Page 108 of Resilience

“If you want to see, you can,” the doctor told her. “It’s completely up to you.”

Athena shook her head as soon as Sam finished signing. “Nothing to see,” she signed, and Sam spoke.

After the doctor, a ‘patient advocate,’ and an interpreter had shooed Sam from the first examining room so they could ask Athena several pointed questions about whether she was safe, whether the decision to abort was her own, whether she had made arrangements for aftercare, and so on, they’d treated him like an ally. They’d been a bit wary of him before that interview.

The doctor had the sonogram monitor turned so all Athena could see was a side and most of the back. Sam sat on the other side of the examining table, holding her arm because she’d wriggled her hand free of his tense grip. There was no room for him on the doctor’s side of the table, so Athena had to swing back and forth to both make eye contact with the doctor and see what she was saying. She was not about to try to read lips now. This was too important to allow any possible misunderstanding.

Her belly was coated with some slimy goo and she’d just been sort of beat up by the sonogram doohickey. The doctor had pressed hard, looking for a good image. But at least it wasn’t one of those transvaginal ultrasounds. That sounded like rape all over again.

Sam started signing again. “According to your last menstrual cycle, you’re ten weeks and three days. That’s consistent with this scan.”

The doctor handed Athena a wad of tissues. Then Sam signed for her again.

“You’re technically within the range for medication, but that approach becomes slightly less effective at the later end of the range. It’s possible that you’ll need a third dose to complete the process. That would mean a third day to be going through the process.”

“Would the surgery be any different from the way you described it before?” she asked.

“No. You’re right in the middle of the range for a D&C. It takes longer today, and we’d still want you to stay close for the rest of the day, but you wouldn’t have to come back, except in the rare event of a complication. It’s entirely up to you, Athena.”

Stupidly, Athena looked to Sam. Like he had the right answer—or any right to answer.

He only stared back, looking concerned but not inclined to provide an answer.

A surgical procedure scared her. Surgery hurt. She could take some pain, but that didn’t mean pain didn’t hurt. And she was just totally over this whole infuriating mess. Even from the grave, Hunter was hurting her.

But going through three days of appointments and medications and not being sure it was working sounded awful. That would probably hurt worse.

“Will it hurt?”

Sam flinched subtly before he gave that question sound. And he peered deeply into her eyes as he gave her the doctor’s answer. “Both options are uncomfortable after you leave here. The medication a bit more. In either case, you’ll bleed and cramp for several days, up to about two weeks. Until the tissue is purged, the medication option will make heavier cramping. The D&C option, women have varying experiences with the procedure itself. Most feel some pinching and cramping, and that’s it. Some feel almost nothing. For others, it’s fairly uncomfortable. Since you have Sam with you, we can give you some anesthesia, if you’d like. Something to put you into twilight sleep.”

Again, Athena shook her head at once. “I don’t want to be dopey. I can handle cramps.” She’d been imagining surgical pain. Like waking up with a zipper of stitches across her belly, for instance. She’d been a little kid then, but she remembered how intense the pain had been, and how totally unable to process it she’d been. The word ‘surgical’ freaked her the fuck out.

But that was the right call here, wasn’t it? It would be done today. No more blob today. Nothing left to deal with but a long, messy period. The final end of Hunter Cruz.

Fuck fear. She wanted this over. “I’ll do the surgical procedure.”

Sam frowned at her as he voiced her decision. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I fucking said it, didn’t I?” she snapped in sign—and then immediately regretted it. “Sorry. That was bitchy.”

He smiled. “I love you, Frosie. Be as bitchy to me as you want. I got you.”

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~oOo~

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Sam parked in the same spot he’d vacated hours ago, facing their room on the floor above. “Sit tight and let me come around and get you. Please.”

Athena nodded. The procedure had hurt, but not horribly. A few hard pinches and pokes, some cramping, a few weirdly unidentifiable sensations. It hadn’t taken long. Maybe twenty minutes? She wasn’t sure. Time had been wonky for her all day.

Now she felt crampy and generally sore and tired, but it wasn’t awful. It mostly felt like the first day of her period, when she was bloated and tender and could feel the monster of Day Two clawing its way forward. Day Two always sucked, but like virtually all women, she was capable of conducting her normal life around that suckage.

She could have climbed out of the truck on her own; she was perfectly capable of walking unassisted and had no physical need of Sam’s help and attention.

But something was going wrong in her head.

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