Page 46 of The Lookback

“It’s measuring between 10 and 12 weeks,” the doctor says. “And it looks just fine to me. The head starts out much larger than the body and slowly grows into it, but even when babies are born, their heads are much larger than an adult’s would be. Babies can’t even touch their hands together above the top of their heads, for instance.”

I exhale for some reason, like I’m relieved that it’s healthy, which is ridiculous. We’re only doing an ultrasound to rule out an ectopic pregnancy. My hands are shaking, and my heart’s racing, and the baby keeps kicking on the screen, and it’s all too much. I have to look away. I know it’s still small, but I didn’t expect it to look like anything yet. What’s ten weeks? Two and a half months?

“How could I not have known?” I ask. “Isn’t that weird?”

“You had a Mirena to prevent this from happening,” the doctor says, removing the probe and then clicking away on a lot of buttons on the keyboard. “That particular device is also known to eliminate periods, the lack of which is usually the first indicator of pregnancy.”

“That’s kind of a stupid side effect for a contraceptive, now that I think about it.”

“It’s a huge bonus for many women,” the OB says. “But it can also make it hard to know when you’re pregnant. You haven’t gained much size or mass yet.” She shrugs. “It’s not uncommon not to notice. I’ve had people come in who were in their third trimester who had no idea.”

She must be kidding. “Don’t they feel the baby moving?”

“It’s actually pretty common with a first pregnancy that people mistake any movement they feel for acid reflux or indigestion, and even seasoned mothers usually don’t feel the baby before about sixteen weeks, so it’s not at all strange you wouldn’t know.”

“Indigestion?” I can’t help flattening my hands against my stomach. “They think it’s indigestion?” It seems nuts.

She clicks a few more buttons and a little paper prints off. She hands it to me. “Congratulations. It looks like a very healthy baby, and you’re out of the scariest miscarriage risk window in the next week or so.” She leans a little closer. “At this age, your odds of getting pregnant hover right around five percent each month, and there appear to be no signs of abnormalities so far. Of course, you’d want to get a full ultrasound read by a radiologist to confirm all that, and you’ll need to start taking a prenatal vitamin right away if you want to keep it. If not, you can make an appointment for that too.”

“I—I’m not sure?—”

“I have to go back and check on Donna, but I’ll swing back by in an hour or so to answer any additional questions you may have.”

“Should I be worried that you didn’t see the Mirena?” I ask.

“If you do a complete ultrasound, they can search for it, but I didn’t see it in the uterus or anywhere obvious.” She stands and then shrugs. “Sometimes they just fall out.”

“Fall out?” I ask. “Are you kidding?”

She shakes her head. “Nope. That’s the one percent they talk about when they say it’s ninety-nine percent effective.”

I’m doing the math in my head as she walks out. One percent of the time, Mirena fails. Five percent of women my age can get pregnant. So that’s like one percent times five percent. . .My chances of having this baby are five one-hundredths of a percent. “I did everything that anyone reasonable would do,” I say. “I tried to prevent this from happening.”

“I know you did,” Abigail says. “No one could accuse you of being careless.”

I flop back against the pillow. “I can’t believe it.” But I keep thinking of that little otter, over and over. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I’ll call Steve and let him know I need to stay overnight,” Abby says. “I can keep an eye on you and Donna both.”

“Why?” I sit up. “Why do you need to keep an eye on me?” I narrow my eyes.

“I looked it up, Helen. Abortion’s legal in Wyoming, but only until 24 weeks. Since we’re already here. . .” Abby inhales and exhales slowly, and then she forces a smile.

“What if I said I might keep it?” I don’t even understand the words coming out of my mouth, but something about Abby being so supportive, for her, and seeing that little otter. . .

I don’t want a baby.

I don’t.

I never have.

I don’t even understand why Donna and Abby and, to a certain extent, even Amanda seem to love babies. Kids are fine, I guess, but the babies just take over and ruin everything. My board would lose their minds. My body would be wrecked. My life would be desecrated.

But that little otter.

“Excuse me?” Abby asks. “I feel like I misunderstood you.”

“What if I kept it?” I ask again.

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