Hale Kilinahe: The Journal

JANUARY 4, 1998 Flashback: June 16, 1997. It's 9 am. I have a doctor's appointment in half an hour and I'm still in bed. I'm visiting my parents in Florida so I have little else to do that day and I have barely enough energy to get up and do this one thing. In fact, in the three weeks that I've been home, I haven't done anything but sleep. Either the jet lag is particularly bad, or something is very wrong. That's why I'm at the doctor. I've been struggling with gynecological problems on and off for about a year, including a disturbing-looking period just a few days ago. Mom comes in to wake me up. I say, "we're going to be late. Should we reschedule?" She says, "We won't be late." I pull on some clothes. I don't even notice what clothes I grab. The plan is to go, get this over with, come home, and maybe sleep some more. The thought has crossed my mind that I could possibly be pregnant, but that's just too scary to think about. I put in my contacts and brush my teeth in a fog and we leave. We walk into the waiting room. There are twenty women in the waiting room. Some of them have babies, some of them are middle-aged. I look at them all and think about how people in Florida are so different from people in Hawaii. None of these women are talking to any of the other women. It's been four years since I've been to this office, so I have to fill out another form and I describe my symptoms and write down that I've been diagnosed as having endometriosis. When I finish the form, I give it back to the cranky-looking secretary. I pick up a magazine. There's an article about "The Lost World." I finish that magazine and pick up another one. Fifteen or twenty minutes pass. The nurse calls me in. Finally. We go into a room and she looks over my form. I tell her about my spotting. She gives me a cup and tells me to fill it. Okay. When I come back, there's a paper gown on the examining table. I take off my clothes and put it on. I imagine some of the things they could tell me. I'm sick. I need estrogen replacement, like my friend. It's just residual Pill hormones. I sit on the table, feeling strangely content and just kind of swing my feet and stare into space. I look at a big clear plastic pail with a hazardous waste sticker on it. There's a knock at the door. It's the friendly-looking nurse. "Jennifer, I have some news." "Yes?" "You're pregnant." She shows me the plastic cup-thing with the big blue dot in it. She's beaming. I start to cry. I want to ask her, "are you sure," but I realize that that's a stupid question. The nurse's face crumbles and she says, "I guess this wasn't planned." I shake my head no. No, it most certainly wasn't. She fumbles for something to say. Eventually, she just tells me that the doctor will be in shortly and she hands me a box of Kleenex. I sob. The doctor comes in after way too long. He looks concerned; the nurse must have told him what was happening. He tells me that I have options; that if I have questions about them, please speak up. He asks, "When was your last period?." I tell him I'm not sure, but I'd had brown, clotty spotting. He gives me a pelvic exam. I tearfully ask him to tell me how far along I was. He said six to eight weeks. Finally, he tells me that he wants me to get a sonogram because he was concerned about the bleeding. He offers to make an appointment for me that afternoon. I say no thanks, I'm going back to Hawaii and I'll just get one there. I realize that I still have to face my mother. I walk into the waiting room and motion her over to the cashier's window. We silently stand in line behind a woman and her toddler and suddenly, I'm very frightened. This will be me. I can't get an abortion, and adoption would be very hard for me to handle. Mom writes a check, I tell her thank you in an almost inaudible voice, and we walk out the door. As we close the car doors, she asks me what the doctor said. I said I didn't want to talk about it. She asks me what's wrong. I say louder, almost hysterically, "I don't want to talk about it." She says, very quietly, "Baby, talk to me." "I'm pregnant," I say, and I imagine it sounded like the hardest thing I'd ever had to say. I don't remember the conversation that followed, but my mother was the picture of calm and rationality that day. She reminded me that I'm not eighteen anymore; it's not such a tragedy. It still took me a few days before I was positive that I was going to keep the baby. You know how I decided. My daughter will be born in about three weeks, and even now I can't imagine life without her. < BACK | TOP | NEXT >