Faith Wish (9 page)

“Who's the father?”

Anne-Marie could only shake her head. She didn't want to try to explain the Brother Jackson circumstance, and besides, she was ashamed of shifting the focus from Eleanor to herself. It took nearly three minutes of tear-wiping and nose-blowing before she recovered enough composure to start answering Eleanor's questions.

“Are you sure?” Eleanor wanted to know.

“I'm sure,” she said, with her head still nuzzled into Eleanor's sweatshirt.

“How are you sure?”

“I took one of those home pregnancy tests. I got it at the drugstore.”
The Lord hates a liar, so why do I do it
?

“Not good enough, Baby. Not reliable enough.”

“But it says so, right on the package.”

“Not good enough. You need to go to a clinic for a real examination.”

“Huh?”

“I said, home pregnancy tests won't cut it. You need to visit a clinic.”

“I know I probably should.”

“And not just to confirm that you're pregnant, either. You need to get a complete examination if you are.”

“I know I should,” Anne-Marie said again.

“What do you plan to do about it?” Eleanor asked her.

Anne-Marie looked up to meet her sister's gray-green eyes. Nobody could listen like Eleanor, nobody ever could. “I don't know. I just get confused.”

“We need to visit a place like Planned Parenthood or the Women's Support Network. You need to know all your options and you need to understand all the health issues.”

Anne-Marie nodded but didn't answer. She buried her face again in the fresh lilac smell of her big sister's arm. She knew Eleanor's advice would be perfect.

“A big part of the confusion comes from not having enough information,” Eleanor was explaining. “The more knowledge you have, the less scary the dilemma.” She was stroking Anne-Marie's hair and pulling the wet strands out of her eyes.

Anne-Marie had a fleeting thought of Brother Jackson, long enough to wish she could introduce him to Eleanor, but knowing all the same that she wouldn't understand or appreciate him. It felt so sad when important parts of your life didn't fit together.

“I'll help you,” Eleanor promised. “Tomorrow, we'll do some networking until we can get the kind of help we need. Try not to worry too much; there are choices and options.”

Eleanor's advice couldn't have been more appropriate or sincere, but Anne-Marie understood the relief it provided was dead-end. The perfection was the problem. She was the unworthy sinner, pregnant and confused, while her big sister was perfect.

June 4

On Monday morning Anne-Marie found herself with an acute case of nerves before Eleanor even chose a space in the hot parking lot. The Planned Parenthood clinic was a long, single-story building of white brick, set at the end of a strip mall with a Papa John's Pizza and a huge Walgreen's. There were a few people on the corner, walking while holding large signs. One of the signs read:

ABORTION IS MURDER
!

Another one read:

A CHILD IS NOT A CHOICE
!

“Eleanor, there's no way I could go in here if they do abortions. I could never have an abortion.”

“We're not here to get an abortion,” Eleanor replied. “We're only here to get you some counseling.”

“Because the Lord would never condone an abortion. It's a sin, it's like a murder.”

“If you don't want to have an abortion, no one is going to make you. Did you hear what I just said? We're only here to get some counseling. Now don't be silly; get out of the car.”

The waiting room was air-conditioned and comfortable. The two sisters sat in padded chairs while waiting for a nurse named Mrs. Howard. There was a coffee table with stacks of literature and pamphlets dealing with pregnancy, prenatal care, assurances of confidentiality, and parenting.

Together, they browsed through a red leaflet called,
Am I Parent Material
? There were several pages of questions with cartoonish drawings as illustrations of dilemmas and choices. Some of the questions were obvious ones, such as, “Could I handle a child and a job at the same time? Would I have time and energy enough for both?”

The more disturbing questions in the pamphlet were under a heading called,
Have my partner and I really talked about becoming parents
? The first question in this section was
Does my partner want to have a child? Have we talked about our reasons
?

