by Taryn Steele
That should count for something.
I CAN’T STOP BOUNCING my knees. We’ve been sitting in this waiting area for eleven minutes and twenty-four seconds, not that I’m counting or anything. I’m anxious for this ultrasound.
“Cassandra Stevens?” I hear a nurse to my right announce.
The couple that has been sitting across from us, just as nervous stands and follow the nurse. I noticed them walking in to the building when we were parking so we probably shouldn’t be too long after them.
“Hillary Michaels?”
“Yes!” I jump from my seat with excitement facing the white haired, grandmotherly looking nurse in her very old fashioned white scrubs. She smiles at my excitement with her bright pink lipstick stained teeth.
“I need to record your weight and collect a urine sample.” She demands losing that sweet grandmotherly feel I just had seconds earlier.
I frown at her curse word, weight. How dare she say such a disgusting word to me like that.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. “I’m not looking, and please don’t say it out loud okay?”
“It’s fine dear. I won’t say a word.”
I close my eyes tightly. I cringe when I hear her moving the evil level slowly. Seconds later I hear her shoving it all back and telling me I can step down. She hands me a cup for my urine sample, then tells me to sit back down with Jameson when I’m done.
A few moments later I find Jameson in the same spot flipping through Women’s Day magazine.
“Learning anything important,” I say jokingly while I lightly nudge him.
“This magazine says women have a part called a clitoris. I had no idea,” he tells me trying his hardest not to laugh.
“I did know that. Sadly, I know you still don’t know about it.”
I can’t hold my laugh in. We both bust out laughing. The few people in the waiting area stare at us. Our laughs immediately come to a halt when we hear loud sobs coming down the hall. The couple that was called in before walk past us with their heads down low and tears pouring down their swollen, red cheeks.
I recognize those tears. I know the sounds of that cry and what those swollen cheeks feel like. There is no consoling them. I bow my head and say a silent prayer for them. I don’t need anyone to tell me what just happened in there. I know from that one heartbreaking experience.
“Hillary Michaels.”
I slowly stand with much less excitement than I had from moments ago. The mood is much darker now, my heart still being torn for that couple who will drive home in tears and only the sound of painful cries.
With Jameson’s hand in mine we follow the nurse to the exam room. She motions for me to sit on the table and the ultrasound technician will be in shortly. I turn my head to the monitor next to me and I see the screen that broke that couples heart. The monitor is still on showing the recording on the screen. I can see the baby’s head and body but not heartbeat. The nurse sees me looking at the screen and quickly shuts it off apologizing to us that it should not have been left on. She knows we’re not stupid and knows we know what we saw. Jameson and I don’t say a word in response to her. I take my seat on the exam table. Jameson stands next to me and we hold each other’s hand waiting for the technician.
Less than ten minutes later there is a knock at the door and in walks a tall woman with pin straight sandy brown hair falling just past her shoulders. She appears to be somewhere in her early sixties, and so do the nude pumps she’s wearing on her feet. They are covered in scratches and the heels look drastically worn. I’m not entirely sure why I’m fixated on them, or the ridiculous run in her panty hose I just noticed. Maybe I’m trying to distract myself from potential bad news. I don’t know what I would do if our baby showed up on the screen without a heartbeat.
After setting her paperwork on the counter and touching some buttons on the ultrasound machine she turns to Jameson and me.
“Hello, my name is Tanya Hunt. I will be your ultrasound technician today.”
We each shake her hand introducing ourselves. She tells me to lie down on the table and lift up my shirt. I’m incredibly nervous. My palms are sweating. Jameson still standing by my side, squeezes my hand. He tries to lighten the mood with some jokes but this lady has zero personality. I give him a sideways look that tells him maybe we should not talk.
She approaches me with a medical sheet and tucks it into my waist band telling me that it’s to keep my clothes from getting gel on them. She lifts my shirt up higher, and then squeezes the cool blue gel on my belly. As much as I was expecting the cool touch it still sent a quick chill through me. She adjusts herself on her stool, pushes a few buttons on the ultrasound machine then touches the wand to my stomach.
“Let’s see what we’re working with, shall we?” She says with a barely there smile.
Pushing the wand harder on my stomach than I expected, she seems to be more or less spreading the gel out first rather than trying to get a look at the baby. I give her a moment to do what she needs to do before I hear the glorious sound of my baby’s heartbeat. That’s when I turn my head to the right and look at the monitor. It’s the most beautiful sound and visual ever.
“I’m just going to take a few measurements here to make sure we’re on track.” She mentions. I don’t reply. I just enjoy the free movie of my baby growing inside of me for the time being. Throughout the measurements Technician Hunt tells us what they mean and how the baby is measuring on point and looking well which gives us an enormous amount of relief. She freezes eight different pictures for us to print out and add to the baby book.
“Do you wanting to find out the sex of the baby today as well?”
“Yes!” Jameson and I say simultaneously.
After many moments of her moving the wand around she tells us the baby is crossing its legs and she can’t tell the sex. I sit up and move my belly from side to side. I stand up and jog in place, every trick I can think of. I don’t want to have to wait until my next appointment to find out the sex. One last effort of five jumping jacks and I get back on the table.
