Screwed (6 page)

“Mrs. Warren, while I appreciate your discomfort, I think there are many more important things to consider than whether a few people might look askance at your daughter’s unfortunate situation. She is neither the first nor the last teenager to face such a decision, and whether or not the folks at your country club will judge you harshly based on the fact that your daughter engaged in premarital sex and got pregnant is, I think, irrelevant at this moment.” Dr. Ryder thought but did not say that having an abortion merely to save face was pretty much the ultimate in flouting one’s values.

Dozens of furious mothers had passed through the clinic, but there was a wild look in Mrs. Warren’s eyes that was disturbing. Praying Mrs. Warren wasn’t carrying a weapon in her oversized handbag, Dr. Ryder waited for the inevitable firestorm response, one hand resting protectively on Grace’s shoulder.

“I brought my daughter to this clinic for a simple medical procedure, not a counseling session, so I would appreciate it if you would keep your words of wisdom to yourself. You know nothing about my life, and I don’t need a graduate of some low-end medical school who can’t be more than thirty, with no children of her own, telling me how I should deal with
my
daughter.”

Out of all the clinics she could have chosen, Betsy wondered how she had the bad luck to choose the one occupied by a big-mouthed, know-it-all busybody. All she wanted to do was undo Grace’s misstep and never speak of it again.

Willing herself to remain calm, Dr. Ryder spoke quietly but firmly. “Part of the process is to explore the patient’s options, and I am merely trying to provide a neutral perspective in what I know is an emotionally charged situation. Ultimately the decision belongs to Grace, and I am simply doing my job by providing her with as much information as I can.” She paused and took a breath. “By the way, for your information, I am thirty-four years old, I have a six-month-old daughter, and if you consider Harvard Medical School low end, well, so be it.”

Turning to Grace, Betsy spoke through gritted teeth. “Grace, you have conducted yourself in an appalling manner. Your father and I are devastated that you would do this to us. At this point, your only concern should be to make this go away before all of our lives are ruined. There is really nothing to discuss. Do you understand me?” Betsy took a step towards the examination table and Grace recoiled, the tissue paper crackling loudly.

Genuinely afraid for Grace’s safety once she and her mother left the clinic, Dr. Ryder wondered whether she should be calling social services about this woman. “Mrs. Warren, if you would please return to the waiting room. I need to finish Grace’s exam, and this conversation isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Without a word, Betsy stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard that the framed diplomas on the wall shook. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Ryder. She’s just really mad at me, and ….”

Dr. Ryder held up one hand. “You don’t need to apologize for your mother. You have no control over her behavior.
I’m
so sorry that you’re facing all of this with no support system. Do you have anyone to talk to about this? Going through a crisis like this alone is not a good idea.”

“I have a best friend, Jennifer, who knows everything, and she’s been great. She told me to get an abortion without telling my family. I should have taken her advice.” Grace smiled sadly. Jennifer’s prediction was proving itself correct at every turn.

Sometimes this job was so difficult. The actual practice of medicine was the easy part. When she was dissecting cadavers in medical school, Emma Ryder never imagined that she would end up being a social worker as well as a doctor. “It’s a big decision, one that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life, whether or not you ever
choose
to have children someday. Not a decision to be made lightly or out of fear, because you’re the one who has to live with whatever you end up doing — not your parents, not your best friend, just you.”

“I don’t know what to do.” The tears cascaded down her cheeks, again.

“It’s not easy. There’s so much to think about. You don’t have any adults in your life to talk to? Right now you really need someone to take care of
you
, make you feel safe, whatever you decide.”

Grace shook her head.

“No aunts, grandmothers?” As she spoke, Dr. Ryder turned a dial on the ultrasound machine and held up the internal probe, a plastic cucumber in a latex sheath. “Now relax, and let’s take a look at you from the inside.”

“Nobody,” whispered Grace as she tried to relax her pelvic muscles, silently vowing that she would never let anything or anyone inside her ever again.

