Positively Mine Page 6

  I called every doctor on Karen’s list that was associated with Rochester Hospital and found an obstetrician nearby who doesn’t charge too much for a prenatal visit. It seems like a good choice because it’s far enough away that I don’t have to worry I’ll run into anyone when I go but not as far as the one-hour trek to downtown Rochester.

  The receptionist said I’ll need to see him once a month initially and later in the pregnancy the visits will become more frequent. The cost for an office visit is $125. I should be able to cover my appointments until I figure out a way to tell my father.

  I blow off Legal Ethics for my first OB appointment because the doctor has a 10:45 opening. I’ve already missed three classes, which is the maximum you’re supposed to be allowed in a semester, but Prof. Thompson is so old, I don’t think he’s noticed. He rarely takes attendance, and based on how he writes on the chalkboard – literally putting whole sentences on top of one another – it seems like his eyesight is going too.

  Regardless, Monday is the last day that I can drop the course without his written permission, and I am seriously considering it now because I’m about 300 pages behind in the reading.

  The receptionist has me fill out half an hour’s worth of paperwork although I leave the insurance information blank. When I hand it back to her, I lie. “I don’t have insurance. I’m going to pay out of pocket.”

  She takes the clipboard from me with raised eyebrows. “That could get expensive.”

  “I have enough to cover the visits.” I take out the envelope with $500 in it that I still have from two weeks ago and count out $125.

  She looks surprised at the cash, as if she’s never seen it before, and I suddenly feel like the mob boss’s daughter.

  “Do you need a receipt?” she finally asks.

  I’m tempted to tell her I don’t want to leave a paper trail.

  She handwrites one in perfect cursive on a yellow piece of stationary with the doctor’s name on top. “You can take a seat, and Dr. Adler will be with you soon.”

  My stomach feels like there is a brick stuck in it. I try to suppress the feeling and pick up a magazine called Pregnancy Today. Articles about dressing in style while pregnant, celebrity pregnancies, eating for two, prenatal yoga and setting up a savings plan for a child fill the pages between ads for baby formula, maternity bras and diapers. Towards the back of the magazine is an interview with a woman in her twenties who is juggling going back to college with having a baby.

  She tells the interviewer, “Pregnancy is the best time to be in college. The flexible schedule affords ease with making doctor appointments and taking prenatal classes. The key is to not overdo it. After the baby is here, I’ll continue with my studies and be that much more ahead because I didn’t wait.”

  Okay then…

  “Laurel,” a nurse calls from the doorway, “we’re ready for you.”

  The nurse takes a urine sample, my blood pressure, pulse and weighs me. I’ve gained five pounds already. I wince.

  Next, she calculates my due date. “That puts baby’s projected arrival at May 4th.”

  “May 4th?”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “No. It’s just…my last day of finals is May 3rd.”

  “Oh? Well, babies rarely come on their actual due dates, so don’t put too much stock in that date. It’s just an estimate.”

  She hands me a gown. “Everything off from the waist down. It ties in the front. The doctor will be in soon.”

  I undress as told and put the gown on. It covers better than the cheap paper sheet at the clinic, thankfully. Looking around the room, the walls are a testament to what they do here. Two are covered with photographs of babies, notes of thanks, birth announcements. Did this doctor deliver all these kids?

  Knock. Knock. A thin, lofty man, who looks like he’s about my father’s age, stands in the doorway. He’s mostly bald and wears those glasses that don’t have any rims so they kind of disappear on his face. “May I come in?”

  I sit up straighter, and he shakes my hand. “I’m Dr. Adler.”

  “Laurel Harris.”

  He opens up the chart the nurse has created for me, which at this point only has one page in it. “So you are nine weeks pregnant, which puts you at a due date of May 4th.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “And you are eighteen years old, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a young mother.” He says this non-judgmentally, more matter of fact. “Are you a student?”

  “At Colman.”

  He closes the chart. “Welcome to the practice. We’re happy you’ve chosen us. Today, I’m going to do a simple exam, and then we’ll do an ultrasound. Sound good?”

  “I guess.”

  “Great.”

  After an internal exam, he wheels the ultrasound machine over, gels up my stomach, and moves the probe around. I watch the screen, and soon we’re both looking at the bean.

  “There.” He smiles. He turns up the volume, and the room fills with the sound of the baby’s beating heart. It seems stronger than it did two weeks ago, or maybe it’s just my imagination.

  “It’s perfect,” he says.

  Perfect. There’s that word again.

  “Would you like a picture?”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Of course.” He presses a button and out prints a grainy black-and-white photo. “To show your friends.”

  I know I shouldn’t need a picture to prove it, but holding it in my hands does make it seem more real.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dr. Adler’s office is masculine creature comforts meets feminine anatomy. Posters of the female reproductive system and three dimensional models of various body parts decorate the room complemented by a black leather couch, mahogany desk and chair.

  I sit as instructed by the nurse and wait. He doesn’t keep me there long.