“Please put this away,” said Anne-Marie abruptly “I don't want to look at it anymore.” She hadn't told Brother Jackson she was pregnant, and it was something she didn't want to think about. She hadn't even seen him since that afternoon they were intimate. He was far away in Crawfordsville, Indiana. She felt her nerves on the rise again; only her sister's presence kept her from heading straight for the parking lot.

Their wait was a short one. Mrs. Howard invited them into her office five minutes later. She was a young black woman with an RN badge pinned to her blouse, so young she looked like she couldn't be much older than Eleanor. She folded her hands on her desktop before she asked, “So. Why are we here? What can we do to help?”

Anne-Marie glanced nervously in Eleanor's direction, but her big sister looked away.
She's putting the ball in my court
, Anne-Marie was quick to realize. She cleared her throat before she said, “I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant, but I could never have an abortion.”

Mrs. Howard smiled. “Fair enough. Nobody would try to convince you to have one if your mind is made up.”

“My mind is made up.”

“Fine. That's that, then.”

“And I have to know that everything we talk about is completely confidential. My parents don't know and if anybody ends up telling them, it has to be me.”

“I can assure you that anything you say will be held in absolute confidence. Nothing we do or say here will be shared with anyone else, okay?”

“And that's for sure?”

“That's for sure. Here's a statement of our confidentiality policy.” The nurse passed a paper across the desk in Anne-Marie's direction. “The same confidentiality rules that apply to others will apply to you. May I ask how old you are, Anne-Marie?”

“Seventeen. I won't turn eighteen until the end of August.”

“That makes you seventeen and three quarters, then. But still a minor. Let me ask you, first of all, why you think you're pregnant.”

“I took one of those home pregnancy tests, the kind you get at the drugstore.”
The same lie again? Why
? Maybe because it didn't sound as stupid as saying,
I just know I am; I can just tell
.

“Do you understand that those are occasionally not accurate? When was your last period?”

“The first of April.”

“One thing we do ask each client to do is take a pregnancy test here, to be sure we know what we're talking about. It's a simple urinalysis, and we can get the results in just a few minutes. Do you feel up to that?”

Anne-Marie glanced in Eleanor's direction again, but her big sister was looking over the confidentiality statement. Then Anne-Marie looked back at Nurse Howard. “Would this be in confidence, too?”

“Of course. Everything we do here will be in strict confidence.”

“Go ahead,” Eleanor joked. “You've peed in a bottle before.”

“Okay, okay.” Anne-Marie giggled, in spite of herself. She had peed in a bottle before, a time or two for cheerleader drug testing, in addition to other ordinary doctor visits.

This part was easy, because Anne-Marie felt like she was about to wet her pants anyway. When the specimen bottle was full, she washed her hands thoroughly before she gave it to Mrs. Howard. The nurse handed it to a lab technician, then took Anne-Marie back to her office.

“While we're waiting for the test results, I'd like to ask you a few lifestyle questions,” she said to Anne-Marie.

“Okay.”

“If it turns out you are pregnant, one of the first things you need to do is pay attention to your health habits. Do you smoke?”

“No,” she answered quickly. But she could feel Eleanor's eyes boring in from her left side, so she added, “Not anymore. I used to smoke with this boyfriend I had.”

“Good. No smoking. Any drugs?”

“No.” She could have added the same proviso with respect to the Richard part of her life, but she decided to keep the answers simple. Besides, all she ever did with him was smoke some cigarettes with a little rock powder inside the tobacco.

“You will want to watch your diet. One of the simplest good habits is to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, especially leafy ones like lettuce and cabbage.”

“I like salads,” said Anne-Marie.

“Good. They provide you with plenty of folic acid, which is important for women who are pregnant.”

Anne-Marie tried to remember if anyone had ever called her a woman before. The nurse asked her, “Are you taking any medication?”

“No. Sometimes I take aspirin when I get headaches. Or Alka-Seltzer when my stomach is upset.”

