Page 193 of Lovers' Dance: Vol. 2

“You’re wrong.” I half yelled at the woman before glancing back at Dante with wide eyes. “Tell her she’s wrong.”

He remained speechless. The smooth dark skin of his facesuddenly beaded with sweat around his hairline.

“Look here,” My lower body had finally caught up and I immediately rose to my feet, hands belligerently placed on hips. “I’m not pregnant.”

The doctor gestured to the chair. “Please take a seat.”

Slowly, I sank back down, mind racing and hands already frantically searching through my bag to find my phone as she began to explain about the tests. Knowing she and whoever had run the stupid tests were wrong, I quickly searched my ever loyal Google.

“It says right here there are instances where you can have a false result-”

Her pitying stare came with a firm denial, “True, but we’ve done a blood test, Madison, and the levels of HCG found are clearly indicative of a pregnancy.”

I wanted to scream. This woman wasn’t listening to me. I turned to Dante again, needing his support. His jaw was still hanging open.

“I’mnotpregnant.” The pitch of my tone caused a small wince on his face but Dante’s mouth remained open. The doctor was once more graced with my harassed attention. “I could bedying.” To prove my point I showed her the screen of my cell. “Or seriously ill. Look, it says right here it could be a problem with my pituitary gland, or,” I took a deep breath and whispered, “Cancer.”

“Don’t say that.” Dante grabbed my arm tightly as he leaned in towards me. “Please don’t say that word.”

I took another breath, terrified at the thought of facing such a disease. I didn’t know what the UK’s cancer survival rates were like. Were they low? Was it truly like that article in the newspaper which implied your survival rate depended on where in the country you lived?

The doctor, painfully aware both Dante and I were starting to freak out, straightened up in her chair and levelled us with a stern expression. “You’re most likely pregnant,”

“It could be something else though?” I countered. “My glands, maybe?”

She exhaled loudly. “Possibly.” Her expression was at war with her words but I didn’t care. I relaxed, so did Dante. The doctor looked at the notes she’d made. “You said you last had sexual intercourse in September, yes?”

“Around mid-September.” I nodded, no longer embarrassed andjust wanting this to end with a prescription for iron tablets to fix my anaemia and a smile from the doctor saying I would be fine…I would never miss breakfast again.

“Well, if you don’t mind waiting I could try and get you in for an ultrasound.” she advised. “If you are pregnant and you’re certain about the timeframe of sexual intercourse, you should be within the 12 weeks scan range now. The ultrasound will confirm the results of your blood test and my diagnosis.”

“If,” I stressed.

She nodded with that smile of hers and rose to her feet. “You can head back to the waiting room and I’ll try and sort out the ultrasound.”

Slipping my phone back into my bag I stood up with Dante and we left the examination room. Halfway down the hallway, Dante abruptly stopped and pulled me into an unexpected hug.

“Whatever happens,” were his only words as he squeezed me tight.

I held on for a moment before wriggling to escape his hold. Flashing a nervous smile and gripping my bag like a shield, I joked, “Bet you £100 this is all a big mistake.”

Dante gave me a lukewarm smile. “You’re probably right. No more missing breakfast.”

Our grins widened, completely false and fooling no one. Two hours, we spent two hours in the waiting room of A&E, before being sent to get an ultrasound. Dante held my hand through it all, and I said nothing. There was nothing to say.

When we eventually got called back to see the first doctor, our shocked silence drew to an end.

“So,” Her triumphant smile and cheery voice was unwanted. “Pregnant,” she glanced at paperwork in front of her. “With twins no less. There are some further tests you might need to have once we have your medical history. Even though you’re in the low-risk age group, bearing in mind the gestational time of your pregnancy, now is the ideal time for a combined test to check for Down’s Syndrome. You’ll need to see your GP and get assigned a mid-wife.”

Dante looked down at the photo in his hand showing the contents of my womb. I still couldn’t process it, I didn’t want to.

“How come she’s not showing?” Dante asked, worried as he kept sneaking looks at my silent form. “Are the babies ok? Shouldn’t she be showing by now?”

“Each pregnancy is different,” the doctor assured us. “And I’m assuming in line with your career you have to be in top shape.”

I nodded wordlessly.

“But sheshouldbe showing,” Dante insisted. “Are they too small?” He squinted at the black and white photo. “I can’t tell from this. Something is wrong. Shouldn’t they be bigger? She should be bigger.”

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