  “So,” he says as he closes the door and takes a seat, “I am happy to say that everything health-wise with you and the baby is looking good. As long as you continue with a healthy lifestyle and come for regular visits, things should go smoothly.”

  “Okay.”

  “I would like to talk to you about your situation, however. Although you are not the first teenager to come to my practice, you are the first Colman student.”

  And why doesn’t that surprise me?

  “I am very aware of how rigorous the academics are over there. I went there myself.”

  “You did?”

  “It is a wonderful school but let’s face it, there aren’t a lot of pregnant students walking around campus or many resources, if any at all, if you’re pregnant. So I’m curious how you’re planning on doing this.”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “There is a young mothers’ pregnancy support group affiliated with the hospital if you are interested. It’s a bit far from Colman, but there isn’t a lot in Milton, so you might have to travel for some services. It’s only once a month.”

  He hands me a card with a woman’s name on it. “Alison Kelly is the nurse who heads up the group. Give her a call if you are interested.”

  “I will.”

  “Now, my second question is about your insurance.”

  I feel my face getting warm.

  “The receptionist told me that you don’t have insurance, but I find it difficult to believe a Colman student doesn’t have insurance.”

  “Well, it’s my father’s insurance, and I don’t want to use it.”

  “Because you haven’t told him you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eventually you’re going to tell him, though, aren’t you?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Laurel, if you’re having a baby, he’s going to find out.”

  “I know. I’m just not ready yet. I’d like to continue to pay out of pocket.”

  “Well, I’d hate to see you going through your entire savings account, and I don’t want you to avoid com
ing in, so until you find a way to talk to him, I will waive my fee.”

  I shift in my chair. “You will?”

  “I won’t charge you as long as you promise me you’ll keep your appointments. I see too many young women who skip prenatal care, and I don’t want that from you.”

  “I’ll keep my appointments. I promise.”

  “This leads to my last question. The baby’s father.”

  I let out a deep breath.

  “Do you mind telling me about the circumstances surrounding the pregnancy?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Was he, is he a boyfriend?”

  “He was a friend but not my boyfriend. We…got together…right before I was leaving for school. We haven’t spoken since I’ve been here.”

  “Are you planning to tell him?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “You know, many of my teenage patients rely on their mothers quite a bit. Maybe you could start by talking with her first.”

  I bite my lip. “My mother died in a car accident eight years ago.”

  Dr. Adler’s eyes lock on me like magnets. I can tell there is something registering in his head, but I’m not sure what.

  After an uncomfortably long silence, he asks, “Was your mother Carolyn Ramsey?”

  “Ramsey until she married my dad. Did you know her?”

  “We were…friends. We were both from Dresden. Population 307 per the last census. And we both managed to get into Colman, which, considering the high school we went to was a big accomplishment. I was sorry to read of her death in the alumni paper. You look like her.”

  Of all the doctors I could choose, I had to pick one that knew my mother? “I’m sure she’d be real proud of me right now.” I cross my arms.

  “Your mother was a practical woman. I’m sure she would have understood. She was always good at seeing the bigger picture.”

  “It sounds like you knew her pretty well.”

  “I did.” He doesn’t elaborate. “I think what would make her proud is how you deal with this going forward.” He closes my chart, and the meeting is adjourned. “I need to see you back here in one month. Don’t forget to contact Alison.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I get back to school in time for Swedish Massage – the strangest class I have ever taken in my life. Madame Beurnier is both a French language professor and certified to teach massage. It was her idea to add this course to Colman’s phys. ed. requirement, and she takes her job a bit too seriously.

  The first few weeks of the class we were more observers than participants, but now we have to take turns practicing the basic techniques on each other. Liz and I quickly declared each other partners so we wouldn’t be paired up with some sweaty football player who just came from practice, or worse.

  Today, I am the masseuse, and Liz is lying head down on a massage table with her face in a contraption that resembles a donut. Although it’s customary to be naked in Swedish massage, Colman wouldn’t go for it, much to Madame’s disappointment. So instead, we opt for light, loose-fitting clothing – per the course catalog – although some of the guys take their shirts off anyway.

  The two techniques Madame has us practicing today are effleurage and petrissage. Effleurage are continual gentle gliding strokes on either side of the spine. Petrissage is when you knead and lift tissue like balls of dough. I alternate my hands, running them up and down Liz’s back scooping up what little flesh I can through her T-shirt, and wait for Madame to come to my table and approve.

  “Do you feel like doing anything tonight?” Liz mutters through the hole. Then, “Ouch, Laurel. My back is burning.”

  I lighten the pressure. “I don’t know. What about you?” I’ve almost forgotten it’s Friday; I’ve been so preoccupied.

  She lifts her head. “There’s a happy hour at the Towers. I think Mikayla wants to go.”

  “I’m sick of the happy hours.”

  “I want to go. I’m studied out this week.” She returns her face to the donut. “I could use a night out.”

  The picture of her stumbling drunk flashes through my head. I don’t feel like babysitting.

  “Well, have fun if you go tonight,” I say after class. We part ways in the hall.

