He’d convinced me to get a doctor’s appointment as soon as I could, and that’s where we’re heading today.
Part of me hopes the doctor will say it’s menopause causing a wrong result, and there’s no baby after all. Part of me is terrified that she will say exactly that, or, that I’m too old and a pregnancy is too risky, either to me or the child.
I need Grumbler with me. As he drives, he holds my hand, the tactile support encouraging.
“We’re in this together. Whatever happens, Mary, never doubt that.”
“You’re a good man, Grumbler.”
He grunts. I’m not sure what to make of that. But whether or not he believes it, I’m convinced. I’m also sure he’d make a good dad. I only need to watch him with Alicia to see proof of that. He seems to know just how to handle her—when to be firm, or when to jokingly try to coax her out of a snit. He’s more inclined to offer her a reward for good behaviour, than want to punish the bad. He even tries to help her with her homework, though, at her age, she’s beyond both of us.
In the waiting room, I sit alongside pregnant women, all younger than me by two decades or more. I fidget, wondering if they’re wondering why I’m here. Grumbler picks up a baby magazine—the only kind on offer—and starts flicking through that. He’s not self-absorbed, instead he includes me.
“Will you look at that?” He points out a crib. “Electric. It’s even got a built in MP3 player and rocks the baby to fuckin’ sleep.”
I get the feeling that raising a baby seventeen years after my last would be a somewhat different experience.
“Of course,” he continues in a serious tone, “it would have to be a Harley Davidson one.”
“Do they make them?”
“Fuck knows,” he chuckles. “But nothing would surprise me now.”
“Mrs Styles?”
Hearing my name, I stand, suddenly feeling shaky. I still have no idea what I want the doctor to say.
Well, the long and short of it is that I am pregnant, but only four weeks—too soon for a sonogram to pick up a heartbeat.
Whether I should continue with the pregnancy, well that’s quite a different thing. Miscarriage is highly likely. Weirdly, if I was forty-five, the problems would be less, but those two years apparently make a heck of a difference, or so the doctor said.
Grumbler, hands clasped between his knees, is listening to everything, and now adds a question of his own.
“I’m fifty-seven, Doc. I smoke occasionally, much less so than in the past. I’ve ridden a motorbike for damn near forty years. Even thought my swimmers might be fried, I’m not an angel, I drink. Not enough to be an alcoholic, but enough. What’s the chances of my sperm causing a defective baby?”
Doctor Woodward smiles, and starts drily, “Seems like your sperm are working perfectly, Grumbler. Though, it’s a valid point. There is some research that shows there is a higher risk of babies being born with genetic abnormalities once a man is over forty. That goes for the woman as well. So, in your case, your chances are increased of having a baby with birth defects or health problems. These could show up before birth, or once the baby is born.”
“Is there a chance the baby will be healthy? Or is everything stacked against it?” he asks.
“Of course there is.” The doctor smiles at us. “You might notice I’m no spring chicken myself. I’ve seen many births in my time, and babies often surprise me.”
“But it’s a risk?”
She nods. “One you should take into consideration.” Her features rearrange into a frown. “You asked me to paint a picture of what you’re in for should you go ahead with this pregnancy, so I’m trying to do that. First, Mary, it will have great demands on your body. You’ve been pregnant before. Well, this time, fatigue is likely to hit you badly. You may have to give up work, and that’s if you get very far along in your pregnancy. Mother Nature often steps in. If a foetus isn’t viable, you may lose it, however careful you are.” She pauses, then resumes, “There is a high chance that the baby won’t form properly, and we may need to step in, and perform an abortion.”
I shake my head. “If I continue with this baby and don’t lose it naturally, I wouldn’t want to abort it. I’d want it to be born.”
She nods, not upset by my outburst. “Quite right. And we’d do everything we can to facilitate that. But, worst-case scenario? I’ve seen a case, not age-related, just sheer bad luck, where a baby’s organs formed outside its skeleton. There was no chance the baby would survive. We can work miracles with surgery, but to correct that when the brain, liver, kidneys and lungs are all outside the skull and rib cage? Impossible. If the baby is born, it will live minutes, maybe hours, and in excruciating agony.”
“What about in the womb?” Grumbler asks. “Would it be in pain there?”
“There is evidence they can feel pain at twenty weeks.”
I want to understand everything. “Say my baby was badly deformed as you say. If I carried it to term, would that mean it might be in agony for another twenty weeks?” If so, I’d be sentencing it to a living hell even before it’s born.
“To what extent, I can’t say. But on the other hand, you may go on to deliver a baby that’s perfectly healthy. We’d help you all the way. You may need to be induced early to give him or her the best chance to survive and may need a C-section in any event as your uterine muscles may be too weak to push the baby out. But Mrs Styles, we have a lot of experience with pregnancies. If you want to continue, we’ll do all we can to achieve a healthy result.”
“But
