The Ground Rules_ Undone - Roya Carmen Page 0,1

have unprotected sex a few times, but I still don’t understand. I always took the pill religiously. At the same time, every single night. I was always very good about that.”

She swallows and studies me for a beat. “Have you been sick at all in recent weeks?”

Yes.

I think back to that horrible stomach flu I had — my reluctant new kinship with the toilet, the neon colored sports drinks, green Jell-O, trashy magazines, and Gabe’s constant attempts to shove soup down my throat.

I think Dr. Fisher sees the color drain from my face. “If you had any kind of serious illness,” she tells me, her tone even and measured, “involving vomiting or diarrhea, the pill would not have been properly absorbed into your system. A second method of contraception should have been used in the weeks following.”

Yes, if only we had followed the rules.

“But I didn’t know that,” I cry. I have never felt so utterly stupid. I had never stopped once to think about this. It makes so much sense. But I was way too caught up in my infatuation for Weston, and the conflicts I had with Gabe, and work, to even think at all.

Dr. Fisher shakes her head, ever so slightly. “I remember now, you mentioned at your last appointment that you had the stomach flu and weren’t quite feeling back to normal yet.”

“Yes. I had a bug. That’s what went wrong.” I wince, thinking about the last few weeks. “I don’t understand, Dr. Fisher… I swear I had my period a little while ago.”

She nods. “Was it very light?”

I think back for a second. “Yes, it was only a bit of spotting for a day or two, but I didn’t think too much of it. My periods are always light when I’m on the pill.”

Her head practically bounces as she nods again. “Yes, what you’ve experienced is most likely spotting caused by light implantation. It’s very common, up to twenty percent of women experience it.”

Something else I didn’t know — you can bleed when you’re pregnant. I don’t say a word and we both drift into silence.

I should have known I was pregnant. I haven’t felt like myself in weeks. But I chalked it up to the mess I was living…and the heartbreak.

She stares down at her papers again, seemingly distracted with the list of numbers on the sheets.

I suddenly perk up. Maybe the baby’s not Weston’s. It could be Gabe’s. I am so desperate for this, I’m willing to believe anything.

I sit up straight. “Could the baby be my husband’s? Is there any chance?” I ask her, my voice pleading for her to tell me it’s a possibility.

She winces. “That’s highly unlikely. As I recall, your husband’s vasectomy results were confirmed, weren’t they?”

I slouch back in my chair. “Yes,” I say, the word barely a whisper. And I let go. I give up holding back the tears. I sob into my hands, not knowing what else to do.

I don’t dare look at Dr. Fisher, whom, I’m convinced thinks I’m a capital T- tramp.

“Mirella,” she says, her voice soft. “You will be fine. Your baby will be fine. You’re still young and healthy and a new life is always something to celebrate, no matter the circumstances.”

She hands me a tissue and I venture a look up at her. “Is the baby healthy? I’m still taking the pill. Will this affect the baby?” I realize part of me wants this child — wants this child to be healthy. He or she is part of Weston and I, and I want to hold on to that, no matter what happens between us. I want this new life to grow inside of me, thrive, and become the great person he or she is destined to be. I want this child to be just like Weston; with exceptional intelligence, striking beauty and an innate softness, maybe even a rogue lock of hair which will never be tamed.

Dr. Fisher sits up straighter. “Yes, the baby should be fine. There is no past indication of problems in this kind of situation. With extended use, it can cause problems, but in this case, it should be fine. You’ll obviously stop taking the pill if you haven’t already done so, and start taking prenatal supplements.”

I nod but don’t say a word.

She sucks in a breath. “And of course,” she adds, her words slow and heavy. “If you really don’t want this child, you also have options. We can discuss these if you wish.”

I shake