The Things We Do for Love

What mattered was this: Could she live with it?

She pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach. There was life inside her.

Life.

It was easier not to think about her pregnancy that way, easier to pretend a procedure that lasted fifteen minutes could wash away her problem. But what if it didnt? What if she mourned this lost baby for the rest of her life? What if she felt forever tarnished by today?

She looked up at David. "Are you sure?"

He paled. "What choice do we have?"

"I dont know. "

A woman walked into the waiting room. Holding a clipboard, she read off some names. "Lauren. Sally. Justine. "

David squeezed her hand. "I love you. "

Lauren was shaking as she got to her feet. Two other girls also stood. Lauren gave David one last, lingering look, then followed the white-clad nurse down the hallway.

"Justine, exam room two," the woman said, pausing at a closed door.

A frightened-looking teenage girl went inside, closed the door behind her.

"Lauren. Room three," the woman said a few seconds later, opening a door. "Put on that gown and cap. "

This time Lauren was the frightened-looking girl who walked into the room. As she disrobed and redressed in the white cotton gown and paper cap, she couldnt help noticing the irony: cap and gown. As a senior, this was hardly the way shed imagined it. She sat on the edge of the table.

Bright silver cabinets and countertops made her wince; they were too bright beneath the glare of an overhead light.

The door opened. An elderly man walked in, wearing a cap and a loosened mask that flapped against his throat as he moved. He looked tired, as worn down as an old pencil. "Hello," he said, looking down at her chart. "Lauren. Go ahead and put your feet in the stirrups and lie back. Get comfortable. "

Another person came in. "Hello, Lauren. Im Martha. Ill be assisting the doctor. " She patted Laurens hand.

Lauren felt the sting of tears in her eyes; they blurred her vision.

"Itll all be over in a few minutes," the nurse said.

Over.

A few minutes.

No baby.

The procedure.

And she knew.

She sat upright. "I cant do it," she said, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks. "I cant live with it. "

The doctor sighed heavily. His sad, downward-tilted eyes told her how often hed seen this moment played out. "Are you sure?" He consulted her chart. "Your window for having the procedure--"

"Abortion," Lauren said, saying the word out loud for the first time. It seemed to cut her tongue with its sharp edges.

"Yes," he said. "The abortion cant happen after--"

"I know. " For the first time in days, she was certain of something, and the sureness calmed her. "I wont change my mind. " She pulled off the cap.

"Okay. Good luck to you," he said, then left the room.