“There’s the baby, or the fetus,” Dr. Ryder said, pointing at a spot on the computer screen. “It’s about an inch across, but it starts growing pretty rapidly at this point. So if you do decide to terminate your pregnancy, it’s best if you take care of it within the next few weeks. It gets harder after that, both psychologically and technically.”

“That’s my baby,” Grace whispered, dumbfounded by the fact that she and Nick had in the course of rolling around in his Jeep actually created a human life. It shouldn’t be that easy to make a baby. It should be complicated and time-consuming, like knitting a sweater or building a house. Looking at the pulsating shape on the screen, Grace could now imagine the bean as a baby, and she was scared about what that meant.
It
was no longer just an
it
.

After Dr. Ryder had finished spelunking in Grace’s insides, she helped her sit up. “There you go. Your options are these. A termination, today or in the next couple of weeks, which we can perform here, or I can recommend a clinic closer to your home.” When Dr. Ryder first looked at Grace’s folder, she had wondered why they had come all the way to Massachusetts from Connecticut, but now she knew all too well. “If you choose to carry the baby to term, and you decide not to keep it, there are many couples who would love to adopt your baby. And there are many different kinds of adoption, which you can learn about if you decide to go that route. I’ll give you some brochures that explain the basics.”

Grace still felt shaky, but something had changed. This wasn’t just about her, or Nick, or her parents, anymore. There was a strawberry-sized person growing inside of her. Not exactly in a position to take a moral stance, Grace still didn’t feel like abortion was murder, like those religious fanatics she sometimes saw on the news. But she did worry that if and when she ever had children on purpose, she would be unable to look at them without reliving the moment when she eradicated what would have been an older sister or brother. Could she handle that kind of
what if
?

Even so early on, the fetus was recognizable as a person, with sort-of fingers and toes and ears. Grace was regretting having gone to see
Bodies … The Exhibition
in New York City, which had perfectly preserved fetuses at every stage of development on display. How could she get rid of what looked like a miniature baby, even if she wasn’t sure that a tiny creature that had no ability to survive on its own outside of her body was actually a baby? It was way too complicated an issue to tackle, especially in her current condition, with her hormones raging and her parents fuming. But she didn’t feel certain enough to take what on some level was a human life into her own hands.

“I think I’ve decided. I’m going to have it.” Saying it out loud confirmed her feelings, at least for the moment, or until her mother returned and started screeching at her.

Dr. Ryder sighed deeply. Grateful that she had never had to make such a decision, she had no firm opinion as to what was the right thing to do in this type of situation. “Okay. I don’t think your mother is going to be too happy — probably the understatement of the year — but remember, it’s your life, and you have to do what’s right for you. Let me give you some literature about what comes next. You don’t need to decide about adoption right now, but you will need to find a doctor close to home, take prenatal vitamins, and get lots of sleep. And of course, no caffeine or alcohol. I’ll leave you to get dressed while I get the brochures.” Dr. Ryder hesitated and then added, “And don’t forget, if you change your mind in the next few weeks, you can still terminate your pregnancy.”

Slowly Grace got dressed, wondering how her mother would handle her decision. Would she hit her? Leave her by the side of the road? Although her parents had never even spanked her when she was growing up — she had never given them any reason to lay a hand on her in anger — she could imagine Betsy slapping her hard across the face. Grace’s transgression had cracked the perfect veneer encasing her family, revealing a rough, primitive core that Grace could easily imagine included physical violence.

Dr. Ryder returned with a folder and handed it to Grace. “Good luck. The next year is going to be really hard, but I know you can handle it. You’re a very strong person.” She hugged Grace, and Grace rested her head briefly on the doctor’s compassionate shoulder. “I put my card in there. If you need someone to talk to, I want you to call me. My home number and my cell are on the back. Who knows? Maybe your parents will surprise you.”

Grace shrugged. “Maybe.” But the possibility that Betsy and Brad would change their minds and suddenly throw their arms around her seemed less likely than Nick suddenly declaring his undying love for her and proposing on one knee.

Grace walked into the waiting room, where the nail biter had been replaced by a visibly pregnant Goth girl with raccoon-eye makeup, black motorcycle boots, and no mother hovering nearby. It had been less than an hour since she first put on the paper gown, but she felt like a completely different person.

