time I’d had an ultrasound the baby resembled a wiggling gummy bear. Now? There’s no doubt that it’s a baby. “Is it a…”
“Would you like to know?” she asks kindly.
I nod.
“A nice little break from all this troublesome business, I think. It’s been a while since I did this,” she warns me. “Let’s see if I can do it. If not, we’ll call someone down.”
I wonder how much my father is paying for the first class treatment I’m clearly receiving. I peer at the screen, looking for any clues, but I have no idea what I’m looking at. Some things are obvious, a head and legs and arms, but as she zeros in, I find I can’t make sense of anything.
“Well, that’s clear as day.”
“What is?” It looks like a mess to me.
She draws a line on the monitor, followed by two more. “Congratulations. It’s a girl.”
A girl. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. Apparently, I’m not dried up, after all. I’m not sure why it matters. I don’t suspect I’d have a different reaction if she’d told me I was carrying a boy. My dream flashes to mind. Sterling said she like he knew somehow. I have to remind myself that didn’t happen. It wasn’t real. Sterling doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. And yet…
“And she looks perfectly healthy,” Dr. Thompson says after measuring a few more things. I can’t tear my eyes away as she continues her inspection, pointing out what she’s looking at along the way. She falls silent, and I’m so preoccupied that I don’t notice until I realize she’s focusing on a large black spot on the screen.
“What is it?” I ask when the silence continues. I try to stretch my neck to see what she’s looking at better.
She turns, offering me a reassuring smile. “There is a slight Subchorionic hematoma.”
My heart stops beating for the longest second of my life. “What does that mean?”
“First, it is quite mild and not a definitive cause for concern. It appears the placenta has detached slightly from the uterus, just enough to allow some blood to gather there. It’s a bit like a pocket. The good news is that it’s very small.”
“And the bad?” I can barely ask. How can she be perfectly healthy if this has happened?
“You might experience some bleeding, and we should keep an eye on it. You’ll need to be very careful. Bedrest might be necessary at some point. We will monitor you and the baby very closely. I’m going to recommend you remain in London until you give birth, particularly given that injury to your tailbone.”
“My tailbone?”
“You had quite a fall. You really shouldn’t have been riding.” The admonishment is gentle but stern.
“I’ve been riding my whole life,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive. “I know how to take a fall.”
“There’s no good way to take a fall when you’re expecting and hitting your head didn’t help,” she says, holding up a hand. “It’s very likely there will be delivery complications. Your tailbone has fractured, which could prevent the baby from descending properly. It might be necessary to perform a cesarean-section. You can try for natural childbirth, which is ideal, but you will need to be closely monitored during labor.”
I haven’t even thought as far as that, about what happens when I actually have the baby. Isn’t that the easy part? Painful, sure. But just something that happens. You get pregnant. You have the baby.
“I have to stay in London?” I cling to this one bit of good news. My father can’t make me leave.
“I can’t stop you from returning to the states, but I would caution against it. It’s an unnecessary risk to travel that far. What’s done is done, but you will need to be more careful if you continue the pregnancy.”
“If…” I choke on the words. “How…”
“Your father seems to think you might not wish to continue it,” she says. It’s matter-of-fact as though she’s just passing on information, but out of the corner of her eye, she watches me as she continues her assessment. “It’s up to you, of course.”
What had he told them? I realize with horror that while I’d been unconscious, he’d been making medical decisions on my behalf. “Did he…”
“He’s not allowed to make that kind of a choice for you,” she assures me, “unless you’re ruled permanently incapacitated or the courts have granted him power of attorney.”
“And then?” I ask.
“He makes the decision,” she says, confirming what I already suspect. “Unless you appoint someone else.”