Chapter 7

I pulled my car into our driveway and parked beside the Odyssey. Inside I found Andrea sitting in the front room. The look on her face told me something was wrong.

“Andie -- what’s the matter?”

“We need to talk.”

Uh-oh, I thought. “Talk about what?”

“Casey -- I’ve been feeling ... odd for the past week or so.”

“Does this have to do with fainting at dinner last Friday?”

She nodded. “I’ve had other episodes of light-headedness since then. I haven’t passed out, but I’ve felt that I might. And...”

“And?”

“When we made love and you thought my nipples felt hot...”

“Not hot. Warmer than normal but not hot.”

“Whatever. My breasts have been feeling engorged and full ... and, warm. And...”

“And, what?”

“My period was weird. It was light -- too light and it only lasted a day. Also, I’ve been feeling queasy in the morning. This morning I felt like I wanted to throw up. Casey -- I don’t know how ... but...”

“But, what?”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

I was thunderstruck. “It can’t be. You said it was impossible. I’ll go out and get one of those home pregnancy tests so we can rule this out right away.”

“No need.” She reached under a cushion and produced one of the aforesaid test kits. “I went out and bought this today.”

“You haven’t taken it?”

“I wanted you to be with me. I’ll go do it now.” She started unwrapping and opening the package. “My hands are shaking,” she said and carried it and the instructions into the powder room. I heard the toilet flush and she returned to my side.

“Here,” she said, handing the wand to me. “I can’t watch.” She sat with her hands in her lap, her head bowed and her eyes closed.

I stared at the indicator strip as it developed. “Andie...” She looked up and I showed her the positive result.

“Oh, my God,” she gasped and tears flowed down her cheeks.

“You told me it was impossible for you to conceive.”

“That’s what the doctor told me.”

“Those were his exact words? Impossible?”

“Her words. It was a lady doctor ... It was fifteen years ago...” She closed her eyes. “She said, with the inflammation and scar tissue blocking my tubes that my chances of another pregnancy were between slim and none and that it would take a miracle.”

“Between slim and none isn’t the same as impossible,” I replied. “Unlikely, yes; improbable, yes ... impossible, no. Andie, if I thought there was even a snowball’s chance in Hell that you could conceive, we would’ve used protection!”

“Please don’t scold me,” she said, brushing away tears. “I told you in good faith what the doctor said. When a doctor says it’ll take a miracle, I regard that as impossible. A miracle means divine intervention and I don’t believe there’s a god to intervene. I did once, but not anymore. Besides -- I was married to Ben for ten years. Maybe we weren’t intimate for the last two or three, but in the beginning we were. We never used protection and I never got pregnant.”

“Maybe that was more Ben’s fault than yours.” I stood and paced. “We need to consider all our options. Everything has to be on the table.”

“One option that will not be on the table is an abortion,” she retorted.

“Is that your fundamentalist background surfacing? I thought you were pro-choice.”

“I am vigorously, vehemently pro-choice. Being pro-choice does not mean that every pregnancy that isn’t careful planned, plotted, thought-out and scheduled from conception to delivery date needs to be terminated. Being pro-choice means that as a woman I am sovereign of my own body. No one can overrule what I decide to do with MY body -- not the state, not the church, not you, not my parents ... nobody but ME! I make the choice whether or not to carry a child and no one has the right to overrule that choice. I choose to carry this child. Casey -- I will not have another aborted fetus on my conscience. I will NOT go through that heartache again. If I miscarry -- that’s one thing -- that’s something I won’t have control over. But, I will NOT be the one responsible.”

Her words chastened me. “Understood. It’s just -- this isn’t the right time for us to have a child. Our divorces aren’t finalized. We’re not married. We don’t have a permanent home. We don’t even have this place fully furnished.”

“I know. I can’t help that. Life throws you for a loop sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know,” I replied. “Like the time my dad was diagnosed with cancer. It was not a good time for him to get sick and die, but it happened.”

“I’m going to be thirty-one in a few months. My biological clock is ticking. By the time it’s a good time for you, it might not be a good time for me.”

“Yeah, I understand that, too.”

“So are you with me in this or not?” she asked. “Because if you’re not, tell me and I’ll be on my way, because it’s over between us here and now.”

“I am with you one hundred percent. Those plans we discussed? They’re gone. Out the window. I did want to father your child. I was sincere about finding fertility clinics for you, when the time was right. It looks like the time is now. I am worried about something -- if your womb was so badly damaged, this could be a high-risk pregnancy.”

“Oh, God -- I hadn’t thought about that. This could be expensive and I don’t have insurance.”

“Yes, you do. When you left Ben to be with me, it was during our enrollment period at work. I added you to my company policy as a domestic partner. It’s only costing me about another hundred a month.”

