Instead, it’s almost like he’s made of stone sitting next to me as he waits for the light to turn green. I’m lonely, even though I’m surrounded by people most days. Heck, even my bed is cold. I thought the prenatal appointments would bring us closer, but I was wrong. I scrunch my eyes tighter and fight off the sadness, but to my mortification, a little chirp of a sob escapes and Alex immediately looks over at me.
“What’s wrong?” he queries.
“Nothing,” I sniffle, wiping my eyes swiftly. “And everything at the same time.”
Alex draws out a breath, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I know what you mean. This is just the way it has to be.”
You mean having a big wall between us and behaving like two strangers? I don’t know if it's the hormones whipping through me or what, but I can’t let this go. “It doesn’t have to be this way, no! Just because I’m gonna testify doesn’t mean you have to treat me like a pariah!” I hiccup another sob. “I m-miss you. And I’m scared.”
Alex shakes his head, his shoulders tense. “Control yourself,” he grits out. “It’s not me who decided to side with the prosecutor. Choices have consequences.”
I notice we are pulling into the clinic, and when Alex parks, I’m so annoyed at his heartless behavior, that I shoot out of the car like a rocket, slamming the door and stomping toward the entrance, heels clacking loudly on the pavement with my purse gripped white-knuckled in my hand. Alex follows behind me, rushing up to hold an umbrella over me. I want to tell him not to bother, but the last thing we need is some headline saying Alex left his wife out in the rain. We walk tensely into the breezeway, Alex shaking off the umbrella. I’m vibrating with anger, anxiety, and the precursor to grief.
I will not cry. I will not.
We check-in and take a seat in the leather chairs in the waiting room. I avoid looking at the other women, their bellies swollen and their faces alight with joy and gleeful anticipation. The men sitting next to them are rubbing their shoulders or fetching them cold drinks from the vending machines. One man is even stroking his wife’s pregnant stomach with a look of worshipful awe on his face. Meanwhile, my husband flips through an old copy of TIME magazine, looking aloof. It’s just not fair.
I blow out a breath and rest my chin in my hand as we wait. Eventually, a nurse comes out, clipboard in hand, and waves us back. It’s the most high-end OBGYN facility in the city, and the hallways look more like something out of a million-dollar home than a doctor’s office. The floors are white marble and the walls a rich, cherry wood. Pictures of smiling babies and luminous pregnant mothers line the walls, and if I was carrying a normal pregnancy, they may have made me smile. Instead, the pictures just add to the things I’m afraid I will never have.
The doctor, Mariana, has a warm smile on her face when we enter her office. She stands, taking both my hands in hers as she greets us. She glances at Alex, and I see a flash of confusion in her expression. Of course, last time I came here on my own, while Matt waited in the room. So I do a brief introduction between the two of them to clear off any misconceptions. Mariana and Alex shake hands and after some small talk, we refocus on the checkup.
“Before we go through the results from the lab, can we do an ultrasound to check their growth? It will give a better idea of where we stand with the pregnancy.”
“Sure.” I shrug, too downtrodden to even make any further comment. Mariana furrows her brow in concern, a little wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. I give her a quick nod to reassure her I’m alright, and she leaves the room briefly so I can change into the ultrasound gown. Alex doesn’t leave, though, and I turn away from him as I undress. I can feel his gaze boring into my back like two points of a laser, but I don’t react. I shrug my jeans off and let them float to the ground before stepping out of them and pulling the gown over my head, hopping up on the table.
“I’m ready,” I call, and Mariana re-enters.
I stare blankly at the ceiling as Mariana smooths the cold jelly over my stomach. Alex is watching the process, taking in every minor detail. She flips on the machine and begins the scan, rolling the wand over my slightly swollen belly while looking at the screen.
A few minutes pass, with Mariana marking a few areas of interest on the scan as she snaps photos. At first I didn’t want to look at the screen, fear and guilt racking me, but I can’t contain my curiosity and turn to watch, comforted by the two fluttering heartbeats on the ultrasound.
Mariana frowns, squinting and looking closer at the screen. She checks her notes and turns back to scrutinize the readout, blinking a few times.
“They haven’t grown much since the last scan,” she posts out, sounding a bit chagrined. “Baby B is very small for sixteen weeks.”
I heave a sigh, because there isn’t much more to say. I was already expecting her comments about Baby B, anyway.
Then she instructs me to get dressed while she returns to sit at her office table. Once I’m ready, I sit beside Alex and Mariana opens the file that is in front of us. “So, I have here the results from the tests, and…” she lets her words trail off, and I know at this point the results aren’t good. I tense, my heart speeding up in anticipation. How much more bad news can I handle? “I know I said you were having identical twins. But, that was what I could see from the ultrasound. The cell-free DNA test is telling me a different story. According to the genetic markers, baby B is a girl.”
My face falls at the news. “But that’s impossible, no?” I ask just as fast.
“Normally yes, monochorionic diamniotic twins are identical twins. And she was male initially, but there was a genetic anomaly that caused the Y chromosome to fall away. Which, of course, means there is only one chromosome left. An X.”
Full of shock, I turn to Alex, who also looks a little pale at the idea of a genetic anomaly.
Mariana clears her throat and continues. “Baby B has what we call Turner syndrome.” After looking at our facial expressions, Mariana then asks, “Have you ever heard of it?”
“No,” I whisper, and Alex shakes his head.
I’ve never heard of this disorder and combined with the Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome I suddenly feel as if I’m at the bottom of an insurmountable hill. How can I get through all of this?
“On its own, girls with Turner’s Syndrome need some special medical care until they become adults, but they live a somewhat normal life overall. What throws a wrench into everything is the Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome.” I try to keep my composure, despite feeling as if the world is weighing me down. Alex notices and, to my surprise, squeezes my hand quickly.
“Petra, take a deep breath,” Mariana says, most likely knowing how I’m struggling inside to keep my composure. “I’m gonna get you some water, and then we’ll talk more in depth about the results, alright?” Her voice is gentle and warm, but I can still see the worry on her face.
She leaves the room and I force myself to keep my shit together. Alex is still silent, of course. Jeez, I’d do anything to have him reassure me right now, or merely hug me so I didn’t feel so alone, but he seems to be as lost as I am. And when he finally looks at me, all I can see is pity from his eyes. Jeez, of all the feelings I want from him, pity is definitely not one of them.