When the ultrasound technician squirts the jelly on Yvette’s lower abdomen, I sit beside her and hold her hand like I’m supposed to. I was hoping that she would grow happier with time, or that this would magically bring us closer and fix us, but it’s not working like that.
“Hmmm. I need to get the doctor,” the ultrasound technician says. They heard us speaking in English, so they’ve been talking to us in English the whole time, assuming we are foreigners.
“Is something wrong?” Evie asks.
“Maybe. Just give me a minute.”
“What do you think it looks like?” she asks me, looking at the image on the ultrasound screen.
“I don’t know,” I answer. And I’m not sure why, but I can’t bring myself to feel good about the image on the screen. Something seems wrong, to me, even though I don’t know what I’m looking at.
The doctor comes in then, and she shakes her head. She picks up the ultrasound wand and drags it over Yvette’s stomach again. “Is it okay if we do a transvaginal ultrasound instead?” she asks us. “I need to insert the wand.”
“Sure,” Yvette says with surprise.
“Please lift your knees for me,” the doctor says, positioning her. She then pulls out a different wand and pulls a condom down over it before squirting jelly on the end. She then inserts the wand carefully while studying the screen.
I look at the black and white images, but I don’t really understand them.
“Yes, unfortunately, this doesn’t look good,” the doctor says. “The uterus is empty.”
“Empty?” Yvette asks, sounding almost hopeful. “So, I’m not pregnant?”
“You are… but unfortunately, it’s an ectopic pregnancy, Yvette. The implantation occurred in the fallopian tube. This is why it’s been causing you so much intense pain. The embryo has been growing, and you’re lucky the tube hasn’t ruptured yet, but we will need to operate. It will not be viable.”
“Not viable?” I ask.
“Yes,” the doctor responds. “The embryo can’t survive outside the uterus, without nourishment from the placenta, proper blood flow and nutrition. In this current position, it also poses a risk to Yvette’s life. If the tube bursts, she could bleed out and die.”
“What caused this?” I ask the doctor. I have to sit down now, beside Yvette. I hold her hand and try to process everything.
“There are a lot of risk factors. It’s pretty rare, about 1 in 100 pregnancies. Usually I see it in women who are smokers, but there are a lot of other risk factors, too.”
“Dammit,” Yvette says. “The smoking again. It ruins everything.”
“It’s a nasty habit,” the doctor agrees. “So, I’ll have to schedule this surgery fairly quickly if we want to save your fallopian tube. I have some time this afternoon when I could perform the laparoscopy, if that works?”
“Yes,” Yvette says softly. “That works. While you’re in there, taking it out of my fallopian tube—can I get my tubes tied? I don’t want to have children, and I don’t want this to happen again.”
The doctor hesitates. “Are you sure? You’re only 35, and you might change your mind…”
“I’m absolutely sure. I’ve been sure my whole life. And being pregnant for the past few weeks has made me miserable as fuck, and I am only more certain now. If I ever want to have children in the future, I will adopt them.”
Every word she says stabs me in the heart a little bit.
I stare at the image on the screen, feeling a sense of loss for the person I was already hoping to meet. An innocent little human who never had a chance at survival.
The doctor notices me staring at the screen. “Would you like a printout of that image? I know some parents find it comforting.”
“Yes, please,” I tell her. It’s the only picture of my baby that I’ll ever have. I don’t want to forget him or her, and that it was almost possible for them to grow into a person. If only it had implanted in the right location… but his or her mother’s body was not healthy enough
Fuck! I will quit smoking after this. I swear to God and Nietzsche. I’m done with smoking. I will never have a cigarette again. It’s like a sign from the universe, a sign from my mother’s spirit—I can’t keep doing this. Not if it has the power to harm an unborn child, to take that child away from me.
Then something else strikes me. The realization of what Yvette just asked the doctor.
Was this my only chance at ever having a child with her?
The doctor hands me the printout of the ultrasound, of a failed pregnancy. A sad bundle of cells that will never get a chance to develop into a baby and be born.
“Evie,” I say softly.
“I can’t do it again,” she says, already knowing what I am thinking. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel. I know how badly you wanted this. But I’m just not the woman for the job.”
Shit. Of course. She’s bailing on me.
I should have walked into that church and stopped that wedding… if I had known. If I’d had even one more week to figure this out…
“It’s impressive that the embryo kept growing for seven weeks in the fallopian tube,” the doctor says. “Usually it wouldn’t get this large.”
I am too busy staring at the image and grieving what might have been, that I don’t realize what the doctor actually said.
Yvette, on the other hand, is staring to hyperventilate. “What—what did you say? Seven weeks? Why did you say that?”
“The ultrasound estimates the age of the embryo from its size,” the doctor explains. “Yours looks to be about seven weeks.”
“That’s impossible,” Yvette says. “Is there any way it could be wrong? Please. Please, doctor.”
I look up from the picture, confused by her reaction. And then it dawns on me.
“Fuck,” I whisper, as chills run through my body.
“The ultrasound dating usually confirms the gestational age with great accuracy,” the doctor explains. “Why? What seems to be the problem?”
“The problem?” Yvette says, and her face has grown very
