It Takes Guts

Liam was able to get me scheduled in with my family physician the Tuesday after my ultrasound. The fact that his mother is a well-respected physician in the area is not something he was afraid to mention when they initially said it would be two weeks before they could squeeze me in. Unfortunately, Liam couldn’t take another day off, so here I am, sitting in the stark waiting room, surrounded by strangers and cheap vinyl furniture. I’m playing with my phone to distract myself, eager to see Dr. Rowe for the first time since my follow-up appointment after losing Sugar.

“Chelsea Davis,” a fellow ginger calls from the entrance to the hallway leading to the exam rooms.

I shove my phone into my shoulder bag, rushing off behind the woman who looks like she could be related to me. Given that I had a brother I knew nothing about, it’s not something I can assume isn’t true.

“Take a seat in here and the doctor will be with you shortly.”

Oh yay. Now I can sit in here and be anxious. I read every word on the ‘Dangers of Smoking’ poster, as well as the labelled diagram depicting a human’s ear, nose, and throat. I consider myself an expert by the time Dr. Charles Rowe enters the room.

“Hi, Chelsea. I gather you’ve gotten some exciting news since I saw you last.” He has a faint British accent, having been born in the UK and emigrating to Canada as a teen. His white hair and weathered hands betray his age, which I’d estimate to be around sixty. He’s old school. No nonsense.

I sit on the exam table, picking at my fingernails as I reply, “you can say that again.” Releasing a deep exhale, I try to breathe out some of my worries, but my stomach is a ball of nerves.

“I see here the ultrasound estimates your due date around October 13^th, and from what they could tell, all three babies look fine so far, but it is early.”

Repeating my due date in my head, I reassure myself everything will be fine. “Okay. We have seven months to plan for them, right? To figure out what we’re going to do? It scared me to have one child; but three?” I rattle off my thoughts and, in just a matter of words, my convincing has been undone.

“Actually, you’re past ten weeks, and triplets are born prematurely, so I’d say you have more like five months… or less.”

I look at Dr. Rowe with wide eyes, noticing his gritted teeth. “I’m sorry? Five? As in one hand? I’m supposed to have three children in five months? I have five months to grow three fully formed human beings?” The enormity of the task ahead of me, over not just the next five months, but eighteen-plus years, is a lot to process.

“Well, Chelsea, something you might want to consider is selective reduction.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “What is ‘selective reduction?’”

“We can choose one or two of the embryos that look healthiest and stand the best chance of survival and eliminate the others.”

Did I hear that correctly? “I’m sorry. Did you just say you want me to choose which of my babies lives and which dies? Is that really what you’re suggesting?”

“It’s not quite so simple. We do tests to determine which are most likely to survive.”

I think I understand the grizzly mom mode that I teased Zara about for years, because I feel it now. “Doctor, first of all, they are not ‘which’, they are ‘who’. Second, in your years of your practice, have you ever been wrong?”

His brows furrow. “Yes. Unfortunately, medicine isn’t an exact science, but we do our best.”

“Right, and you’re asking me to choose which one of my babies has a chance at life based on your flawed science?”

“It is highly accurate, Mrs. Davis. It’s not a shot in the dark.”

“I respectfully disagree, Dr. Rowe. No one will be reducing my babies. I will assume all risks to myself, and them, but they are all getting a chance to live.”

“Mrs. Davis, perhaps you should discuss the option with your husband before making a final decision. Here’s a pamphlet for you to look through on the risks of multiples births, so you can make a more informed decision.”

The audacity of this man.

“I’m well enough informed, thank you. Thank you for your time, doctor.” I grab my coat and storm out of his office, ready to put some distance in between myself and the man suggesting I eliminate my unborn children. When we lost Sugar, I felt a pain I didn’t know possible. Choosing to do that on purpose? No. It’s not an option. I don’t care what science says.

When I arrive home, I call Liam to relay the information from my appointment. As I expected, he is outraged, maybe even more so than me.

“Should I call my mom and ask what she thinks? Not about the reduction, but about the doctor? Maybe he isn’t the right one for us, Chels. I know you went to him because you were in a pinch, but we can look elsewhere.”

I lean back on the couch, kicking my feet up onto our rustic coffee table, careful to avoid the vase of fake flowers in the centre. It occurs to me with three kids around, things like that are going to have to find a new home. “I’ll be referred to an obstetrician soon, so I don’t have to deal with him for long. I just feel better knowing you agree with me and have my back.”

“Always. You know that.”

I do know that. He’s always my voice of reason when I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown. He’s my sounding board when I need to hash out the hundreds of nonsensical feelings bouncing around my head. He’s my rock when I need support and strength. So knowing he agrees with me on this issue confirms my decision was justified.

“I do. I’ll make something for dinner and we can talk when you get home. Sorry for bugging you at work. That was just outrageous, and I needed to vent.”

“You never bother me. Ever. And I’m glad you called. Hearing your voice makes a long day at the office more tolerable. I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After a few moments to decompress from this morning’s events, trying to wrap my head around having five months to prepare for our population explosion, I finally relax. Beyond that, I know Dr. Rowe was just sharing what he felt was a reasonable option, and I wouldn’t judge anyone who went that route, but I can’t. I could never look one of our children in the eye, say “I love you” to them, knowing my decision could have just as easily ended their life.

My mind is made up, and I’ll do whatever I can to give all three babies happy, healthy lives. Even if that means gaining eighty pounds, and having my guts rearranged to pull them out of my body.

Now is a good time to look up some information on multiples c-sections online.

Whaaa… Why? I knew I shouldn’t have done that. I knew I shouldn’t have done that. Liam is always telling me not to consult Dr. Google and look at what I went and did. Note, do not look at C-section photos, nor read C-section horror stories when you know one is in your near future.

“Chels?”

I frantically stuff my phone in the couch cushions like I’m having an illicit affair. Me and Google have been quite intimate over the last few hours.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Liam’s concerned eyes meet mine as I spin around on the sofa to face him.

“Oh, hey. I didn’t realize it was so late. I haven’t made dinner yet.”

Sitting down beside me, he leans over to give me a kiss, and it doesn’t escape my notice that our house isn’t a home until he’s in it. “That’s okay. Were you having a nap?”

I consider lying and saying I was, but I can’t do that to him. My face would give me away in an instant, anyway. “Uh. No. I was reading some stuff online.”

Liam huffs out a grumble. “Chelsea. What were you reading online?”

“I was reading about c-sections for multiples births, and pregnancy stories.” Liam tries to say something, but I continue, “I just wanted to have some insight about what to expect, but it was a terrible mistake because what I read… what I saw… well, it was horrific. I don’t know if I can do this.”

He pulls me toward him, chuckling, and the sound makes my stress level go from 3,000 to fifty in a heartbeat. “How many times do I have to tell you not to look up medical stuff online? It never turns out well.”

He’s right.

“I know; I was curious, and since no one in our families knows yet, I didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. It’s not like I can call you at work and bother you all day. I just—”

“I get it. I was googling things because I feel a little unprepared too. But maybe try sticking to looking up things like which diapers are best, or which cribs have the best safety ratings, yeah?”

“Yeah. Okay. What did you look up?”

Liam’s eyebrows nearly merge into his perfectly shaped hairline. “You don’t want to know.”