The grocery and farm store are the only places to purchase children’s Halloween costumes. For variety or larger sizes, one must drive forty-minutes or shop online. This is one of the 4,724 reasons I want to escape this town.
While enjoying a meal with Alma after church, my phone vibrates. It’s a group text from Adrian.
Adrian: Video call 7pm 2night
Me: Yes call my phone
Savannah: see u tonight
Salem: I can’t wait
Bethany: will be there
Promptly at seven, a video call from the girls rings my phone. The girls ask a million questions about my new room and the city of Columbia. I pull Alma into the video call for a bit to meet all of them. Later, I share about Trenton’s visit, brag about Alma’s adorable grandsons, and show them Alma’s new puppy named McGee.
The girls chat about the latest gossip in Athens, the weather and crops, Adrian shares about her business, Savannah about the busy grocery store, then Salem and Bethany complain about their classes.
I miss my friends, and Columbia seems so far away. I know I wanted to get settled in before classes started, but I hate that I needed to leave weeks earlier than I originally planned. All too soon, we must end our call.
After much discussion, I relent and allow Alma to contact the obstetrics physician she and her late husband were close friends with. She assures me he is one of the best in the state. I worry about affording him, but she insists on taking care of that for me. I will not allow this. When I arrive at my first appointment, I will inform the doctor and his staff that I refuse to allow her to cover my medical expenses.
I find, in Alma’s world of connections, things happen quickly at Alma’s request. I’m anxious to learn if others quickly do her bidding out of fear or out of love for this caring woman. She called Dr. Anderson’s office, and I have an appointment the next day. In a city as large as Columbia, this has to be unheard of. Even in Athens, we were lucky to get an appointment in two to three days’ time. So, now I have little time to prepare myself for my first pregnancy appointment.
I’ve read the first few chapters in the pregnancy book Alma gave to me. It seems very comprehensive. Although it tells me what to expect on my first physician visit, I am still very nervous.
My nerves stem from my desire to be a great mom from the start. I worry that the changes I saw in my own mother after my father’s passing might be genetic, affecting my ability to protect my baby. I want to be the mother I had in my childhood, but I worry things weren’t the way I remember them. I’m nervous that my limited funds might not allow me to provide the best care possible. I also worry my bouts with depression may hinder my parenting.
As I am a single-mother, I am prepared for some to be unsupportive of my situation. I don’t have to like it, but I’ve vowed to be strong. I fear that guilt will be the thorn in my side during my pregnancy. Although I know I am keeping my secret for the right reasons, I struggle with the guilt of not sharing with those I love.
Finally, thoughts of tomorrow’s appointment fade and sleep finds me. As is my new routine, I wake twice to go to the bathroom and drink a glass of water. I find I am often very thirsty which, of course, leads to frequent trips to the restroom. It’s a vicious cycle that I am sure I will endure the entire pregnancy.
The next morning, I wake after nine. I hear Alma’s television on in the kitchen as I descend the stairs. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee pulls me towards the kitchen. I’ve always loved the smell of coffee; I just haven’t fallen in love with the taste. I’m lucky, because I would need to avoid it for the next several months if I did like it.
“I didn’t start breakfast,” Alma states as I enter. “Morning sickness can be harsh. Smells and tastes can set it off. I wanted to see how you felt first.”
“Alma, you are so kind.” Not only is she giving up a part of her house, but now she pauses her breakfast on my account. “So far, no signs of morning sickness. In fact, I’m starving.” I look around the counters. “I think I’ll fix some toast with peanut butter.”
Alma enjoys her toast with jam. When she insists I didn’t eat enough for breakfast, I promise to eat cereal in a couple of hours. She chuckles at my love of cereal. Apparently, she thought I was exaggerating when I told her I eat a bowl or two every day. It’s actually my favorite snack.
An hour later, I am sitting beside Alma in the waiting room of the physician’s office. Women in varying stages of pregnancy surround us. Some have a doting man with them, others have children in tow. I pat Alma’s hand, glad I am not alone.
When my name is called, and I follow the petite nurse into the hall. She records my weight, takes my temperature, then escorts me to the exam room. I find the room much bigger than any room I’ve been in before. I’m instructed to fill a cup for my urine sample, remove all my clothes, and put on the gown with openings in the front. My situation just became very real to me.
As I sit on the crisp, crackling paper upon the exam table, I busy myself looking around the room. The posters on the wall share information on stages of pregnancy, location of the fetus moving through the birth canal, and even possible sleep positions for comfort. I ignore the metal utensils and tube of cream on the counter beside the sink. I notice many flyers filed on the side of a counter set at desk height.
A light rap at the door signals the doctor’s entry. “Good morning, Madison, I’m Dr. Anderson and this is my nurse, Dawn.” He makes his way to the stool at the desk and opens my chart on his tablet. Instead of reading my vitals or examining me, he sets the tablet down and rolls towards me. “You’re a friend of Alma’s. I’m so very glad she sent you my way. How do you like Columbia so far?”
This is not how I envisioned my appointment beginning. I explain Alma has taken me many places to shop, to walk, and to eat. I admit, I am looking forward to classes starting in about a month. He admits that Alma told him about my major and that I am starting as a junior instead of a freshman. He comments that I should consider medicine if learning comes easy to me, but admits teaching is a noble profession that is the backbone of all other careers.
