| Subject: The Present Moment - Repost (15/16) |
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mary48184
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Date Posted: 07:10:22 04/29/08 Tue
Chapter 15
Tuesday
June 18, 2002
2135 ZULU (1635 local)
National Naval Medical Center
Bethesda, Maryland
One of the things I hate about going to the doctor is the waiting. First you wait for the nurse to call you back to the exam room. Then you let get measured, have vitals taken like blood pressure, height and weight – annoyingly I seem to have put on a few pounds, although I honestly don’t know how – and obligingly pee into the little orange cup before they usher you back into another small room, where you’re told to change into one of those awful backless gowns and asked to wait some more. And they never have any good magazines to read. Why is that?
Tossing the November 1998 issue of Golf Digest back onto the chair in the corner, I look around the room for something else to pique my interest. The sterile counter with standard-issue stainless steel sink, boxes of Kleenex and latex gloves lined up neatly to one side… this has to be exactly like every other medical exam room on the continent. Nothing even remotely captivating. With a small sigh, my mind drifts to the folders back at the office, two-dozen cases currently sitting in my ‘active’ file. Taking off the afternoon for a medical appointment certainly isn’t helping my workload any – it will all still be there in the morning. Then, taking another deep breath, I once again remind myself why it is that I’m here, and try to curb the professional frustration by banging my heels restlessly against the cold metal of the examination table.
It has been nearly seven months since the laparoscopy, since Dr Marge removed the endometrial tissue. This is the first check-up I’ve had since the surgery; my original appointment from last month had to be rescheduled due to my last-minute trip to Afghanistan. That’s one of the things I both love and hate about being in the military… with a schedule that’s always subject to change, arranging your normal, everyday life can sometimes become a real challenge. So here I am, sitting helplessly on some hygienic paper, in nothing but a well-worn cotton shift that’s a little too breezy for my taste. What a way to spend a Tuesday afternoon. Harm and I are supposed to go to dinner tonight and at this rate, I’m wondering if I need to call and ask for a rain check.
Just as I’m about to poke my head out towards the nurses’ station to see what the hell is taking so long, there’s a soft rap on the exam room door.
“Sarah?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I sigh with relief as Dr Marge discreetly closes the door behind her, reading down her clipboard as she steps into the room.
“Thanks for waiting.” She smiles, finally looking up from my chart. “It’s just been one of those days. You wouldn’t happen to know if there’s a full moon tonight, would you?”
“Nope, sorry.” I chuckle. “Tonight’s only a quarter moon. Full moon isn’t until next week.”
“Damn, I was hoping that would explain the sudden influx of insanity around here. Oh, well.” Laughing softly, she sets the clipboard down and leans back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest in a move that absurdly reminds me of Harm, even though she’s a good foot shorter and a woman to boot. “So how have you been feeling?” she asks.
“Fine.” I shrug. “A little stressed out and overworked, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“Any discomfort or nausea? Irritability?”
“I’ve definitely been irritable. And yeah, I guess you could say I’ve been a little queasy the last few weeks.” I’ve always hated admitting when I don’t feel well, but deep down I know it’s important in this case. “But like I said, I’ve been under a lot of stress.”
“Anything in particular besides work?” Picking up my chart again, she removes a pen from her coat pocket and starts to take notes. It’s hard to tell whether that’s a good or bad sign, since her expression isn’t giving anything away. What is it about doctors and their uncanny ability to beat around the bush? It’s almost as though they’re required to take a course in deliberately being vague when it comes to conveying information: How-to-Break-News-to-Patients-in-the-Most-Maddening-Way-Possible-101.
I sigh, folding my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “A friend of mine was in an accident recently.”
“Car accident?”
“Landmine.”
“I see.” She scribbles something down, clearly unfazed. God bless military doctors. “Good friend?”
“One of my closest,” I reply, briefly wondering what this line of questioning has to do with my check-up. “He’s also a valuable coworker. The rest of us have had to pick up the slack while he’s recuperating.”
“Makes sense.” She nods. “Your last menstrual cycle was… two months ago?”
“Thereabouts.” Okay, now we seem to be getting somewhere. I honestly can’t remember when I last had my period, so I’d guesstimated when the nurse asked me the same thing earlier. Apparently she wrote it down on my chart.
“Do you usually go that long between periods?” Dr Marge asks, looking back up at me.
“Not usually,” I acknowledge. “But with the dirty nuke, Bud’s leg and all of the work that’s been piling up, I just chalked it up to everything that has been happening since I got back.”
“Dirty nuke?” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t ask.”
Considering that, she bites the tip of her pen. “There are plenty of other explanations as to why you’ve been feeling the way you have.”
My mind latches on to the hesitation in her voice. Suddenly I’m sure the endometriosis has come back, or worse, I’ve got cancer or something else just as devastating. Oh God, cancer. I can’t help it; my mind flashes through all sorts of horrendous possibilities and my heart begins to race. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong. At least, I don’t think so.” She pauses. “Colonel, I know you’re not a medical professional, but I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Figured what out?” The attorney in me is arguing that her silence constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. The Marine in me is bellowing that that this game of twenty questions is starting to really piss me off. And the woman in me is screaming that I’m not ready to die.
Up until now I’d like to think I’ve been holding my nail-biting urges in check, but the good doctor suddenly seems to clue into the fact that I’m swiftly nearing the end of my rope. “I’m not trying to be deliberately annoying,” she’s quick to reassure me, “but do you know what it generally means when a woman is late?”
