I hold the test as I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the tiled floor.
I can’t believe this.
Tears fall, and my cries are tormented, a mix between despair and joy. I’m so torn. On one hand, I could be carrying a piece of Leo in me right now. On the other, our dream is coming true, and he’s not here for it.
I rise from the floor and call my doctor’s office. I beg the receptionist to get me in ASAP, and thankfully, there was a cancellation. Jogging back out to the car, I peel out of the driveway and toward my gynecologist’s office.
Sitting in the office amid other women—some visibly pregnant, others not—I can’t make my tears cease as I wait to be called back. I imagine a collective sigh of relief from the other waiting room occupants when my name is called. After a pit stop to the restroom to pee in a cup, I’m escorted to an exam room.
As soon as the gown is on and I’m sitting in the chair with the stirrups, Dr. Belland enters. There’s pity in her eyes when she sees me. She must’ve heard or read of Leo’s passing. She reaches her hand toward me and gently squeezes mine.
“I took a test, and it said pregnant, but that’s not possible, is it?” My words come out in rapid succession.
She nods, a tight smile on her face. “You’re pregnant, Alma.”
I cry harder. “How is that possible? I thought I couldn’t get pregnant.”
“Well, on the scans, your tubes look almost completely blocked, but it’s been four years. Your body changes, heals. There had to be a small enough opening for at least one egg to sneak through.”
I shake my head. “This is unbelievable.” Tears fall against my chest, wetting the pink hospital gown. “Am I going to be able to carry it full-term?”
“Well, let’s take a look and see. When was your last period?” she asks as she turns on a machine beside me.
“At least two and a half months. I don’t remember.”
“Go ahead and lie down. We’re going to do a vaginal ultrasound to check the baby.”
I do as instructed, and she inserts a wand into me. Whooshing sounds come from the machine, and Dr. Belland smiles.
“There’s your baby.” She points to the screen, and I gasp.
There’s a tiny human on the screen. I can see the head, body, arms, and legs. The baby seems to be puckering his or her lips, one arm reaching out in front of its little round belly.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe it,” I cry in disbelief. “This is such a miracle.”
Dr. Belland nods. “It is, Alma.” She moves the wand, and another angle comes up. This time, the baby’s spinal cord is visible. “I’m going to take some measurements and snap some pictures for you.”
She works, pointing out parts of the baby—his or her heart and brain, spine, and limbs—stating that everything looks great.
“Based on the measurements, you’re three months along. Your uterus looks great, no visible problems that I can see. Eighty percent of miscarriages occur within the first three months, so your chances of carrying the baby are good. You are considered a high-risk pregnancy based on your history, so I’ll be seeing you weekly, but everything looks great, Alma. No cause for concern right now.”
She pulls out the ultrasound wand, and I sit up.
Wrapping my arms around my chest, I cry, “Thank you.”
She tilts her head and watches me, curiously. “Do you want a hug, Alma?”
“Yes, please.” I nod.
Dr. Belland hugs me, and I hold her tight, tears falling onto her shoulder. I wish I were crying with Leo over this joyous news, but it feels nice to hold a real person.
“You’re going to be just fine.” She pats my back and releases her hold on me.
“Thanks again.”
“Days like this are why I love this job.” She grins. “I’ll see you next week,” she says and leaves the room.
I stay seated and cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself once more. I close my eyes and try to feel him.
Thank you for leaving me a piece of you. Keep the baby safe. I love you.
An immense amount of love engulfs me. I think it might be Leo or maybe the love I already feel for this life growing inside of me or perhaps both. For the first time in two months, I smile—a real, genuine smile.
Leo was kind and his soul gentle. I know he fought hard for us, but there