Cracks in the Sidewalk(5)

She shook her head.

“Taking any supplements or medications I’m not aware of? Handling pesticides? Paints? Turpentine?”

Elizabeth shook her head again and again. When he’d run out of questions, Doctor Watkins scratched the name “Rebecca Sorenson” on a slip of paper and passed it across the desk. “This is an endocrinologist I’d like you to see.”

“Endocrinologist?” Elizabeth repeated nervously. “Why?”

“There’s something going on,” he said. “It could be gestational diabetes. An endocrinologist can say for certain.” Noticing the look of panic on her face, Doctor Watkins placed his hand atop hers.

“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “It happens with some pregnancies but virtually never results in birth defects. The hormone helping your baby to grow can block your production of insulin. But once you’ve given birth, your body reverts back to its normal state. Then the gestational diabetes usually disappears.”

“You’re sure this condition won’t be harmful to the baby?” Elizabeth asked.

Doctor Watkins shook his head, giving her hand a gentle pat.

That evening after tucking David and Kimberly into bed, Elizabeth sat on the sofa next to JT.

“I went to the doctor today,” she began, waiting for him to ask the obvious. He focused on the words of a market analyst explaining why a recent issue had unprecedented gains.

“Well, if that don’t beat all,” JT grumbled. “Here I was gonna buy that stock and would’ve if I’d had the money.”

Elizabeth snapped off the television.

He glared at her angrily. “I was watching that.”

“I went to the doctor today.”

“Okay, so?”

“Doctor Watkins thinks I might have gestational diabetes. He told me I have to see a specialist. An endocrinologist.”

“Diabetes?” JT scoffed a sigh of intolerance. “No wonder, with all that ice cream you’ve been having. You should eat salads or something that doesn’t make you gain weight. Yeah, I know, the pregnant piggy has a craving for ice cream,” he muttered sarcastically. “Now I’ve got to pay for a specialist to tell you the exact same thing I’ve been saying all along.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes welling. “How could you say such an awful thing? Don’t you care about my feelings? Do you think I like being so overweight? Do you think—” She gave way to all that she’d held back and began sobbing.

“What about me?” JT said angrily. “You think I like having more bills than I can afford to pay? I bought this money pit for you! You’re the one who wanted a big house and lot of babies! Now I’m the one who’s stuck paying for it! I’m sick of it!”

He turned and stomped out of the room.

~

Almost two weeks passed before Elizabeth could actually bring herself to call Doctor Rebecca Sorenson, and then she did so only at the urging of her mother.

“Think of the baby!” Claire pleaded. “Think of yourself!”

Finally Elizabeth scheduled an appointment and nervously asked JT to go with her.

“Can’t your mother do it?” he answered.

“No. I was gonna ask her to stay here and watch the kids. I thought you might want to—”

“Will you stop?” he said, rolling his eyes. “You always do that. You make it sound like I don’t want to go with you. It isn’t that I don’t want to go, I can’t. I’ve gotta open the store. Who else is gonna do it? All the responsibility is on my shoulders, but does that bother you? Nope, not one bit. It’s never gonna end, is it?”

“I only thought—”

He grabbed the remote control and turned up the sound.

~

On the first Tuesday of May, a day so unseasonably warm that women switched to sandals and men pulled short-sleeved shirts from the back of their closet, Elizabeth rose early. She showered, washed her hair, and left it to hang loose across her shoulders. Then she dressed in the one maternity outfit that still fit. By ten o’clock she and Claire sat in Doctor Sorenson’s waiting room, their fingers entwined.

This waiting room, with its line of light gray chairs pushed against a darker gray wall, had none of the usual baby magazines. No Parenting. No “What every mother needs to know” articles. Here, elderly people with brown spots freckling their hands read things such as Living with Diabetes and Blood Pressure, the silent killer. After waiting what felt like hours, a male nurse stepped from behind a closed door and called out, “Caruthers.” They stood and followed him through the hallway into a small but somewhat brighter examination room.

Doctor Rebecca Sorenson was not what they expected. For starters, she was young enough to make Claire wonder how long she’d actually been practicing. She was the type of woman men turned to look at—tall, slender, dark eyes, and flame-red hair. She entered the room with a welcoming smile and a file folder.

“Well now,” she said pleasantly, “let’s talk about this problem you’re having.”

Elizabeth related the experiences of her first two pregnancies then told of her extreme thirst, rapid weight gain, forgetfulness, and recent feeling of depression.

“Any history of diabetes in your family?”

“None.”