Tuesday, May 8, 2012

When a Doctor Advises You to Abort a Baby

Since I wrote my blog yesterday, I've been trying to figure out what I'd write in the future.  The triplets are almost 3 years old and my days of worrying about fertility or how to stay pregnant are past me.  However, I want my blog to help those who are currently dealing with these issues.  Therefore, I ask those who share unfortunate experiences, like me, to share them on my blog.  In addition, I decided that from today until the publication of my e-book, I will share some of my story.

Here it is:  Any and all feedback is welcome.

Chapter One
Dr. Nasty

“You have three options. You can abort the pregnancy; reduce down to one; or try some medicine,” Dr. Nasty said.  “You should strongly consider aborting this pregnancy and trying again.”
The word abortion electrocuted my soul.  Then nothing surrounded me, but the word abort. Slowly, searing pain shot from my heart to my brain.  Abortion.  Kill my babies, my healthy babies.  Tears and snot flooded out of my face as my head throbbed with the unthinkable. Abortion. I’m twenty-one weeks pregnant; isn’t abortion illegal at this point?
I grabbed my fifthteenth tissue and muttered, “What?”  I gasped for air and caught my breath just so I could ask for another box of tissues.  I switched from holding my arms across my chest, trying to keep my heart from busting out, to wrapping them around the bottom of my belly.   Not knowing whether it was possible for the pressure of my sobs to push the babies out of me.
I woke up that morning thinking how much I loved our apartment, as the sunlight streamed past The Holy Trinity Episcopal Church’s steeple and into our bedroom.  It was February, 2009, but the New York City sky was royal blue with nary a cloud.  The sun produced a halo affect around the church’s spire.  I couldn’t stop looking at it, but when the alarm went off for the second time, I knew I had to get up.  Slowly, I rolled my belly, fat with triplets, over to the side and sat up.  I slid off the mattress until my feet connected with the floor.
The apartment was quiet except for the sound of Brian, Gavin and the TV in livingroom.  Brian didn’t leave for work until 8:30, which was in five minutes.  It had become our pattern for Brian to get up with Gavin, who was only seventeen months, and feed him breakfast.  They watched CNBC until Brian had to leave for work. 
Lumbering into the bathroom, I was surprised that showering had turned into a chore, one that I saved for the mornings of my doctor’s appointment.  It was funny to think that I used to shower twice a day.  I liked to start the day fresh and then climb into bed clean.  Well, I changed.
I stood in the shower and let the hot water massage the tiredness out of my back.  Brian yelled his “I love yous” before he left.  Gavin was busy watching Elmo (thank goodness for ‘On Demand’ TV options), so I knew I had twenty-eight minutes and thirty-three seconds to get ready.  However, I only need eight, five for my hot water massage and three to wash and condition my hair.  Shaving was optional.  After all, it was February, I was pregnant and I wasn’t seeing either of my favorite doctors. 
Out of the shower, I toweled off and moisturized my sun-starved skin.  I applied the necessary make-up; each week, I found less and less make-up essential.  I struggled getting my legs through my favorite navy terry sweatpants, which I wore almost as constantly as my husband’s black fleece.  His fleece was a “me gift.”  I gave it to him for Christmas, because I knew that I’d need it during my pregnancy.  I slipped on my Merrell mules, which I used to use only to walk the dog, and waddled out the door.
I rode the elevator down two flights and dropped Gavin off at Ruth’s apartment.  Ruth was a very good friend in the building and she graciously helped watch Gavin on several occasions.  I stepped out of our building and the icicle-producing air hit me like a gallon of espresso, lifting my spirits and freezing my eyelids to my eyebrows.  I popped my headphones into my ears and turned on my iPod.  I lip-synched to BeyoncĂ©’s “Single Ladies,” which started in the middle.  Who knew that “Single Ladies” could make me cry? Seriously, the hormones in a pregnant lady are ridiculous.  Add to that that I have triple the hormones and I can cry at almost anything.
I clicked my iPod to select another song and continued on my long journey.  I gave myself thirty minutes to walk three avenues and two blocks.  For twenty minutes I clambered up 2nd Avenue to Madison.  I stopped lip-synching, because I needed my lips to gulp oxygen to my lungs.  I reached Madison and sighed.  I felt like I deserved a round of applause for reaching the summit, but nobody paid me any attention.  I turned right and hiked two blocks to the doctor’s office. 
My fingers, purple inside my gloves, had difficulty opening the door to the ultrasound clinic.  Thankfully, a patient was leaving and her husband held the door open for me.  I stumbled through the doorway on old-fashion blocks of ice that should have been my feet.  The warmth from both the heaters and the people was a welcomed change. 
“Laura, how are you?” The reception said with a big smile and an even bigger cup of coffee in her hands.
“Great.  Do you know who I am seeing upstairs?”  I crossed my fingers and prayed that either Dr. Nathan or Dr. Andrei had a cancelation.
“No, but you’re our first ultrasound appointment today, so no need to sit down if you don’t want to.”  I knew the appointment calendars for the ultrasound clinic and the patient consultations were linked.  I gushed to her about my doctor crushes, she probably didn’t have the heart to tell me that I wasn’t seeing them.
As I leaned against the wall, my mind replayed the evening Brian and I met.  He was late to our date at Hotel W.  I learned later that it was because he double booked his night and was out with another woman.
I snuck around the lobby, checking out any man in his early 30s.  I wondered if I gave Jack a good enough description of myself.  In my dating profile, I correctly stated that I was five-nine, but with my heels, I definitely was over six feet.  I didn’t see anyone who resembled him. Maybe he wasn’t coming?
I leaned my back on the bar and tried to look relaxed.  I was halfway done with my second glass of wine when I saw him.  Jack walked in all six feet two inches and looked to be in charge.  He’s sexy, I thought.  He wore a camel coat with a wool scarf flung around his neck.  His crystal, blue eyes caught my gaze and swallowed me in their whirpool of promise.
“Hi Aline.” Jack said.
Your voice is as sexy as you look, I said to myself as my heart fluttered.  “It’s nice to meet you Jack,” I said holding out my hand.  Jack took my hand and pulled me closer and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  Bells rang in my head.  You’re in trouble.  He’s a player.
“Would you like another glass of wine?” His voice was as smooth as the best wine I ever had.
“Yes, that would be nice, a Pinot Grigio, please.”
“Ok, any specific one?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know what I’m drinking, house, I guess.”  I wish I read up on wines, so I didn’t sound so ignorant.
Jack handed me a glass and we moved to a vacated spot on a couch. I had to concentrate on each step.  The stairs were a bit harder.  Thankfully, Jack gave me his arm and helped me navigate the three stairs.
We sat down and after some small talk, Jack asked, “Do you want to get married someday?”
“Yeah, I guess, I really just want a sex slave.”  That’s such a loaded question. I wish he’d wait a couple dates to ask.  I don’t want to seem desperate, but I really wanted kids ten years ago.
Unfortunately, my mouth shot words like speeding bullets that were headed nowhere good.
“What?” His eyes widened.

