Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

Then I explained about my earlier failed pregnancy and how the obstetrician at Greenwich Hospital told me I could never have children.

'Maybe he was wrong', Dr Grayson said, then asked me to roll up my sleeve. He drew some blood. He handed me a glass vial and directed me towards the toilet. When I returned with the urine sample, he told me to come back two days later for the results.

'But I already know the outcome', I said. 'I can't be pregnant. It's an impossibility'.

But I kept getting sick every morning. When I returned to Dr Grayson's office two days later, he looked up briefly from my file and said, 'The test was positive'.

I was dazed beyond belief. I didn't know what to say. Except, 'That can't be'.

'These tests are rarely wrong'.

'In this instance, I'm certain it's mistaken'.

The doctor shrugged with disinterest.

'If you want to be delusional, that's your choice'.

'What a horrible thing to say'.

'You are pregnant, Miss Smythe', he said, putting particular emphasis on my single status. 'That is what the test said - so that is my clinical diagnosis. Choose to believe it or not'.

'May I have a second test?'

'You can have as many tests as you want - as long as you are willing to pay for them. But I would also advise you to see an obstetrician as soon as possible. You're staying locally, yes?'

I nodded.

'The nearest obstetrician is Dr Bolduck in Brunswick. He's located off Maine Street, right near the college. I'll give you his number'.

He scratched a few numbers on to a prescription pad, then tore it off and handed it to me. 'You can settle with my receptionist on the way out'. I stood up. 'One last thing, Miss Smythe', he said.

'Yes?'

' Congratulations'.

Ruth was waiting for me in the lobby. I paid my bill, then nodded that I was ready to leave. Prior to this, I hadn't told her about the pregnancy test. I certainly wasn't going to tell her now. But my face betrayed my worries. Because, as soon as we were outside, she touched my arm and said, 'It isn't anything fatal, is it?'

I nearly managed a laugh. 'I wish it was'.

'Oh dear', she said. And I instantly realized that I had given the game away. Suddenly I put my head against her shoulder. I felt stunned, stupefied.

'How about a nice breakfast somewhere?' she asked.

'I might throw it all up'.

'Then again, you might not'.

She brought me to a little diner near the Iron Works. She insisted that I eat scrambled eggs and home fries and two thick buttery slices of toast. I was reluctant at first - but quickly dug in. After three days of nausea, the food tasted wonderful. It also helped dull the shock of my news.

'I know you're a private kind of person', Ruth said, 'so I'm not gonna pry. But if you want to talk about it...'

I suddenly found myself telling her everything that had happened to me since my last stay at the cottage. It all came pouring out. She blanched when I told her about losing the baby and being told I would never conceive again. She took my arm when I informed her about Eric - and Jack's role in my brother's collapse.

'Oh, Sara', she whispered. 'I wish to God I'd known about your brother'.

'I doubt his death made the Maine papers'.

'I never read 'em anyway. No time'.

'Believe me, you're better off'.

'What a terrible year for you'.

'I have known better ones', I said. 'And now, just to unhinge things completely, it turns out I'm pregnant'.

'I can only begin to imagine the sort of shock you're feeling'.

'About a ten on the Richter scale'.

'Are you pleased?'

'I've never been in a train wreck - but I think I now understand what it feels like'.

'I don't blame you'.

'But once the after-shock wears off... yeah, I'm going to feel pretty damn pleased'.

'That's good'.

'This is like news from outer space. I had accepted the fact that I would never have kids'.

'That must have been hard'.

'Very'.

'Doctors often get things wrong'.

'Thankfully'.

'May I ask you something?'

'Of course'.

'Are you going to tell him?'

'No way'.

'Don't you think he deserves to know?'

'No'.

'I'm sorry - it's none of my business'.

'I can't... won't... tell him. Because I can't forgive him'.

'I could see how that would be hard'.

I heard the ambivalence in her voice.

'But... ?' I asked.

'Like I said, Sara - it's not for me to be sticking my nose into some tough stuff'.

'Go on - say what you want to say'.

'It's his kid too'.

'And Eric was my brother'.

Silence.

'You've got a point there. Matter dropped'.

'Thank you'.

I raised my coffee cup. And said, 'But it's good news'.

She raised her cup and clinked it against mine. 'It's great news', she said. 'The best news'.

'And totally unbelievable'.

Ruth laughed.

'Honey', she said, 'all good news is unbelievable. For a lot of very obvious reasons'.

Eleven

I WENT TO see Dr Bolduck a few days later. I braced myself for another flinty, stern medic - who would glare at my ringless finger and play the New England Puritan. But Bolduck was a pleasant, genial man in his late thirties - a Bowdoin graduate who'd returned to his college town after medical school to set up practice. He put me at my ease immediately.

'So, Dr Grayson referred you to me?' he asked. I nodded. 'Has he been your doctor for long?'

'I'm new to the area. And I'm already on the lookout for a new GP'.

'Really?'

'I don't think we hit it off too well'.

'But Dr Grayson is such a delightful man', he said, arching his eyebrows in Groucho Marx style. 'With the most wonderful bedside manner'.

I laughed, then said, 'I don't think he liked the fact that I wasn't married. Does that bother you, Doctor?'

He shrugged. 'Your private life is your private life, Miss Smythe. All I care about is getting you and your baby through the pregnancy safely'.

'I still don't believe I'm pregnant'.

He smiled. 'That's a common complaint'.

'What I mean is: medically speaking, I cannot be pregnant'.

Then I took him through everything that had happened five years ago at Greenwich Hospital. Unlike Dr Grayson, he expressed immediate interest, and asked for the name of the obstetrician who'd dealt with me then.

'I'll write to him and request your medical records. In the meantime, I agree with you: a second pregnancy test would be prudent'.

He took a blood sample. I filled a vial with urine. I arranged to see Dr Bolduck in a week's time. I returned to the cottage at Popham Beach. I tried to come to terms with my news. I had craved a child. I had quietly mourned my inability to have one. When Jack came back into my life, this grief intensified - though I refused to articulate it in front of him. Now I was pregnant (unless, of course, that test was very wrong). Had I been a Christian I would have called it a miracle. Had I still been with Jack, I would have been thrilled beyond belief. Instead, I felt a curious mixture of elation and despondency. Elation because I would finally have a child. Despondency because I would never speak with the child's father again. As bad ironies go, this one was particularly grim.

My mind was constantly haunted by thoughts of Eric and Jack. My grief overtook me without warning. One moment I would be reasonably collected; the next, I would be transported to the edge of the abyss. I remembered the distress I felt in the months after I'd miscarried - how grief became a shadowy companion, stalking me unawares. This time, its presence was more acute, more constant. Because Jack had decimated everything. That knowledge strengthened my resolve to make no contact with him about my pregnancy. He could not be trusted. He was beneath contempt. He would have nothing to do with this child.