She threw her arms around me and held tight, tears streaming down her face. “You were looking out for me. You were taking care of me. You were thinking of me.”

“It seemed a smart move,” I replied. “Maybe the smartest I ever made.” I took out my phone. “And, there hasn’t been a day in fifteen plus years that I haven’t thought of you.”

“Who are you calling?”

“My mom. We need her advice, and we need it bad.” I punched in the number. “She will be delighted, you know,” I said as the call connected. “Hi, Mom.”

Casey ... I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.

“Mom -- can you come over here? Or can we come over there?”

Is something wrong?

“It’s Andie. We need your advice.”

What about Andie?

“I think it’s better we discuss it in person. I know you’re probably busy making dinner...”

I’m making mac and cheese -- it’s one of Walter’s favorites. I can easily make a double batch and you can join us.

“Okay ... We’ll be on our way.” I cancelled the call.

“What did she say?” Andrea asked.

“She’s making mac and cheese and we can join them for dinner.” I handed her the test wand. “We should bring this with us.”

She turned up her lip. “But -- I peed on it.” She retrieved a plastic bag from the kitchen, dropped the wand in and closed it up.

I made the drive out into the country and to my childhood home with Andrea holding my hand in a white-knuckled grip the whole way. I pulled into the drive and we went into the house.

“Mom!” I called.

She came from the kitchen. “Casey ... Andie ... what’s this about?”

Andrea showed her the test wand. “I’m pregnant.”

My mom embraced her. “I thought you said it was impossible! What wonderful news!”

“The doctor said it would take a miracle,” Andrea said.

“Doctors can be wrong,” Mom replied.

“I think that’s why it’s called practicing medicine,” I added. “What I’m worried about is ... if Andie did damage her womb, would that make it a high-risk pregnancy?”

“Oh ... I don’t know. Andie, sweetheart -- do you remember what the doctor told you?

“It was fifteen years ago,” she replied. “What I remember is that after I hurt myself I lost blood and tissue. I was in a lot of pain and eventually developed a bad fever. My mother took me to the emergency room and they admitted me right away.”

“Did you have peritonitis?” Mom asked.

Andrea shook her head. “No, although the doctor said one of the puncture wounds was only a millimeter or so from penetrating my uterus. Had it gone through, peritonitis would’ve been a real possibility. No -- they said I had an infection that was pervasive throughout my entire reproductive system.”

“Did they call it pelvic inflammatory disease? P.I.D?”

“I think I remember them saying that. I was on an I.V. antibiotic drip for a week and on pills for two weeks after that. The doctor said there was a lot of scar tissue.”

“How did they determine that?” Mom asked.

“They did C.T. scans. I remember having some sort of camera...”

“An endoscope?” my mother asked.

“Yes. It was after my fever was gone and the infection was stamped out. They put me to sleep for the procedure but afterward the doctor told me she saw scar tissue forming near where my tubes enter my womb.”

“You remember this well for fifteen years,” Mom remarked.

“It’s not the sort of thing you forget.”

“I suppose not. Andie, dear -- my biggest worry would be for an ectopic pregnancy.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“It’s when the fetus implants outside of the womb. It’s not common, but it can follow an infection. Patients who have had P.I.D. are at increased risk of a tubal pregnancy -- where the fetus develops inside a fallopian tube. It’s dangerous for the mother and fatal for the fetus. You should be examined as soon as possible by an OB-GYN. Do you have a regular doctor?”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I didn’t see the need.”

“Well -- regular screening for cancer is one need.”

“Can you give us a referral?” I asked.

“Do you have insurance?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” we answered in unison.

“I put Andie on my policy as a domestic partner,” I added. “Her leaving Ben happened during our enrollment period.”

“Smart move.”

“Casey does take care of me,” Andrea said. “It’s one way I know he loves me.”

“You should check with your insurance to see if they have a network. You may need to see a general practitioner first for a referral.”

“I’ll call first thing Monday,” I said. “Suppose it’s not egg...”

“Ectopic?” Mom interjected.

“Yeah. Suppose it’s not that? Would it still be high-risk?”

“That depends. It depends on how badly damaged her endometrium is and where the ovum implanted. It’s way to early in the scheme of things to determine that now.”

“How would they determine it?”

“Using ultrasound. I’m sure whoever is your doctor will want to follow you carefully, especially in the first few weeks.”

“Thanks for the advice, Mom.”

“Are you two happy?”

“Flabbergasted is more like it,” Andrea replied.

“It’s sinking in,” I added. “This is something we wanted. It’s about four years ahead of schedule, though.”

