Waiting

"Louisa, when I said to take time off, I meant that you should take time off. Not…" Martin waved his hand over their kitchen table, which was strewn with papers and books, arrayed about her work laptop.

Louisa cast him a withering glance. "Martin, I am pregnant and not ill."

Martin opened his mouth to reply, but she held up her hand. After months of marriage he closed his mouth, for that bit of body language he understood, with Louisa at least.

Louisa went on, "Yes, I do get fatigued, and yes my feet do swell after a long day, and…" she had to pause when she felt a belly twinge. "And… my back hurts and yes my belly is getting large – I swear I can almost watch it get sticking out more and more by the hour." She tried to scoot the chair closer to the table but, of course, her baby belly did not fit under the table edge.

"And? At your age…"

She sighed. "I did not plan to get pregnant when I was thirty-seven." She saw his face go blank; a bad sign. "I meant to say that my plans to have a child didn't exactly have a sell by date."

He cleared his throat. "Having children at a younger age would have meant that you'd be better fit and have more energy."

"So it's my fault I am tired?"

"No, no. Not what I said."

"Then what exactly?" She let that comment sink in, and when he didn't answer, she added, "Martin, I have a work life, just as you do, and I have work things to do. I can't just drop everything and wait for the baby! Lay around and do nothing? Weeks to go yet! Working from our house I can rest – do rest."

Martin looked away.

"Martin?" she addressed his back.

"I have patients. That Townsend woman is bringing her four children in this afternoon." He wrinkled his nose.

"Martin look at me. Barbara is a very sweet woman," Louisa told him. "And if she wants to have four children she's allowed to."

He held up his hands. "Louisa, that woman's children run amuck in my surgery. Grabbing tongue depressors, having play sword fights with them, running all over… and… grabbing things out of the bin and throwing them!" He stopped when Louisa gave him another irritated look.

"So, then, doctor, put the tongue depressors up out of reach," she suggested. "Simple enough."

Blowing air through his nose, he returned to his profession. Pauline gave him a beckoning nod as he stuck his head into reception. The reception room held just two patients; an old man (lumbago and diabetes he recalled) and one of the irritating girl pack (Andrea? Angela? April? Whatever), who was biting her lips with some sort of distress. He walked to Pauline and asked, "The Townsends?"

Pauline shook her head and cracked her chewing gum. "Called off, Doc. Missed the noon bus. I moved her to Thursday morning.

Martin nodded. "Fine." He lowered his voice. "And these?"

"Mr. Jenkin says," now she whispered, "hurts when he, uhm, you know – makes water."

"And the girl?"

"She won't say."

"Fine, I'll see the old man first."

Pauline slipped the patient note to him. ""Jenkins."

"I know that!" he grumbled as he straightened up and addressed the room. "Mr. Jenkins!"

"Drinking enough fluids?" Martin asked Jenkins. Recent events made him think that Louisa was now drinking more, so much that she complained about the frequency of needing the toilet.

"Yep," the old man said with bad breath.

"And when did this pain begin?"

Jenkins screwed up his face. "'Bout ten days back."

"Good God, Man! You have a fever, your face is red and flushed, and now you come to see me? You have a raging urinary tract infection. This does not help with your other health problems."

"I been busy."

"Busy? Too busy to call surgery?" Martin shook his head. "I will write a prescription for an antibiotic."

"Like them pills two months back? Them things tasted bad. And they give me gut rumbles."

"Bad taste or not, they are needed to cure up this infection."

The old man groaned. "Doc, I don't want to be sick."

"No one does. Look, would you rather not be treated and end up in hospital with a major kidney infection?" He had palpated the man's lower back and gut but had not elicited any sign of pain there. "I don't sit up and here and write prescriptions for no good reason!"

Mr. Jenkins grunted. "Right. I get it."

"Your blood sugar levels look good at least." He sighed. "Do you want to end up in hospital?"

Mr. Jenkins shook his head.

"Good. Take the pills three times a day. Drink and eat before you take the medication and that will ease belly or intestinal discomfort."

The man stared at him. "Sorry to bother you, Doc."

"It's my job." The man got up. "And how's yer missus?"

"Fine. Now if you go, I can see my next patient."

Mr. Jenkins got up. "When me and mine were havin' kids it wasn't easy."

"Yes," Martin snapped, then stomped to the door and pulled it open.

"Preggers six times, lost three in her belly, one got the whoopin' cough and died when she was three." Mr. Jenkins wiped his eyes. "But," he took a shuddering breath, "You move on you know. These things happen. Right?"

Martin cleared his throat. "Now we have vaccinations for pertussis – whooping cough."