Finally, he directs his attention to the reason for my visit. “So, you’ve taken a pregnancy test or two with a positive result. Let’s get started.” He sticks a strip in my urine that quickly gives him a positive pregnancy result. “Yep, very pregnant,” he chuckles. “Can you tell me when you had your last period?”
“I can do better than that,” I state. “I know the exact night I conceived.”
He furrows his brow and explains, “It is very difficult to pinpoint the moment of conception. We usually count from the last day of the last period and use that as our base.”
“I’ve only had sex once. It was the night of June Eighth. Well, I guess I had sex more than once that night, but that is the only date I’ve been with anyone.” I shrug. “We used condoms, but since then I’ve read they are not one-hundred percent effective.”
Dr. Anderson studies me for a minute to judge my honesty. “Alma shared some of your situation with me.” He looks a bit embarrassed of his admission. “The father is not in the picture?”
“Oh, he would be if I told him. He got drafted by the Chicago Cubs. We were supposed to attend MU together this fall. He was to play baseball for the Tigers. Anyway, he got drafted, had 48 hours before he reported to their triple-A team in Des Moines, and I refuse to tell him about the pregnancy, because he will give up his dream of baseball to farm and care for me and the baby.” I quickly swallow and continue rambling. “He’s a good guy. The best. In fact, he’s the perfect guy to have a family with. But I know how important his dream is. It was a dream he shared with his father before he died. I can’t be the reason he gives up on his dream. So, I will attend school, have the baby, and a year or two down the road, when he is settled in Major League Baseball, I will tell him about our baby.” Talk about diarrhea of the mouth—I’m out of breath.
Dr. Anderson looks to his nurse then back at me. “Not an easy situation to be in at the age of eighteen. Alma stated you have no family support either. I’m glad you have Alma with you during your pregnancy, but I am worried that you might need to tell others for additional help.”
I know he only wants what is best for his patient and the baby, but I know my life situation better than anyone. I am doing the right thing for now. I can do this. With Alma’s help, I will cope with the changes and stress of pregnancy and college and come out strong in the end.
Dr. Anderson, with the help of his nurse, complete my first patient exam. We discuss prenatal vitamins, eating healthy, exercise, and other information I need to know about the upcoming appointment schedule. He tells me to call his office with any questions or if any unusual symptoms arise. He says his nurse will give me a print out of important numbers to call in case of emergency. Then, he says goodbye.
“Um, Dr. Anderson,” I call. His nurse has already exited the room. “One more thing.” I wring my hands in my lap. “I want to pay for my appointments myself. I don’t want Alma to cover my medical bills. She is already doing me a big favor by sharing her house; it wouldn’t be right for her to pay for my medical bills, too.” Not that I know how I will be able to pay for the bills, I think to myself.
“I agree,” he states, resuming his seat on the rolling stool. “But Alma isn’t paying for your treatment. I am taking on your case pro-bono.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. Please, let me make payment arrangements,” I attempt to argue.
“You didn’t ask—I offered. I do research with the university. As an alumnus, I like to assist students when I can. From what I hear, you are an exceptional student. You will be one that MU can be proud of. I only want to help ensure you complete your education. For most appointments, I am only out my time. Occasionally, we will run a test that I will cover. All I ask in return is that you take care of yourself and your little one while you earn your degree.”
I stare at him. Is this guy for real? Who does this? I shake my head. I am finding many people around Alma do these types of things. The blessing I thought I found in a place to live off campus is turning out to be a mega-blessing in disguise. I only hope I am able to repay the favors I am being given.
I set my Mac on the dresser, open the webcam, and begin recording. I walk to the edge of the bed and take a seat. I ensure I see myself on the screen and begin.
“Today is August Eighth; I had my first obstetrics appointment with Dr. Anderson today. He assures me I am nine weeks pregnant. Both the baby and I are in good health. Thus far, we have no cause for concern. Well, he was a bit worried that I don’t have a large support system, but I believe Alma and I will be able to handle this. I haven’t gained any weight yet. I don’t have any signs of morning sickness. I am tired all the time. I’ve learned I like naps, and if I didn’t have to pee, I would sleep through the night.” I pause, trying to think of anything else I wanted to share.
“Hamilton, you have a game tonight in Des Moines versus the New Orleans Baby Cakes. You’re slated to be the starting pitcher.” I lift the laptop to show the large schedule I have on the wall, the whiteboards with Hamilton’s ERA and pitching rotation. “Alma joins the baby and I as we comb the internet for stats, pictures, and videos of you and the I-Cubs. I not only have ESPN app alert me and the baby of my favorite team, the Cardinals, but also the Cubs now, too. I hope I don’t lose my Cardinals fan club membership for doing so. I’ve even set up Google alerts on the phone you gave me for the ‘I-Cubs’, ‘Hamilton Armstrong+baseball’, and ‘Chicago Cubs+pitch.’” I return the laptop to the dresser. “That way, the three of us will know any news as soon as it goes public. It turns out your three biggest fans all live in Columbia, MO under one roof.” I turn sideways in front of the webcam. “So, you can watch our little bundle grow…” I lift my T-shirt over my head. My abdomen is visible in my sports bra and low-waist shorts. “We are nine weeks pregnant. Our little baby is right in here.” I point to my belly. “We love you and will post again soon.” I walk over and stop the recording as tears well up in my eyes.
I want to create this visual journal for Hamilton. I want him to be able to see everything. I know my recording is no replacement for him helping me during the pregnancy, but he will be able to watch these videos and know we were thinking of him always. I hope in some small way, it will allow him to sort of experience our baby from the start.