Something Blue - Emily Giffin [91]
Beatrix introduced me to my doctor as he rose behind his mahogany desk, stepped around it, and gracefully extended his hand. I shook it and studied his face. With high cheekbones, wide-set blue eyes, and an interesting Roman nose, he was quite handsome. And he was elegantly dressed in a sharp navy suit and a green tie. He nodded toward a wing chair in front of his desk, inviting me to have a seat.
We both sat down, and for some reason I blurted out, "I expected a white coat."
He gave me a hint of a smile and said, "White is not my color." His refined accent seemed to transform the friendly quip into a line right out of a Shakespeare play.
Beatrix murmured that she'd be back shortly, and Mr. Moore asked me polite, getting-to-know-you questions: stuff about where I was from, when I had arrived in England, and when I was due. I answered his questions, telling him matter-of-factly that I had become pregnant unexpectedly, broken up with my boyfriend, and moved to London to start over. I also told him that I was due on May second, and that I had not been to the doctor in several weeks.
"Have you had an ultrasound?" he asked.
I was embarrassed to report no, remembering that I had blown off my ten-week ultrasound appointment in New York.
"Well, we'll do an ultrasound today and check on everything," Mr. Moore said, making a note on my chart.
"Will you be able to tell the gender?"
"I will… assuming your baby is cooperative."
"Really? Today?"
"Hmmm," he said, nodding.
My heart pounded with excitement and a dash of fear. I was about to see my daughter for the first time. I suddenly wished that Ethan were with me.
"Let's get started then," Mr. Moore said. "Shall we?"
I nodded.
"Just go right behind that screen, get undressed from the waist down, and pop onto the table. I'll return with Beatrix in a moment."
I nodded again and went to undress. As I slid off my skirt, I regretted not getting a bikini wax before my appointment. I was going to make a poor first impression on the impeccably groomed Mr. Moore. But as I got up on the table and tucked the paper cover neatly around me, I reassured myself that surely he had seen much worse. Minutes later, Mr. Moore returned with Beatrix, knocking on the partition that separated the examination room from his parlor.
"All set?" he asked.
"All set," I said.
Mr. Moore smiled as he perched on a small stool beside me while Beatrix hovered primly in the background.
"All right then, Darcy," Mr. Moore said. "Please slide down for me and place your feet in the stirrups. I am going to have a peek at your cervix. You'll feel a little pressure."
He put on latex gloves and checked my cervix with two fingers. I winced as he murmured, "Your cervix is closed and long. Wonderful." Then he removed his gloves, deposited them into a small waste can, slid my paper covering down, and squeezed a blob of gel onto my stomach. "I apologize if this feels a bit cold."
"No problem," I said, grateful for his sensitivity.
He slid the ultrasound probe over my stomach as a murky black-and-white image appeared on the screen. At first it looked like nothing but an ink blot, the kind that a psychiatrist uses, but then I made out a head and a hand.
"Omigod!" I shouted. "She's sucking her little thumb, isn't she?"
"Hmmm," Mr. Moore said, as Beatrix smiled.
I got all choked up as I told them that I had never seen anything so miraculous. "She's perfect," I said. "Isn't she absolutely perfect?"
Mr. Moore agreed. "Beautiful. Beautiful," he murmured. He then squinted at the screen and carefully inched the probe along my stomach. The image disappeared for a second, then reappeared.
"What?" I asked. "What do you see? She is a girl, right?"
"Just give me a moment… I need to have a closer look. Then I'll take some measurements."
"What do you need to measure?" I asked.
"The head, abdomen, and femur. Then we'll look at the various structures. The brain, chambers of the heart, and so forth."
It suddenly occurred to me that something could be wrong with my daughter. Why had I not considered this