“You’re young, strong and healthy. I’m sure you’ll do fine and I can’t wait to meet my grandchild. Have you thought about names?”

“No,” Andrea replied. “I don’t want to pick out a name yet. I don’t want to know if it’s a girl or a boy. In case I am at high risk -- I don’t want to become too attached.”

“Understood,” my mom replied.

“What about sex?” I asked.

“The sex of the child?”

“No.” I pointed to Andrea and myself. “Between us.”

Andrea looked at me agape. “Casey!” she hissed.

“Nothing to be shy about,” my mom interjected. “The fact you two are intimate is no surprise or secret. You’re holding proof positive in that bag.” A faint blush formed on Andrea’s cheeks and my mom embraced her. “You are so adorable. Isn’t she adorable?”

“She is adorable,” I agreed.

“It’s a good question Casey asked, Andie. Your doctor will have the final word on the matter, but unless you have some bizarre complication that precludes it, sex will not harm the baby. In fact, I think it’s beneficial.”

“Beneficial to the baby?” I asked.

“No. To you two ... You’ll have some trying days ahead. A robust physical relationship will help keep you stay connected. Come on back -- I need to check on the mac and cheese.”

Andrea and I followed Mom to the kitchen and we sat at the table. “It smells really good and I am so hungry,” Andrea said.

“It’s almost done. Walter should be along any minute ... speak of the devil.”

The kitchen door opened and my step-dad entered. “Casey ... Andie ... What are you doing here?”

“We’re getting some advice from Nurse Mom,” I replied. “I glanced at Andrea. “Do you want to tell them or should I?”

“I’ll tell them,” she replied. “I’m pregnant, Walter.”

“I thought just last week you said that was impossible.”

“It appears,” I added, “that she was misinformed.”

“Well, congratulations ... I hope congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, they are,” Andrea replied. “This is something I wanted.”

“Me, too,” I said. “It just happened earlier than we planned.”

“I’m going to get a couple beers,” Walter announced. “Annette?”

“Oh, something light. What was that one we had the other night that I liked?”

“Pilsner Urquel. I think we still have some. Andie?”

“I suppose this means no alcohol for the duration,” Andrea replied.

“It does indeed,” my mom said.

“I think we have some ginger ale,” Walter suggested.

“Oh, that would be good. I can’t believe how I can be hungry and queasy at the same time.”

“Casey?”

I glanced at Andrea. “Don’t abstain on my account,” she said. “Enjoy a beer with your folks.”

“I’m not fussy -- whatever you’re having.”

My mom set plates before us with helpings of her mac and cheese along with some steamed broccoli.

“This is really good, Annette,” Andrea said. “I was so hungry and this feels really good.”

“Does this change your immediate plans?” Walter asked.

“Well -- I am calling off my job search,” Andrea replied. “I didn’t think it would be fair to get settled in a job only to leave it in a few months for maternity leave.”

“It’s illegal to discriminate based on your reproductive status,” Walter said.

“I know that. I was thinking about what Annette said the other night about nursing. I thought I could use the time to get started on a CNA or even an LPN. Then, once the baby can go to daycare, maybe I could start looking for a job.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Mom replied. “Get whatever hands-on training you need early on. Andie, Casey -- I know money will be tight. If there’s anything we can do to help, don’t be shy asking.”

“I make a good salary,” I said. “I think we can manage.”

“You’ll be surprised how fast you’ll be spending it.”

“We’re here to help out,” Walter added.

“Thank you,” Andrea replied and brushed tears from her face. “I love you both.”

“After dinner,” Walter added, “come out to the shop. I’ll show you that coffee table I’m building for your front room.”

We lay together in our bedroom. I held Andrea under my arm and stroked her back. She started sniffling. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Oh, God, Casey -- the last thing I wanted to be was a caricature weepy pregnant woman. Hormones are nasty things.” I held her tighter and kissed the top of her head. “I’m really sorry, Casey.”

“Sorry about what?”

“About getting us into this. If you really think we shouldn’t go through with this...”

“Wait a minute. You can’t be serious after the lecture you gave me on what it means to be pro-choice and that your choice was to carry the child ... that it would be over between us if that’s what I insisted on. Andie -- we are in this together.”

She continued her sniffling. “I needed to hear that. Are you angry with me?”

“For what?”’

“For letting myself get pregnant.”

“I am not angry with you. If I had any anger it would be toward that doctor who told you that you couldn’t get pregnant. Like you said, you were telling me in good faith what you were told. You would have no reason not to believe it.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “I love you, Andie.”

“I know your do. I love you so much.”

I continued holding her and caressing her back. “I was just thinking,” I said, “that our lives are never going to be the same again.”