  Sometimes I retreat to my room and am so thankful I have it to myself, I pinch my arm. I don’t know how I would have gone through everything I have in the past few weeks with a roommate. I lie down on my bed and log on to my laptop. My father’s email with an exclamation point is the first thing I see.

  I understand that you are busy with school, but I asked you weeks ago to call me regarding Jake and you have yet to. I will be home on Saturday morning after my run. Pencil me in. P.S. I have some exciting news.

  Pencil me in. That’s Dadspeak for call or else. Okay, Dad. I’ll pencil you in.

  My head throbs almost constantly now with the headaches I’ve been getting. I read they could be a side effect of pregnancy, but I’m not supposed to take anything for them other than Tylenol, which doesn’t do anything, so I don’t bother. I wake up almost every morning feeling sick to my stomach now too, but as long as I eat the crackers I keep next to my bed before I lift my head off the pillow, I’m usually okay.

  Snuggling under my comforter, I distract myself by surfing the internet for all the information I can find about pregnancy. The hours pass without my noticing. There is a wealth of stuff out there, and it’s pretty engrossing.

  Before I realize, it’s after 8pm and I’ve missed dinner. So yet again, I end up combing the various menus that have been dropped at the dorm from places that deliver to campus and settle on my third meatball sub in a week.

  Within no time there is a knock on my door. But when I open it, it’s not the delivery man, it’s Mike with his book bag slung over his shoulder and a smile on his face. He’s adorable.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  I open the door wider, and he slides by and plunks down on my bed.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  My eyes shoot over to the laptop right next to him, displaying a blown-up picture of an embryo at week nine. I walk to the bed, pick it up as casually as I can, and shut it. He pulls me down next to him.

  Our legs and arms are touching, and it’s a little too close to have a conversation comfortably, but I try, “Were you at the library?”

  “All afternoon, then I went to dinner. I haven’t seen you around much.” He shifts so now he’s facing me.

  “Are you going to the party at the Towers tonight?”

  “I was thinking about it. Are you?”

  “I’m not up for a party.”

  “Do you want to hang with me instead?” Now he’s up and grabbing a DVD from the small collection I brought from home. “We could watch a movie or even go to the movies. You still have your truck, right?” He hitches himself on the edge of my desk, reading through the summaries on each case.

  “I do.” I squint to see which one he’s holding. Casino Royale.

  “You’ve got a lot of James Bond movies here.” He smirks.

  “Yeah. And I’ve seen each and every one at least five times. What’s playing in theaters? I haven’t been paying attention.”

  Less than an hour later, we’re standing on line at a multiplex theater in a small town I’ve never heard of. And judging by the number of people waiting to buy tickets to the fourteen different movies they have showing tonight and how packed the parking lot is, it’s clear this is the only game in town.

  Mike and I have decided we’re going to wing it when we get up to the counter. We are both such Colman geeks, neither of us has any idea what’s worth seeing. When we’re finally corralled to the front of the line, a girl with both arms covered in tattoos, a nose ring, a lip ring and five piercings zigzagging up her right ear glares at us while we make our decision.

  “How about Witch Hunt?” Mike suggests. “It’s starting in ten minutes.”

  Feeling the pressure to pick fast,
I shrug. “Sure.” Even though I hate slasher films with a fiery passion.

  I start to take out my wallet, but Mike touches my hand. “I got it.” He passes the girl his debit card.

  “Thanks.”

  He smiles at me. Standing this close to him, I can’t help but notice how boyishly soft his lips are.

  She pushes the tickets under the window.

  “You want popcorn?”

  “Yes!!” I exclaim, realizing we left before my sub arrived. “I’m starving!”

  He grabs my hand and leads us to the snack bar.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once we’re seated in the crowded theater with about a hundred noisy high school kids and our $14 soda, Skittles and popcorn combo, I kind of feel like a normal – aka not pregnant – girl on a date. Wishful thinking, but still…

  “So, Mike, you really have six brothers and sisters?” I ask once I’ve devoured a couple fistfuls of popcorn.

  He nods. “Yup. My youngest brother is two.”

  I almost choke. “Wow! How old are the other ones.”

  Mike rattles off the list. “Sixteen, fourteen, twelve, eight, five, two, plus me at nineteen.”

  “You’ve got a full house!”

  “And that doesn’t count my parents, my grandmother and her sister who live there too.” He takes a sip of Sprite. “I had three years of peace, and then all hell broke loose.”

  I laugh.

  He drapes his arm over my chair, and I rest against it. “How many of each?”

  “Two sisters, four brothers.”

  “It must be fun to have so many people around all the time.”

  “I don’t know if fun is the right word. But it’s not terrible either. It kind of feels a lot like this theater does now. Loud. All the time.”

  I try to imagine what dinner must be like in his house. Organized chaos.

  “What about you? It’s just you and your dad?”

  “Since my mom died, then my grandparents. I don’t even have any cousins. My parents were both only children, and my dad’s parents were gone before I was born. A different universe.”