What am I going to do? What the hell am I going to do?
“You have options,” she tells me. “Utah has fairly restrictive abortion laws, but if that’s the route you decide to go, you have a little bit of time before it becomes a problem.”
“Abortion?” I say. The word feels foreign in my mouth, which is ridiculous considering it’s been skating around the outskirts of my mind
since I took the first test two days ago. Still, this isn’t a decision I ever thought I’d have to make. I’m one of the guys, have been one of the guys for my entire life. The fact that now everything is going to blow up because I’m not—because I have this uniquely female problem—makes me feel a little like I’ve stepped into another dimension. One that is very bizarre and even more sadistic.
My unease must be obvious, because the doctor rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “That isn’t the only option, Cam. You can also choose to have this baby. You’re young, in great physical condition. There’s no reason to believe this pregnancy won’t be successful. Either way, you don’t have to decide now. Take a few days, think about it.”
She goes over to the cabinets at the far end of the room and pulls out two folders.
“One of these is about abortion and one about pregnancy. Look them over. Think about what you want to do. They should answer most of your questions, but feel free to call me if you have any questions on either option.” She pauses for a moment, like she wants to let me absorb the words she’s saying. Too bad it isn’t working as I pretty much stopped listening after she said the two words that changed my life forever.
“So, do you have any questions I can answer in the meantime? I know this is a lot to think about.”
“Snowboarding.” It’s the only thing in my head, the only idea I can hold onto besides—everything is ruined. “I checked online yesterday and the answers are different depending on what site I went to. Can I snowboard while I’m pregnant?”
Dr. Amato looks sympathetic even as she shakes her head.
“I’m afraid not, Cam. Most doctors will say a woman is welcome, and even encouraged to continue her regular exercise regime during pregnancy. And while some doctors might not be against a gentle ride down the mountain on a snowboard if the woman is careful, that’s not what you’re talking about. You’re talking about competition-grade courses and runs in the half-pipe and falls that, when they happen, are hard enough to break bones and give concussions. Not to mention the fact that you’re three months along. You’ll start showing soon, and as that happens your center of gravity and your balance are going to change significantly. Staying balanced on a snowboard requires total knowledge of your body and how it moves—in a couple months, you won’t have that because it will be changing constantly as the pregnancy grows.”
I nod slowly, try to keep my face composed as I pretend that my entire life hasn’t just fallen down around my ears. I knew before I asked that she was going to say that, but I had hoped—I had hoped.
This was supposed to be my year. My year. I grew so much as a boarder last year, took things to a whole new level. Plus I’ve been weight-training all fall, working my ass off so that I’m in the best condition of my life going into this season. I wanted to take things to another level, wanted to push the limits on the tricks female boarders do. I was going to own the podiums this year.
Now all that is gone.
And what am I supposed to do with all my endorsement deals? I have contracts in place worth more than a million dollars—contracts that I’m supposed to fulfill. I can’t just—
“Breathe,” Dr. Amato says as she shoves my head down between my knees. “Just take a few seconds and breathe for me, okay? In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to breathe again, to be honest. But I do what she says, and after a minute or two, the dizziness recedes. Not the panic—that’s still here in spades—but at least I no longer feel like I’m going to pass out.
“I need—I need—”
“You need to sit here for a couple more minutes,” she tells me even as she opens the door and walks into the hallway. She’s back in just a few seconds, and a couple minutes after that, her nurse comes in with a large glass of orange juice.
“Drink it,” Dr. Amato tells me as the nurse holds it out to me. “It’ll steady you a little.”
I don’t want to tell her that there’s nothing in the world that can steady me right now, so I take the juice. Take a couple of long swallows before setting it aside.
“Keep sipping it while we talk,” she tells me as she settles back down on her stool.
I don’t want to talk anymore—don’t want to think anymore—but that’s not really an option right now. So I do what I’m told, drinking the juice slowly as she gives me a list of instructions that is both utterly incomprehensible and totally terrifying all at the same time.
“I’m going to give you some sample prenatal vitamins. I want you to take one a day for the next few days, while you’re thinking about your options. If you decide to keep the baby, it’s important to get you on vitamins as soon as possible as you’re already three months along. Also, I’m going to have my nurse do a blood draw before you leave today. We’ll test you for anemia and a few other things, plus we’ll check for STDs—which is standard in all pregnancies today. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Good to know since I figure my worry card is currently all filled up. I don’t say that, though. I don’t say anything as she finishes giving me instructions that will keep my baby safe and healthy. My baby.
My baby.
My baby.
The words tear through me, nearly bring me to my knees as I allow her to guide me out of the room.
“Remember to call me if you have any questions at all. Otherwise, I’ll expect to see you back here in a week, just to check things out.”
“A week?”