All Adults Here(68)

Dr. McConnell had her strip from the waist down and put a thin hospital blanket over her knees. Porter lay back and thought of herself as an animal. Dr. McConnell was quiet, just listening to Porter’s belly with her stethoscope, pressing different spots and asking if it hurt. Astrid looked away from any bare flesh, as if she hadn’t seen every inch of Porter’s naked body, as if Porter’s naked body hadn’t passed through Astrid’s own naked body.

“I’m going to do a quick pelvic exam, just to make sure everything’s okay, Porter, all right? Everything seems fine so far. A little blood is scary, but it’s just blood. It doesn’t mean anything is wrong. If it continued, yes, like a heavy period, or if the pain increased, yes, but right now, you feel okay?” Porter nodded. “And the bleeding seems like just a tiny bit of spotting, is that right?”

Porter nodded. She closed her eyes. She could hear Dr. McConnell and her mother breathing, and the squeak of her stool moving around the floor. “Okay, that all feels fine, let’s take a quick look.” She squirted a little pile of warm goop onto Porter’s belly and spread it out with the sonogram wand. Immediately, the sound of a heartbeat filled the room, a horse galloping. Porter opened her eyes and watched the baby perform an elaborate water ballet. Astrid gasped and squeezed Porter’s hand even tighter. When Porter looked up at her mother, her eyes were damp and twinkly. “Wow,” Astrid said. “There she is! Oh, honey.”

“There she is, looking and sounding totally healthy and great,” Dr. McConnell said. “You’re fine, she’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Are you feeling stressed otherwise? Anything going on?” She left the wand in place, so that any and all conversation would occur over the comforting percussion. Some doctors were better than others. Porter felt a brief twinge of pity for any pregnant woman with a male obstetrician.

There was a question. She’d been thinking about it all morning. Porter looked at her mother, who was now holding on to her shoulder lightly, the way a queen holds the edge of the king’s throne.

“Mom, don’t have any kind of reaction, please,” Porter said, “but because of my abortion . . .” Porter paused here. She didn’t look at her mother, but she didn’t have to look to hear Astrid’s sharp inhale. “You know. I had an abortion, a long time ago, and afterward, there was bleeding, and this morning, that’s what the bleeding reminded me of. But that’s not happening, right? I’m not losing this baby, right?”

“No, you’re not,” Dr. McConnell said. “Your uterus is beautiful, your pregnancy is healthy, everything is fine. There’s a lot going on in there, you know? And there’s a lot of blood in your body, moving around, and doing its job. A little bit of spotting can be alarming, but it does not mean that anything is wrong. You did the right thing, by coming in, and now we know for sure, all is well.”

“What about sex?” Porter asked.

“Sex is totally fine during pregnancy,” Dr. McConnell said. How did people have such incredible straight faces? There must have been whole semesters in medical school where doctors had to say things that would make any normal human being laugh, and then not laugh. Porter could picture it, rows of future doctors staring into each other’s eyes while saying the words penis, vagina, testes, feces, et cetera.

Astrid let go of Porter’s shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest. “Porter. This is why I asked about Jeremy Fogelman. Don’t think that I don’t have eyeballs.”

“Never mind, Mom! But she’s okay? I’m okay?”

“You’re both fine.” Dr. McConnell handed Porter a washcloth, to wipe off the goo. It was the color of toothpaste, an unnatural blue, and no matter how thoroughly she scrubbed, she knew she would find bits of it later, caked into the band of her underwear or just under the lip of her belly button.

“How do you know if you’re going to be good at it?” Porter asked.

“Good at what?” Dr. McConnell was cleaning up. There was no doubt another patient was waiting, another woman to be reassured.

“Being a mother.” Porter sat up, her belly now cold and damp. She tugged her shirt back down, where it stuck to her skin in spots. “You know, just that.”

Astrid cleared her throat. She had hardened back into her normal shape.

“Are you worried about something specific? There are some great childbirth classes in town, and newborn care support groups, lactation specialists . . .” Dr. McConnell trailed off.

Porter laughed. “Yes, sure, all of that. But mostly I’m afraid that I’m not going to be enough. Good enough, smart enough, patient enough. That sort of thing.”

Dr. McConnell nodded. She had heard this before. “Here’s what I can tell you—most of the time, if you are concerned that you’re not being a good enough parent, it means that you are a good enough parent. If you are self-aware enough to worry about your child’s mental and emotional health, you are also going to be supportive of it. I’m not worried.” She put her hand on Porter’s forearm. “Just try to relax. Take good care of yourself. Prenatal yoga. Acupuncture. Meditation. You’re in a dialogue with your baby all the time. Talk to her. Tell her how you’re feeling. You’re going to be in it together, you know?”

“Okay,” Porter said. She stared down at her bump.