and she glanced down the hallway to the kitchen. She gave me a bright smile, tinged with trepidation. Then she spoke "Doc? You got a break for a bit. Mr. Vingoe missed his bus, but he did call to say so, so you can't be too angry about that. I slotted him in at two-thirty because Mrs. Treligga cancelled – something about a sick cow. And," she turned to smile at me, "it's nearly lunchtime anyway. There's no one on the schedule until one thirty."

"Humph," Martin muttered.

"So," Morwenna started to fiddle with the pen in her hand, "I was thinkin' maybe we could start lunch now? I promised my mum we'd have lunch, and… well…"

I heard the sound of wheels as my husband pushed his chair away from his desk, and then his heavy shoes clumped towards Morwenna. I could just see the side of his face as he stopped in the doorway. "Fine," he said. "Go." He waved one of large hands at her in a shooing motion.

"Oh lovely," Morwenna told him. "Thanks. I'll be off then." She turned a bright smile to me. "Now you and Louisa can have a nice lunch. Bye then. Later." Quick as a flash she was out of the house.

Martin walked in washed his hands and dried them and then I felt him kiss the crown of my head.

"What's that for?" I asked. "Spontaneous signs of affection? Do tell."

"Uhm. Right. Lunch?"

I had a touchy tummy this morning. "Perhaps just some soup for me? Crackers as well."

"Not much of a lunch."

"Martin, please have whatever you want to eat. Don't let me stop you."

He opened the refrigerator, took out some things and set to work. "There is this chicken and noodle soup from yesterday."

My stomach did a flip and I had to press my lips hard together. "Yeah," I managed to say but the thought of floating chicken fat on the liquid, plus the smell - made me shudder. "Oh, maybe not. Not quite up to snuff today."

"You hardly touched your egg this morning." He turned to look hard at me. "What is going on?" He reached out to touch my forehead with the back of his hand, but I pushed it away.

"I am not feverish, Mar-tin. Just a little unsettled."

"Hm. Time of the month? You did eat the morning toast though."

"That must be it," I told him, but it didn't feel right. My symptoms were vaguely familiar and a little light began to glow in my memory. "Oh," I said softly.

"Oh, what?"

I saved the file I was working on, closed the laptop, and stood. "I'll just clear this." I moved my notes as well to the sofa, then went up to the loo, but first I inspected at the calendar hanging on our bedroom wall. I was flipping back through the past few months when I heard Martin's steps on the stair, so I dropped the pages, picked up a hairbrush and began to brush my hair.

Martin looked at me awkwardly when he came in. "Louisa? I should examine you, if you're not well."

I put down my brush and pushed past him into the loo. "You just want to play doctor, I'm thinking," I chuckled.

I closed the door on his staring face, as I heard him reply, "I am a doctor."

"And a very good one too!" I told him, but he didn't get the joke. He rarely did.

I used the toilet, flushed, and then stood at the sink to wash. My face stared back at me, showing some sort of reaction. Was it shock or relief? My lip jumped of its own accord between my teeth. "Or is this fear?" I whispered to myself. "Nah, it can't be. Can't be that, can it?" I lifted up my blouse to touch my breasts under my bra. They were sore and swollen. "So, either I'm late… or… late for a reason?"

I washed up then went out and found him sitting on our bed, with an anxious look on his face. "Louisa?"

I took the calendar off the wall and sat down next to him. "Martin, I want to show you something…"

He nodded, so I flipped back through the calendar, showing him the little tick marks on the pages; the ones I make each four to four and a half weeks. I took a deep breath. "This is today…" I flipped back to the previous month. "See anything last month?" Then I flipped to the two months previous page. "Now look here." The little penned 'p' stood out bold on the fifth.

He blinked rapidly. "The last time, ahem, you had your period… was…"

"Nine weeks ago, Martin. And I have not felt very keen to eat breakfast the last few weeks. So, doctor husband of mine, and a very good one," I patted his leg, "what might that indicate?"

He looked away, then back at me. "It might indicate any number of things. You have been under stress taking your course, which can upset…"

I shook my head at him. "And we have been making love… rather…"

"Ahm, frequently," he coughed.

"And without protection."

"But there could be an underlying health issue…"

He didn't get it, or didn't want to voice and opinion. "Horses not zebras, Martin." I'd heard him say that often enough – meaning (to a doctor) if you hear hoof beats think of a more common, and not rare, cause.

I put my left arm around him, and scooted closer. I picked up his left hand and laid it on my breast. "Feel that?"

"Of course I do!" his arm flew out of my hand.

"So do I, and it's, uhm, they're both sore. Nipples as well. Dear husband of mine – who is a very good doctor – can you puzzle out this case? A woman of child-bearing age is two months late in having her period, has some nausea in the morning and an aversion to food, and sore baps. Plus, has been making frequent love with her husband in an attempt to get pregnant? Now, what does that suggest to you?" I tried to smile. "Years of medical training may help you to make a diagnosis."

He turned his face to mine, as his eyes grew large. "Louisa! You're pregnant!"

"Yes, yes, I am. I think – I think must be." I looked into his shocked face. "I suppose we should do a test."

He nodded, then slowly folded me into his arms and kissed me gently.