“You all right, Corabelle?” The nurse set down her clipboard and took my arm. “Let’s get you lying down.”
She helped me up on the table. “You’ll have to undress from the waist down and cover yourself with this paper sheet,” she said. “But don’t do it until you’re sure you’re doing all right. Do doctor offices always make you this anxious?”
I shook my head. She turned back to the forms I’d filled out. “Okay, so I see you have been pregnant before.” She paused. “So your baby is how old now, four?”
My throat closed up completely.
“Corabelle, you okay?”
Tears escaped from the corners of my eyes and slid down to the paper pillow. “He died.”
“Bless your heart, child. When did that happen?”
“When he was seven days old.”
Her warm hand squeezed my arm. “I’ll check your test myself. Do you know the date of your last menstrual period?”
“I’m on the shot. It’s been a while.”
“When did you get your last shot?”
“Two months ago.”
“Did you do it here?”
“No, I wasn’t a student yet.”
“The doctor will take a look.” She gave me one more squeeze and headed for the door. “Take your time getting up and changing. He’s slow as molasses anyway.”
I stared at the ceiling when she left, reading a breast self-exam poster that had been taped there. One corner was peeling, and a patient was bound to get a surprise when it finally fell. Maybe I’d point it out when the nurse came back. Imagining the paper floating down, drifting side to side, helped distract me. I wiped my face and sat up, easing off the table to undress.
I’d gotten this far. I would make it the rest of the way. At least the walls weren’t lined with pictures of babies, like at my old ob/gyn back in New Mexico. When I went for my postpartum checkup, just a week after Finn died, I couldn’t bear to look at the collages of smiling mothers and red-faced infants. My mom had come with me, and she tried to block my view, but both of us sobbed pretty continuously until the exam was over. I think I was supposed to go back again later, but I never did, switching to Planned Parenthood for my shots since they didn’t have all the trappings of happy motherhood anywhere in their office space.
A rapid knock at the door made me startle. I jumped back on the table, snatching up the paper sheet.
“Everybody indecent?” the man asked.
I arranged the crinkly sheet around me. “Yes, I’m pretty indecent.”
He entered the room, followed by the Angilee lookalike. “I’m Dr. Alpern. I’ll be making you uncomfortable today.”
I managed a smile. I’d imagined someone stern and disapproving, lecturing me about unprotected sex.
“I’m very sorry to hear about your baby,” he said. “Was there a problem during labor?”
“He was eight weeks early. He had a heart defect.” I sucked in air, trying to make sure I breathed, but the next words still came out as a gasp. “They didn’t operate.”
The doctor nodded. “Well, your urine test was negative, but we’ll do a blood test to be sure. How long since you had unprotected sex?”
“A week.”
“So it could still come up. You can keep testing at home, but let’s take a look. Lie back for me and scoot to the edge.”
I fell back on the pillow and wriggled down to the end. The doctor aimed a light between my legs, and the nurse handed him something in a plastic wrapper. I focused again on the illustrated hand cupping the wide-nippled breast on the poster.
“Going in. Take a deep breath,” the doctor said.
I tried to relax. Still, the metal against my skin made me tense again.
“Just a little swab,” he said. “And another little bit of pressure.”
I felt something bump me inside, then he withdrew the speculum. I exhaled, not sure if I’d breathed even once while he was in there.
“I don’t see anything that worries me,” he said, pulling off his gloves. “No redness. No bumps. And no discoloration of the cervix that might indicate a pregnancy.” He reached for my hand and I grasped it so he could pull me to a sitting position.
He perched on the stool. “You can come back in a week for a follow-up blood test if you still feel concern, but the home tests are pretty accurate. Did you have a reason to think you might be pregnant?”
“I was on the shot last time I got pregnant.”
“You want to try something else? There’s the patch, IUDs, and diaphragms.”
“I hadn’t had sex for four years, so I hadn’t worried about it.”
He nodded, and I figured he was thinking — you picked a real winner to break your fast if you need VD screening.
“The shot is pretty good normally, but if it failed once, then there’s reason for doubt. You want to try an IUD?”
“Maybe,” I said. “We did add condoms.”
“Condoms aren’t a bad idea.” He nodded at the nurse, who promptly left the room. “So, Missy said you were pretty distraught when you came in. You want to talk about it?”
“I hadn’t been around stirrups in a while. Might be a bit of post-traumatic stress involved.”
“Makes sense. But you know what happened to the baby was not your fault.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. He had no idea.