Page 19 of Ivory Legacy
I hated that I missed him. I hated how much I missed him.
“Jade Bentley?” A voice eventually called out, slicing through my reverie.
I rose, feeling every eye in the room briefly flicker towards me before returning to their own stories. The walk to the examination room felt like crossing a bridge between two worlds: one filled with unknowns, and the other brimming with the promise of life yet to unfold.
I stepped through the threshold of the examination room, a sterile sanctuary where life’s earliest whispers were first acknowledged. There was no time for hesitation; my heart throbbed with purpose for the tiny life within me.
“Jade Bentley?” Dr. Pineda, greeted me with a warm yet competent smile that belied the countless hours she’d dedicated to the welfare of mothers-to-be. Her eyes, sharp and knowing behind wire-framed glasses, scanned me quickly, assessing without judgment.
“Dr. Pineda,” I replied, extending a hand that she enveloped in her own—reassuring and steady. Her grip was firm.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” she suggested, gesturing toward the examination table draped with crisp paper that crinkled under my weight as I sat down. Dr. Pineda moved with quiet efficiency, gathering her tools of trade: the blood pressure cuff, a tape measure, and the Doppler for the baby’s heartbeat.
“Bit of a tight squeeze in these leggings,” I joked, trying to ease the tension knotting my stomach.
“Comfort is key,” she returned, chuckling lightly as she wrapped the cuff around my arm. “Blood pressure first.” The machine emitted a low whirr, squeezing rhythmically.
“Looks good,” she confirmed and jotted down the reading on my chart. She then applied a dollop of cold gel to my abdomen, making me flinch. “Sorry, it’s always a bit chilly.”
“No problem,” I murmured, my focus narrowing to the handset she moved in small circles over my skin. We both held our breaths, waiting.
Then, there it was—the galloping rhythm of a tiny heart that thundered like a hopeful drumbeat within the room. My own heart echoed the sound, a syncopated beat of life and love twining together.
The wand glided over my abdomen, and each pass amplified the surreal symphony inside me—a steady beat that surged through the air with a life force all its own. The digital heart monitor punctuated the silence of the room, an audible affirmation of the new life I was responsible for. Excitement bubbled up in me, mingling with a sudden twinge of anxiety as I pondered the weight of motherhood.
“Everything okay?” she asked, catching the flicker of concern in my eyes.
“More than okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s just... this is all becoming so real.”
“Understandable,” she replied, her demeanor reassuring. “You’re about to embark on one of the most challenging, yet rewarding journeys of your life.”
“Rewards mixed with sleepless nights and endless worries, I presume?” I quipped, trying to mask the gravity of my thoughts with humor.
“Exactly,” Dr. Pineda chuckled, removing her gloves. “But remember, it’s okay to feel overwhelmed at times. What matters is that you’re not alone in this. Do you have any questions or concerns? Anything you want to discuss?”
I hesitated, the list of uncertainties running through my mind like a ticker tape. “How do I prepare for something like this? Being a parent—especially under... unconventional circumstances.”
“Focus on what you can control,” she advised, sitting down beside me. “Start with the basics. Nutrition, rest, avoiding stress—which I know may be easier said than done for you.”
“Stress seems to have taken a liking to me,” I admitted with a wry grin.
“Let’s tackle it together then,” she offered, her voice firm but kind. “We’ll monitor you closely, make sure you’re both healthy.And if anything concerns you, no matter how small it may seem, I’m here.”
“Thank you, Dr. Pineda,” I said, truly grateful for her support. “That means more to me than you might realize.”
She nodded. “It’s surprisingly common, y’know. Women breaking up with their partners after they finally manage to get pregnant. Makes it more challenging, but…it’s not impossible. Millions of women do it every single day. You can do this. And we’re here for you. You should remember that.”
I had no idea how she realized that was sort of what I was struggling with, but I supposed it really must have been very common.
“Actually, there is one thing you could help me with” I said, my curiosity wrestling with the trepidation that had taken root in the pit of my stomach. “The genetic testing... I haven’t checked the results. I’ve been worried about...I didn’t want to go online because I don’t want my ex to see that I checked the results.”
Dr. Pineda raised an eyebrow, her expression a blend of concern and professionalism. “I can assure you our patient confidentiality is stringent. But I understand your apprehension given your situation. There’s some literature I can give you which you might find valuable. There’s also a domestic violence hotline–”
That practically made me wince. I had no idea how I could begin to explain to her that this wasn’t domestic violence. All I could do was nod, feeling numb.
“Can we go over them now?” My voice was steadier than I felt, a testament to years of training myself to maintain composure under scrutiny.
“Of course.” She pulled up my file on her tablet, swiping through screens with deft fingers. “Everything looks normal. No indicators for common genetic conditions. Would you like to know the sex?”