“They were never going to be the same again after that snowstorm,” she replied. “This is just a different not-the-same.”

“Or, maybe it is the same one. No one can predict how the universe unfolds. Maybe this was in our destiny all along.”

“You’re not getting religious, are you?” she asked.

“No. Not at all.”

Andrea’s sniffling subsided and she cuddled tighter against me. “You okay now?” I asked.

“Yeah...”

“Which time was it?” I asked.

“Which time?”

“Which time that we made love do you think made you pregnant?”

“I wouldn’t know. I know which time I want it to be.”

“I think I know -- our first night at the Wilmington.”

“It was magical, Casey -- so romantic. And we had so much sex.”

“So much good sex,” I added. “It would’ve been perfect for making a baby. If that’s the time you want it to be, then that’s the time.”

“It is. That was the time.”

I continued stroking her back until I felt her drift to sleep.

I sat at my desk working through my backlog. Carla approached. “Casey -- your work queue went yellow on my screen. I’m not accustomed to seeing that.”

“I’m sorry Carla.”

“More divorce issues? I thought all that was ironed out.”

“No. Can we talk in private?” I followed her into her office and she closed the door. “Carla -- we learned over the weekend that Andrea is pregnant.”

Her eyes popped. “Are congratulations in order? If so, congratulations. You two certainly didn’t waste any time.”

“Congratulations are in order and thanks. We were planning on having children, down the road. The thing is, she had a severe pelvic infection as a teen and her doctor told her she was unable to conceive.”

“So, her doctor got it wrong.”

“Apparently so. When our health plan enrollment period was open I added her to my policy as a domestic partner. They haven’t sent us her ID card yet, so I’ve been spending the whole morning playing phone tag with corporate HR and the insurance company.”

“Did they get it straightened out?” she asked.

“Eventually ... She is confirmed to be on my policy and they’ll be sending an ID card for her.”

“That’s a relief.”

“For sure. The thing is, this pelvic infection business puts her at a higher risk of a tubal pregnancy. I’ve been going through the insurance list of network OB-GYNs to find a doctor who can see her in the next few days. They all seem to be booked months in advance.”

Carla opened her desk drawer, rifled through it and handed me a business card. “This is my doctor -- Dr Brigitte Lang. She’s in our network and is very good and very caring -- and she’s a friend. She’s semi-retired and not taking on new patients but if you mention my name maybe she’ll make an exception.”

“Thanks, Carla. I’ll give her a call.”

“I can move some of what’s in your queue to Jennifer and Wayne.”

“I’ll stay late if I have to,” I replied, “and I won’t put the hours I spent on the phone on my time sheet.”

“Good luck, Casey.”

I returned to my desk and punched in the number on the business card.

Doctor’s office, came a voice on the line.

“Hello. My name is Casey Rollins and I was hoping I could make an appointment for my fiancee. We’d like to have Dr Lang see her this week if possible.”

Has she seen Dr Lang in the past?

“Uhh ... No, I don’t believe she has.”

Unfortunately, Dr Lang isn’t accepting new patients. I can fax or email a list of referrals.

“I got your number from Carla Welland. I work on her team and she thought maybe Dr Lang would make an exception.”

Yes, we know Carla. What is the patient’s name?

“Andrea ... Andrea Hagen ... actually, Andrea Drummond but we’re waiting for her divorce to be finalized so she should probably go by Andrea Hagen. It’s how she’s listed on my insurance.”

Andrea Hagen ... Why does she want Dr Lang to see her?

“We’ve taken two home pregnancy tests and both were positive ... and she’s exhibiting symptoms of pregnancy ... engorged breasts, morning sickness...”

Please hold. I’ll speak with the doctor. The line went silent for a few minutes that felt like hours.

Hello? The voice returned on the line.

“Hi, yes?”

Dr Lang can see Andrea this Wednesday at eleven.

“Thank you ... Thank you very much.”

Please tell Andrea if possible to come with a full bladder.

“I’ll pass that along.”

We’ll see you at eleven.

I headed to Carla’s office and gave her the thumbs up sign. “You have an appointment?” she asked.

“Yep. Wednesday at eleven. Dropping your name did the trick. I’ll want the time...”

“Take it, Casey, and tell Andrea the best of luck.”

I went back to my desk and worked through lunch and a half-hour past quitting time to clear my queue. Logging off with undone work would be a black mark that not even Carla could erase, and I insisted on her not making me a charity case by off-loading my queue to others -- even though, at times, their work had been off-loaded onto my queue.

I got home and found Andrea curled up on the sectional in the front room. “Hey, sleepyhead,” I said and gave her a nudge.

“Mmmpf...” She blinked and sat up. “What time is it?”