“Okay, this is more like it. Now I can see.”
Jameson grabs my hand and lightly squeezes it with excitement. This is it. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for. Is it a girl or a boy? I’ve had a feeling for weeks now that it’s a boy. I told Jameson that but no one else. He’s suspected the same. Now we’ll find out if we’re right or not.
“See this white line right here?” She asks us while pointing to the screen to show us.
We nod.
“That right there is a vagina. Congratulations. It’s a girl.”
Holy shit!
“Oh-My-God! A girl. I was so wrong. I thought for sure it was a boy.” I admit.
“Oh shit! At first I thought I only had to worry about one penis. Now I have to worry about everyone else’s.” Jameson exclaims to the room. I giggle at his comment. Judging by the look on her face this technician doesn’t have much of a fun personality. All we get out of her is a tight grin.
She stands from her stool, wipes the gel from my ever growing stomach and tells me we’re all done. The pictures print from the monitor and I’m glowing with excitement to have them in my hands. I can see her feet, her fingers and even her spine. It’s incredible. I’m growing a human being inside of me.
Walking to the parking lot Jameson and I can’t stop uttering unintelligible sentences about the shock of having a girl. We’re excited and happy but utterly shocked. I can’t explain why I thought it was a boy. It was just a feeling. Clearly a wrong one at that.
“Does this mean we can go register at Babies-r-Us this weekend?” I ask Jameson batting my eyelashes at him.
“I knew that was coming.”
“Pretty please. I’ve been so excited about doing it but was obviously waiting for confirmation on the sex. P-L-E-A-S-E.” I beg him.
“What do I get out of this?”
“Me not ripping your testicles out in your sleep?” I say with my biggest
attempt at looking sweet and innocent with a torturous comment.
“Alrighty then. You win. Damn, crazy, hormonal woman.”
REGISTERING FOR A BABY is fun but exhausting. Jameson took choosing a stroller very seriously. He took all of them down from the rack, pushed them up and down the aisle testing how it handles, its smoothness and durability. You would have thought he was purchasing a new vehicle. Now as we stand here in Sherwin Williams staring at paint samples I wonder to what possible extreme he will take this. I expressed my thoughts to him last night about wanting neutral colors and not necessarily matching the theme of the room. We chose a theme of butterflies and ladybugs with deep reds and light mint green colors. It’s girlie but not an obscene overhaul of girlie and an explosion of Pepto Bismol pink everywhere.
“Remember when we used to watch Trading Spaces on TLC and they would paint the top half of the wall one color the bottom the other?” Jameson asks with glowing eyes showing the idea that just popped in his brain.
“Yeah…”
“What do you think about doing that with the nursery? The bottom half a similar mint green and the top half off white? This way as she gets older we don’t have to keep repainting when the theme changes. It will all basically be neutral.”
“How did you get so smart? It must be from spending so much time with me.” I say jokingly fighting my laughter.
We decide to go with Jameson’s idea. We find four different shades of mint green that we like and purchase small samples to paint on the nursery walls to choose from.
When we arrive home from the paint store the phone is ringing and the answering machine is turning on. I decide it’s pointless to run for the phone and walk the other way to pee for the third time in the last thirty minutes. When I hear Marcie’s voice come through the machine I walk faster.
Once I’m done peeing and washing my hands Jameson comes through the door looking exhausted. I give a look scrunching my eyebrows and tipping my head silently asking ‘what’s up?’
“That was my mother on the phone. I should have let her keep talking in to the machine instead of answering. Damn, only child guilt.”
“And…?”
“She’s having foot surgery so of course she claims none of her siblings are willing to help so I have to burn a vacation day to drive her there and back, and all that jazz.”
“Have fun with that.”
I try not to dwell on it. It’s not even scheduled yet and I don’t have to be involved so there is no sense in stressing about how it will affect me or the things we need to take care of. Jameson has called me out on my nesting tendencies a lot over the past two weeks. I just laugh it off and tell him I can’t control my pregnancy hormones and he has to deal with it.
“Grandma Nowal was on the answering machine as well. She said she wants to buy us the baby crib. She has a catalog at home and wants us to stop by and pick one out.” Jameson informs me.
“Oh-My-God, really? That is so awesome!” I can’t hide my excitement. Cribs are so expensive. We’ve been doing our research. I love that woman for so many reasons, most of all her caring heart. She knows there is no way we can afford all of the furniture on our own.
JAMESON IS HARD AT WORK taping the nursery and preparing to paint. He has the paint trays, rollers and brushes all laid out next to the plastic drop clothes. I shake my head at how rehearsed he gets for a big job at the house. Rubbing my tired eyes I make my way to the stairs to get myself some breakfast. I’m assuming Jameson is downstairs doing the same since I don’t see him anywhere up here, just his mess of painting supplies.
