I take the plastic cup and follow the instructions, then find myself immobilized by my thoughts as I wash my hands. Let your partner pamper you, the woman in the waiting room had said. I laugh bitterly as I flick water off my fingers. My partner, huh? The one who doesn’t even know that I am pregnant because he doesn’t want any more kids? The one who I had to end things with, without providing any kind of explanation? The one who I still love with all my heart, despite my efforts to forget him?
And now I’m crying, tears spilling down my face and into the sink. I’ve tried so hard to remain strong. I’ve tried so hard to move on. Yet I feel as though I’ve been running uphill for months now, without a respite in sight. The pressures of having a baby alone while going to school full-time weigh so heavily on me that my shoulders seem permanently slumped. It would be so nice, so nice, to have Rick around--rubbing my feet, massaging my neck, assuring me that everything is going to be okay. Instead, I only have myself.
I slink out of the bathroom, despondent, tears still dotting my cheeks. When I come back into the examination room, I seize a tissue and try to dry my swollen eyes as best I can.
“Kara, are you okay?”
Dr. Hussein has silently reentered the room. Concern creases her brow.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Yeah, everything is fine.”
Maybe it is because she looks to be the same age as my mom; maybe it is because she touches the back of my hand lightly. Either way, I immediately burst into tears again.
“I am so sorry,” I say in between gasping sobs. I bury my face in my hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“No, it’s not, Kara,” Dr. Hussein says. She sits patiently on a stool, and I glimpse the ghost of a smile on her face. “This is completely normal and expected. Everything you’re feeling right now is valid. Let it out.”
“Would you happen to be a therapist, too?” I sniff, and she laughs.
“Maybe in another life,” the doctor replies. “But, no. I’ve just assisted many, many women through their pregnancies, and know how overwhelming and scary it can be. I’ve had grown women cry in here who were on their fifth or sixth child. The first one is even scarier.”
“I am so scared,” I confess, the tears flowing again in earnest. “I have no idea what I am going to do. I am still too scared to tell my parents that I am pregnant. And the father of the baby… he’s… he’s…”
“Not in the picture?” Dr. Hussein suggests gently.
I nod. “I am sure you’ve noticed,” I say miserably.
“I have,” she says. “And you know what, Kara?”
I look up at her through lashes heavy with tears. “What?”
“You’re going to be just fine.” She leans back a little, looking thoughtful. “I had my first baby on my own, too. I was even a little younger than you are, just about to start college. I knew nothing about pregnancy or babies or anything; I could barely even take care of myself. But I had a good doctor, and, luckily, some good friends. You have at least one good friend, right?”
I nod fiercely, and then shake my head. “I have the best friend anyone could ask for,” I whisper, thinking of Bailey. “But she doesn’t know I’m pregnant, either.”
The doctor smiles reassuringly. “You can tell her on your own time,” she says. “But I am sure she’ll want to know, and I am sure she’ll be there for you. But no matter what, Kara: you are stronger than you think you are. I promise you. I’ve helped so many single mothers have their babies, and they’ve thrived: their children are happy and healthy, and the mothers are as well. You’re a smart girl with a good head on your shoulders. You may feel alone, and I know it is hard, but you can do this. You can raise this baby, even if it has to be on your own.”
I sniffle, a little pathetically, and then laugh a tiny bit. I smile back at the doctor. Maybe Dr. Hussein is right. Maybe, even if I have to do this alone, I can make things happen. And I won’t truly be alone--Bailey will have to find out eventually, and she’ll be there for me, just as I’ll be there for her and her baby. We’ve always dreamed of having children at the same time.
Perhaps as much as I want him, I don’t need Rick after all. Then, pain strikes my heart once more. What am I thinking? I’ll always need him, but right now, I have no choice. I swallow thickly, and nod.
“Thank you,” I whisper, meaning it from the depths of my heart. “That really means a lot to me.”