Nurse Howard smiled. “It sounds like you might be suffering from a little morning sickness.”

“More than a little.”

“I'm sorry. If you're pregnant, that's not an unusual set of symptoms, but it doesn't last forever.”

“Thank God for that.”

“But from now on take ibuprofen, not aspirin. You look to be in good health, Anne-Marie. Am I right?”

“Yes, I think so. I don't have much appetite lately.”

“Your appetite will return, dear. Trust me. You look healthy for sure, nice and firm and athletic.”

“I'm not really an athlete, unless you count cheerleading.”

“I do count that,” said the nurse with another smile.

Then the lab technician appeared with the test results, which he placed on Nurse Howard's desk. She studied the form for a moment or two while Anne-Marie squirmed. “Well?” she asked. “What does it say?”

“You were right. You're pregnant.”

Immediately, Anne-Marie felt the knot in her stomach tighten. “I don't know what to do,” she blurted out.

“It's a good sign that you're willing to admit it, which means it's good that you're here. When we aren't sure, the wisest thing we can do is ask for help.”

Eleanor spoke for the first time. “Can Anne-Marie come back for additional counseling at a later date?”

“Of course. Just make an appointment. If you make the decision to carry the child to term, which it sounds like you have, you can have the best prenatal care right here in our clinic. I can't say for sure, but if you haven't had a period for two months, I'd guess you must be six or seven weeks along.”

“Six or seven weeks,” Anne-Marie repeated numbly.

“In which case,” the nurse continued, “you'll need a thorough prenatal exam in a month or two. If we're going to have babies, we need healthy ones, as well as healthy mothers.”

First she called me a woman and now she calls me a mother
. It was all too, too scary. “Where would I have this exam?”

“You could have it here with us, or you could have it with your family doctor, if you prefer. I'm going to give you some literature to take home, as well as this form, which confirms you had a positive pregnancy test in our lab on today's date. You can show it to anyone or no one. That's up to you.”

One of the pamphlets Nurse Howard passed across was entitled
Options in Pregnancy
. “I urge you to read through this material carefully,” she said. “Hard decisions are so much harder when we don't know what our choices are.”

Anne-Marie glanced at Eleanor, who was smiling. The words were nearly the same as those her big sister had used the night before.

“After you do read through your list of options and do some serious reflecting, don't hesitate to call for another appointment. We can discuss possible choices in more detail. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Anne-Marie. But she was ready to leave now. “Thank you very much.”

“You're welcome.”

When they left the parking lot, Anne-Marie scrunched down low in her seat so she wouldn't have to look at the sign-carrying protesters. On the drive home, she leafed through the pamphlet called
Options in Pregnancy
, but wasn't able to pay close attention.

The pamphlet was divided into four distinct sections:
Parenthood, Marriage, Adoption
, and
Abortion
. That word again. She was sure that would be the ideal solution in Eleanor's mind. There were lists of specific line-items beneath each heading, but she was too anxious and upset to concentrate. She put the leaflet away in her purse.

“You're getting skinny,” Eleanor observed. “What are you eating these days?”

“I don't have much appetite. I won't be skinny for long, though, will I?”

“That sounds like an attempt at humor. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not now. Maybe later.”

“Are you going to discuss it with Mom and Dad?”

“Are you kidding?” said Anne-Marie.

“Maybe you should give them a chance.”

“Oh please. They wouldn't understand any of it. If they want to help, they can give me a little freedom so I don't feel like a prisoner all the time.”

Eleanor sighed before she goosed on into traffic. “They're parents, Anne-Marie. Sometimes people try to help the only way they know how.”

“If you're going to be mature, you can just shut up. I don't need it right now.”

“Okay, okay, my lips are sealed.”

June 5

Eleanor's plane departed on time from O'Hare. Before she boarded, she gave Anne-Marie a good-bye hug at the ramp. “You make sure and follow through,” she whispered.

“Okay.”