“Laura Casey, room three,” the receptionist said and saved me from replaying my embarrassment all over again..  It hadn’t yet become normal for me to strip down for the ultrasound technician as it would shortly.  However, I was accustomed to it enough to not turn beet-red. 
While my butt froze onto the hard exam table, I romanticized about Dr. Andrei, my very own George Clooney, his commanding physique, generous warm smile and relaxed nature.  Dr. Andrei was extremely confident, which only made him sexier to me.
And then there was Alex P. Keaton, Dr. Nathan.  I didn’t get to see him today either.  The ultrasound technician pushed her way into the room and instantly killed my fantasies.
She took the pre-heated wand and scanned my uterus.
“Laura, Baby A is doing well,” the nurse said and turned to my file on the counter and wrote something down.
“Is she still a girl?” I asked.  I’m so scared that Baby A’s not really a girl.  I want a girl so badly.  My mother and I are very different and similar.  My mom’s a girly girl; I’m not, but we're both planners and each other’s best friend. Please stay a girl, Baby A.
“Of course, she’s still a girl.  You had the genetic testing done, right?”
“Yes, but I just want to make sure.”
“Don’t worry.  She’s a girl and will stay that way,” the nurse said and gave me a funny look.
“Ok, but I’ll probably keep asking anyway.”  Whether you like it or not, I thought.

*** If you would like to buy the book, see the link to Amazon on the top right of this site.  Thank you,

Here are other chapters:

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