Her head pounded with questions. What symbol would appear in the other window? Would she see a lone horizontal stripe meaning not pregnant, or a horizontal and a vertical stripe indicating pregnant. Essentially the directions said a plus sign would form in the case of pregnancy. Plus was often synonymous for positive; thinking about that possibility, positive was not the word Claire believed she’d use to describe her current mental state.
She closed her eyes and debated her distress. Was it from the nausea twisting her stomach or the fear of the unknown quickening her heart rate? The buzz of the timer triggered her iPhone to vibrate across the dressing table. Claire’s eyes opened. Before her on the table was her answer -- the indicator window revealed a blue plus.
The bottom fell out of Claire’s world. She eased herself from the stool and sank to the bathroom floor. The ceramic tile cooled her legs, while the solid wall supported her head. Mentally she assessed the timeline: mid-early -- April period, two weeks later – dream, three weeks later – San Diego and now – here she was, seven weeks since her last menstruation. How had she not thought of this before?
Reaching for her phone, she scrolled her contacts for Amber’s doctor, one of the most sought after gynecologists in the Silicon Valley. After San Diego, Claire called and made an appointment, hoping to get a prescription for birth control pills. The usual waiting period for new patients was up to six months. Amber’s referral shortened the wait considerably. Claire’s appointment was in another three weeks. However, now things were different, waiting wasn’t an option. Then she realized the day, Sunday, she would have to wait another day to call.
Tears moistened her cheeks as she placed her head on her knees and gave in to the overwhelming emotion. Before she could make any decisions, or talk to anyone, Claire needed answers. First and foremost, how pregnant was she -- seven weeks or four weeks?
Finally, she made her way back into her bedroom and into the overpowering aroma of roses; thankfully the flowery aroma was pleasurable -- the three bouquets saturated every molecule of the room. She’d meant to ask Tony if he’d sent the other two bouquets. However, with the talk of the wedding and thoughts of the pregnancy, she forgot.
Claire went to her laptop and Googled answers. How effective are condoms? The search engine spun -- answers appeared: if used correctly, condoms are 98% effective. With common usage the failure rate grows to between 14 and 15%.
What do they mean if used correctly? How many ways are there to use a condom?
Monday morning Claire called the doctor’s office and was relieved to learn of a Wednesday afternoon opening. If it weren’t for her dream, Claire would consider asking Harry to join her. However, despite their reconciliation Sunday morning, there was a change in their relationship. It was her news of the wedding that pushed his limits. Although it wasn’t declared, instinctively, Claire knew it. The stolen glances and casual touches were gone.
Everything probably happened too fast. Yet, thinking about the possibility they’d used the condoms commonly and not correctly, Claire was thankful they were still comfortable and friendly with one another. Harry appreciated Claire’s bond with Courtney and her desire to attend the ceremony. He couldn’t comprehend the necessity of being in Iowa Thursday through Sunday, and most importantly, why she agreed to stay at Mr. Rawlings’ estate. Claire told him and Amber the truth. She was staying at the estate for one reason -- to see Catherine.
In many ways, the woman had become Claire’s mother. She was the steady force during a very difficult time in Claire’s life. Catherine’s support and encouragement sustained her. Looking back, there were times Claire wondered if she would’ve survived without Catherine’s care. Amber and Harry still had their mother; they couldn’t understand.
When Wednesday arrived, Claire tried with all of her might to retain the wealth of information. In the beginning, the doctor’s staff asked a lot of questions, and even though she’d done a home pregnancy test, they instructed her to urinate in a cup, to confirm the pregnancy.
The eerie stillness of the examination room pulled at Claire’s already stretched nerves. She longed for a hand to hold or a voice for comfort. Instead, she waited alone on her roller coaster of emotion for the doctor to confirm the blue plus. Since that moment, three days ago -- every minute, every second, she thought about the pregnancy. While shopping for a dress for Caleb’s wedding, she stood motionless for minutes upon minutes looking at her flat stomach in the dressing room mirror and wondered: How long until it begins to grow?
The last two nights, during the night, she woke to use the bathroom. Last night she heard her own voice saying, “Hey Little One, I know you don’t mean anything by this, but just remember I like my sleep. Maybe we can work on some compromises.” (Always the master negotiator.) It wasn’t until the words were out of her mouth that she contemplated her discussion. Was she actually talking to the cause of her nausea and increased urination?
As she sat alone in the silence of the examination room, Claire realized she wanted their test to confirm the one she took at Amber’s condo. She wouldn’t have believed it three days ago, but if they came in the room and told her that she wasn’t pregnant, Claire would be devastated.
That realization strengthened her. She wanted this baby. Thinking about the paternity, she recognized it didn’t matter. It did. But it wouldn’t affect her feelings for this child. He or she was hers. The rest would work itself out, or it wouldn’t. Keeping this baby safe and healthy was now her number one concern.
Dr. Sizemore entered the small room with her laptop in her hand. “Ms. Nichols, congratulations! You are definitely pregnant.”
Claire’s smile radiated to her emerald eyes. It wasn’t planned. Potentially she was in the middle of a dangerous mine field. Her entire world could explode with one single misstep. None of it mattered. Her world and the treacherous terrain she navigated were suddenly and forever inconsequential. In her figurative game of chess, attacking her opponent was no longer as important as reinforcing and protecting her pieces, especially her one new piece. Claire would forever have someone else to consider.
After some discussion, Dr. Sizemore directed an ultrasound wand and spoke reassuringly, “The external ultrasound works well later in pregnancy. This early we need to use what is called trans-vaginal.”
Claire forgot the uncomfortable sensation as she watched the screen before her go in and out of focus. When the doctor finally stilled the picture, all Claire could see was white static, with a dark oval and something white, shaped like a peanut. Dr. Sizemore explained, “This is your baby.”
A grid appeared, superimposed on the peanut as Dr. Sizemore took measurements.
“Is everything all right?” Claire asked.
“Yes, everything looks perfect. Do you see this small movement?” A white arrow appeared on the screen and pointed to a dark pulsating spot within the peanut. The sound of swishing filled the small room.
Claire nodded.
“That’s your baby’s heart beating.” The sound reminded Claire of the calming swoosh of waves on the shore of her lake in Iowa. Dr. Sizemore continued, “The heartbeat isn’t detectable until six weeks Estimated Gestational Age. According to my measurements, Ms. Nichols, you are seven weeks pregnant, give or take a day.”