Betsy jumped up, dropping the magazine that had been sitting unopened in her lap. “That was quick. Do you have extra pads? It’s a long ride home.” Now things could get back to normal. No one would ever have to know — no judgmental stares at the club, at church, at the farmers’ market. Betsy made a mental note to have a little chat with Jennifer about the value of discretion. The tiny miners who had been swinging their pick axes inside her skull since Grace broke the news started to pack up their tools.

“I didn’t do it.” Grace’s voice was loud in the library-quiet waiting room.

Grabbing Grace by the arm, her nails digging in, Betsy practically dragged her out of the office. The receptionist started to call out to Mrs. Warren, as she hadn’t paid for the pelvic exam, but she thought better of it. She would sooner pay the hundred dollars out of her own pocket than risk a black eye from that crazy witch. Pounding the computer keys in frustration, she thought for the hundredth time about quitting this freak-show job with its lunatic right-to-lifers waving their picket signs dripping fake blood, and the outraged mothers who refused to believe that their teenage daughters were having sex until it was too late.

“What are you talking about?” Betsy hissed at Grace as they stood in the hallway waiting for the elevator.

“I couldn’t do it, and I’m the one who has to live with the decision for the rest of my life.” Echoing Dr. Ryder’s words, Grace sounded way braver than she felt. On the ride down, Grace pressed herself into the back corner of the elevator, as far from her mother as she could get. There was someone else in the elevator, so Betsy just stared straight ahead, white-knuckled hands clinging to her purse as if it were a life preserver.

As the glass door of the office building closed behind them, Betsy again grabbed Grace by the arm and picked up right where she’d left off. “About that you’re mistaken, young lady. We
all
have to live with your so-called decision. What right do you have to behave this way? I don’t know you anymore.”

“But Mom, Reverend Halvert says every life is precious, even the lives of the unborn, and he’s the leader of our church.” Maybe the stress had made Betsy forget about the bigger picture.

Betsy laughed — a short, inappropriate chortle. “Reverend Halvert never had a pregnant teenage daughter.”

“You always taught me that God created life. How can we destroy something that God created?” Grace was grasping at straws, trying to remember something she had learned in Sunday school that might remind Betsy what really mattered.

“An accident in the back seat of a car is
not
God’s creation.”

Grace gasped at her mother’s icy tone. With thirteen little words, Betsy renounced everything she had ever taught Grace.

Letting go of Grace’s arm long enough to find her keys, Betsy suddenly stopped in the middle of the parking lot, oblivious to the car that almost hit her from behind. She looked up at the sky and let out a shriek, a combination of anger, frustration, and maybe even a little fear. Grace watched, transfixed, as her mother appeared to vent her wrath at God. Then taking a deep breath, Betsy adjusted her sunglasses, looked around to see if anyone had witnessed her manic moment, and marched toward the car. Before Grace was safely in her seat, Betsy had started the engine and shifted into reverse. Grace slammed the door, just missing the car parked next to theirs as Betsy lurched out of the parking space and tore out of the lot. Perhaps, Grace thought, they would be in a terrible car accident on the way home, and then the only urgent decision would be left to her father: open or closed casket.

Simultaneously merging onto the highway and dialing her phone, Betsy was oblivious to the cars speeding past. “Brad, it’s me.”

“How did it go?”

Brad really didn’t want to know any of the particulars, but he felt compelled to ask, as long as his wife was stuck with taking care of all the minutiae of this unpleasant business. He couldn’t even say the word
abortion
out loud, and the thought of blood and scalpels and DNA belonging to some random guy who had done heaven knows what with his daughter made him physically ill. On some level, he could identify with those crazy people on the other side of the world who carried out honor killings. How did a father ever recover from something like this? It would have been so much easier if she’d been caught with a bottle of his Valium or a fifth of Jack Daniels in her locker. A blurb in the Police Blotter, with not even her name mentioned because she was underage, and that would be the end of it. But being pregnant was like wearing a sandwich board for nine months that said I’m a Teenage Tramp.