"Aye, and that's a good thing." Mr. Jenkins looked away. "She was a pretty little thing. Regina was her name. Had the prettiest hair."

Martin's mouth had gone dry. "Now if you would go through I can see my next patient."

Mr. Jenkins turned around and took Martin's hand. "Good thing you're here in the village, Doc. Keepin' us healthy and all."

"Yes."

"Thanks, Doc."

"But I want to know if your symptoms do not improve in three days, so, I will call you on Friday."

Mr. Jenkins smiled. "Thanks for that. You and Louiser will have a pretty baby, I'm thinking."

The old man dropped his hand and Martin watched him shuffle away. He sighed. "Next patient," he said, and Pauline was surprised that for once he did not shout it out.

The girl came in with her notes and Martin read them quickly. Arwen Davey, eighteen at last birthday, weight 51 kilos, height 163cm. No previous health complaints other than flu and colds.

Martin looked at the girl as she slumped in the visitor chair. Clear complexion and clean dark hair. Nails were chewed. "So, what is the medical problem?"

She bit her lips. Stammering, she told him, "I… I th…ink…I'm gon…na have a bab… baby." Then she began to cry.

Martin gave her a tissue. "Missed period?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Two of 'em."

"And not using contraceptives."

"No. Never."

"Are you in a relationship?"

"Yeah, but not now. Her moved away." She turned away, covering her face with her hands.

"Have you taken a home pregnancy test?"

She shook her head no. "My mum's gonna kill me."

"Unlikely," he answered.

"I look, Doc, I didn't plan it. Happened to my second cousin, you know. Pregnant. She moved in with my gran until she has the baby. Down in Helston. I think, she's gonna give up her baby." Arwen looked at Martin with sad eyes. " Her baby. How can she do that?"

Martin got a sample container from the cabinet. "Go to the toilet in the waiting room. Wash your hands and then… uhm, urinate in this container. Then wash your hands once more. Seal this container, wrap it in a paper towel and then bring it back to me."

"I thought you'd use a pee on a stick thing?"

Martin shook his head. "I will apply your urine sample to the test here in my surgery. That will maintain your privacy."

"Oh. Right." The girl brightened. "Hand it over."

Martin waited motionless until the girl came back. Not a girl, he thought, a young woman, who has concerns about an unplanned pregnancy.

When she came back, he started the test on the counter, "Ten minutes," he told her, "You shall know. Any other symptoms?"

"Like?"

"Weight gain? Soreness of breast or nipples?" She winced when he told her that.

"God, no Doc."

Martin weighed her. "You have lost four kilos from your last exam, and that was when you had influenza in the winter."

She chuckled. "That was a bad one."

They sat there looking at everything but one another until the timer pinged. "Time."

"I want to see it."

"Fine."

Arwen followed him to the counter where the test lay on a towel by the sink. "I'm afraid to look."

"Do you want me to?"

Arwen sighed. "In for a penny…" she muttered, then she looked at the test. "It says not pregnant!"

Martin looked as well. "Yes. Negative."

"Can it be wrong?"

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But not likely."

Arwen jumped for joy and hugged the village doctor, who tried to brush her away.

"So, what's going on? Why have my periods stopped?" she asked.

"That can be caused by a number of things such as, pregnancy – which has been ruled out – stress, weight gain or loss, a poor diet, exercise to excess, or other factors."

Arwen chewed her lip. "Exercise? I have been riding my bike a lot and running."

"Running?"

"Yeah, you know, one foot in front of the rather? Quickly? Called running or jogging?"

" Why are you running?"

"I met these other girls at the fitness center and seemed like a good idea. Been running with them a lot."

"You've lost four kilos!"

"But I feel good!"

Martin shook his head. "Your weight loss and exercise has contributed to an interruption of your normal menstrual cycle."

"Oh."

When the girl had left, with an admonition to eat properly, if she was to keep up the exercise, buy proper running shoes for proper support, and so forth. He even told her to use sunscreen.

Louisa heard Martin come to the kitchen before she looked up from the laptop. His shoes made a certain squeak on the floorboards of the house as he walked. She looked up when he came in. "Hi."

"Hello. Louisa… about before…" he waved a hand.

"Martin, I'm sorry about our disagreement."

"Me too." He came near her to touch her shoulder.

"Martin?" she asked.

The tale told by Jenkins had hurt, so Martin hugged her around the shoulders and then kissed her on top of the head.

"What's this for?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing special."

She put her arm around his waist. "I will go lie down after I send this email."

He nodded in agreement.

"And Martin?" she said, "The reason I started having babies at age thirty-seven is that I had to wait for you to be around."

"Oh."