A story of reproductive sex in eleven parts

Sunday, January 10, 2010 at 5:44am

Part One

I wanted a baby. Bad.

Part Two

I armed myself with clomid, pregnancy tests and an ovulation kit. Patrick dutifully reported home for "nooners." Only time he missed noon time basketball. I could be on fire and he'd tell me he'll call 911 on the way to basketball. What was he going to do, he's no fire expert.

Part Three

I stared down at blood. I didn't know I was pregnant until I miscarried.

Part Four

We kept trying. Patrick's basketball skills waned.*

Part Five

The plus sign on a pregnancy test stared back at me.

Part Six

My legs are in stirrups. Dr. Chen is looking at the ultra sound screen. There's no clock. He asks me again when my last period was. I answer. He keeps looking.

Abruptly, he pushes back his chair, breaking the silence. "There's no heart beat. There should be one by now." He tells me to schedule a D and C within a week. He didn't explain why or what a D and C was. I understood. The lifeless baby inside of me needs to be removed before infection set in. I nodded. Walked out of his office. Got in my car. Called Patrick. Disappointment streamed down my face.

Part Seven

I'm driving to Dr. Sarah Newton's office. Wife of Patrick's coworker. Agreed to see me at last minute for free. Too overwhelmed to appreciate the enormity of her kindness, I mutely sit in her exam room.

She's tall like her husband. I was to find out over the years how gruff she can be but right now, her voice is soft. My legs are back in stirrups. She looks at the ultrasound screen, clears her throat and leaves the room. She brings back another machine. I watch her. She's a terrible liar. She knows already. She examines me again. Same words, different voice. She hugs me.

Part Eight

I tell the mothers from play group. They know.

Part Nine

Marnie, one of the mothers from playgroup calls. It's the night before the D and C. She wants me to wait. Doctors have been wrong. Her voice is shaking.

Part Ten

Patrick is at Dr. Chen's with me. The drive was a blur. Dr. Chen walks in and does one last ultra sound. The exam room is cold. I lay there dumb with pain.

"Well, this is a first." There's a heart beat. The small exam room wracks with the sounds of my sobbing. The vaginal ultrasound wand is still inside of me, making the screen one big blur of joy and relief. Dr. Chen chuckles, embarrassed by my display of emotions.

"We need to make a prenatal appointment!" Never was an appointment so enthusiatically made.

Part Eleven

The good stuff is coursing through my veins, keeping the fresh incision an abstraction. Her head is covered in a knit cap labeled Mountain View Hospital and she's bundled tightly. Before I breast feed her for the first time, I put my ear to her chest. We already knew her name was going to be Sydney. Sydney, your heart beats are strong and steady.

(*Patrick disputes to this day that his basketball skills have ever waned. If anything, he claims that all those nooners had actually improved his game.)