Well, duh. My response is automatic. “It usually means that she’s—”
Oh my God. The dire thoughts screeching to a halt, I sit there open-mouthed as my mind tries to process this latest curve, not entirely registering her sudden air of smugness.
“You mean…?”
The shock on my face must be clear, because she smiles broadly. “Congratulations.”
“Are you sure?” My voice is barely above a whisper. I want to believe her, desperately want to, in fact, but I’ve had so many disappointments over the years that I can’t help asking the question.
“Routine urinalysis,” she says. “The results showed elevated levels of hCG, more commonly known as the pregnancy hormone. We’ll have to do some blood work to confirm, of course, but your levels were high enough for me to safely say it’s not a false positive.”
I’m abruptly swept back to November, when she’d first told me that my chances of conceiving were not the bleak four-percent of my future, but a viable and healthy eighty-five percent. At the time I’d thought I would die of sheer relief, hearing that my fate was once again under my control… but the elation I felt ten months ago is absolutely nothing to the incredible joy that suddenly washes through my soul. A baby! The world blurs. I can’t breathe. Unable to stop the tears, my mind goes numb and I close my eyes and begin to cry, the happiness is so overwhelming. With another four little syllables she has given me the greatest gift of my life.
And then three faces flash through my mind: Harm’s, our unborn son or daughter’s, and that of an elderly Asian woman who, in retrospect, has truly given me the greatest gift of all – a second chance to change my destiny.
If you want to change your life, you need not look beyond the present moment.
“Come on,” the doctor’s kind voice pierces through the haze. My vision refocuses on her smile. “We’ve got some blood to draw and a few things to discuss.”
The wave of elation carries me through the next few hours. I float through the rest of my office visit, thinking about this miracle child and about how to tell Harm that he’s going to be a father. Carrying the mental image of my first ultrasound – and still in a state of shock that what had begun as a follow-up to concerns about infertility resulted in the knowledge of my impending motherhood – I head home on a cloud to change into civilian attire before dinner.
It isn’t until I catch myself standing in front of my bathroom mirror, marveling at my tummy’s still-flat profile, that I realize that I’ve got no idea where Harm is expecting me to meet him. Smiling giddily one last time at my reflection, I meander out into the living room and glance around. My briefcase is sitting right where I dropped it absently upon arriving home, just inside the door next to the television armoire.
Pulling out my day planner and opening it to the appropriate page, a quick note in familiar masculine handwriting stands out boldly:
There’s a new place that’s just opened right around the corner from HQ and I thought we could give it a try. Meet me there at 6:30? Love, -H
The address included with the note rings a bell, but I can’t quite place why it seems familiar. Still, I recognize the general location… and realize that I’d better get a fire under my feet if I want to be there on time. With a renewed sense of urgency and excitement, I quickly don a fabulous black matte jersey wrap dress, one that’s supremely comfortable and yet shows off my curves. A couple of minutes and a few accessories later, I’m heading down the stairs and out to my car.
On the drive over to Falls Church, my mind races as to how I should tell Harm. An internal dialogue keeps me preoccupied: Should I tell him before or after dinner? Before, it has to be before. I don’t think I could wait until dessert! I laugh to myself. What do I say? Should I get him a card, or do something cutesy? No, I’m running late as it is. And besides, ‘cutesy’ really isn’t my thing. Just tell it to him straight.
“Harm, you’re going to be a daddy.” I practice aloud. The voices on NPR continue to discuss recent political events, ignoring my brief interruption. Feeling like an idiot for talking to myself, I frown and re-focus my attention on the road.
Within ten minutes I’m around the corner from the address Harm provided, sitting at an intersection waiting for the light to change. I don’t usually take this route on my way to work, but once again I’m struck by how familiar it all feels. The light turns green, and I begin to make the turn…
And there it is, sitting straight ahead of me, my destination…
Here? I think in disbelief. Pulling into the newly paved parking lot, I slide my ‘Vette into an available space. Sure enough, Harm’s own Corvette is parked directly behind me – I’d recognize that license plate anywhere, even backwards in my rearview mirror. This is definitely the place.
Killing the engine, I sit for a moment staring at the building. The plastic sheeting that seven months ago covered the front door has been removed, the front of the restaurant shining brightly under a fresh coat of gray paint. Above it all hangs a cheaply made vinyl sign. And there, taped to the inside of the glass front door, is a small poster board announcement that proudly proclaims:
LUCKY DREAM PALACE
FINE CHINESE CUISINE
NOW OPEN FOR BUSINESS!
“This cannot be real,” I say to no one in particular. And yet I know it is. After all, how appropriate would it be for me to tell Harm that he’s going to be a father in the one place where this entire adventure began? From this vantage point, I can see both my future and my past.
Another few minutes pass by in silence.
My reverie is finally broken by a shrill ring – it’s my cell phone. Digging the still-humongous Motorola out of my purse, I find myself smiling foolishly when I see Harm’s number flash in green LED lights.
“Hi,” I answer.
“Where are you?”
“Just pulled up. I’ll be there in a second.” An older man exiting the restaurant with his wife catches my daffy smile and gives me a funny look.
“Okay. See you in a few,” Harm replies, and cuts the connection.
Snapping the phone shut, I drop it back into my purse and scoot out of the car, taking care to lock the doors behind me. Only a handful of paces further and I’m poised on the entrance.
Just outside the doorway, however, I pause one last time, taking a long look at the façade of the building before me. Then, I take a deep breath. I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen once I go in, but a small voice in the back of my consciousness tells me that something momentous is about to take place.
“Here goes nothing.” And with that, I step inside towards my destiny.
tbc
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