As I reach the top of the stairs I can hear dishes clambering together. The welcoming aroma of coffee hits my nostrils and immediately a smile forms to my lips. I feel like I’m in a Folgers commercial. Making my way down stairs I holler to Jameson about how delicious the coffee smells. Seconds later I feel my right foot slip on something and I’m airborne. My arms instantly go out to my sides attempting to reach for the wall or the railing to hold me up. My hands slip through both and my body comes crashing down hard on my tailbone. I scream out in fear and pain. I hear dishes crashing to the floor and Jameson shouting my name aloud. The searing pain resonates throughout my body. The tears are pouring down cheeks.
“Babe! Babe! Are you okay? Where do you hurt? Did you fall on your stomach?” He asks urgently while looking me over carefully yet quickly.
“My ass. My back. I slipped on something.” I can barely speak. I squeeze my eyes shut tight as if it will help the pain disappear.
“Do you want to try to get up or stay here?” He speaks to me gently while wiping my tears.
“I don’t know. I’m scared to move.”
I decide to stay on the stairs for a few moments while Jameson cleans up the mess on the kitchen floor. Taking some deep breaths, calming myself down I yell for Jameson so he can stand by me while I attempt to stand up.
He stands in front of me with complete worry in his eyes. Trying to think positive I give him a small grin while putting my hands out in front for him to take. He smiles back at me, takes my hands and slowly pulls me up. I feel a large ache in my lower back but it passes quickly once I’m standing straight up on my feet. Slowly he helps me down the remaining four steps until we reach the landing, then down the last four steps when we reach the bottom floor of the house. I stand in the middle of the house not knowing where to go or what to do. Should I stay standing for a while and try to walk it out? Should I sit upright on a chair at the dining room table, or lay down propped with pillows on the couch? Is there a right or wrong in this situation? With a hand on my stomach I start rubbing it in circles. I’m so thankful I didn’t completely tumble and land on my stomach.
I decide to go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, take my morning prenatal vitamins and finally get that cup of coffee that was calling me downstairs in the first place. Jameson is right on my tail never leaving my side. He suggests getting comfortable on the couch with some pillows and putting on the television to take my mind off of the fall. I agree to do it but just for a short time then I want to call the doctor to make sure they don’t want to see me. Then I will feel like I can relax. Jameson is hammering me with questions every twenty seconds and starting to get on my nerves. I can’t sit calmly and relax when he’s berating me like this. As soon as I start scooching my way off of the couch Jameson jumps up.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?”
“Babe! Please for the love of God stop asking me questions every other minute. I want to get up and relax in a hot shower.”
He doesn’t say anything. He follows me but not too closely. As I start undressing Jameson closely comes up behind me and kisses my bare shoulder. He rubs his hands up and down my arms. I close my eyes and release a breath I hadn’t realize I had been holding in. I hear Jameson behind me follow doing the same. We’re both on edge and freaking out, just in different ways. I spin around flashing a horrendous no make-up, unbrushed teeth smile.
“I’m just going to take a shower. I promise I’ll be fine. Then I’m going to call Dr. Miron’s office to tell them what happened. We’ll go from there if they want to see me or not. If they do at least I’ll be freshly showered.”
He doesn’t say anything. He nods, turns his back and walks out closing the door behind him.
The pounding, hot water feels so good on my aching lower back. If I could stay here forever with my hands on the wall leaning forward soaking up the heat I would. I can’t though. The aching is stronger than the relief of the hot water.
An hour later Jameson and I are on our way to the hospital. Once I was out of the shower and dressed I called Dr. Miron’s office to let them know what happened to see if they thought I was okay to stay home since I didn’t fall on my stomach and only my butt and lower back. The emergency operator told me they would call the on call doctor to run it by them since the office was technically closed at the moment. I expected that and was fine with waiting. In less than ten minutes my cel
l phone was ringing with a private number. Dr. Jordan who practices in the same office at Dr. Miron was the on call doctor for the weekend. He told me that he didn’t want to take any chances and wanted to see me in the emergency room in one hour. So here we are, getting off of the highway ready to hear what Dr. Jordan has to say.
After roughly fifteen minutes at the front desk answering questions and filling out paperwork a very tall, and very thin red headed nurse calls us in. Her soft ivory skin is decorated in freckles and her squeaky voice just added to her cuteness. She does the basic nurses routine of asking the same questions the front desk asked but continues with the other important details. She takes my temperature, my blood pressure, sticks on some square patches that she hooks wires up to. I ask her what it’s for and she says it’s routine to check all of my vitals and the babies when it comes to a fall.
“You’re all set for now Mrs. Michaels. You just need to lay here for a few minutes and then the doctor will be in to see you.”
Jameson being the smart ass that he is says he’s going to set the timer on his phone to see exactly how long it takes the doctor to come in.
“He told us to meet him here in an hour so if he’s calling the shots and is late then I call bullshit,” He states and shrugs his shoulders as if telling me ‘I’m just sayin’.’
Twelve minutes later there’s a knock at the door and a middle aged man, short in stature with dark hair enters. He looks extremely familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen him around the doctor’s office but I just didn’t pay attention to his name tag.
“Hi there. I’m Dr. Jordan,” he says with an outreached hand to Jameson and then me. “You know Hillary, it’s unfortunate you had to come in but I must say it is good to meet all of us in the practice at least once since you never really know who will be at the hospital the day you deliver.”