the time, I remember thinking that was strange.
Then I saw her face.
She said the word “probably.”
Not “could.”
Not “there’s a risk.”
Probably.
A fourth pregnancy would probably kill me.
And if it didn’t, she said, I would likely spend most of the pregnancy in a hospital bed, separated from the three children I already had.
My previous pregnancy had already come dangerously close to ending badly.
There had been blood-pressure problems, bleeding, emergency monitoring, and a delivery that became chaotic very quickly.
The doctor didn’t dramatize any of it.
Somehow, that made it worse.
I asked whether there was any version of another pregnancy that could be considered safe.
She said no.
I asked again.
I used different words.
She gave me the same answer.
No.
I asked twice more over the following two years.
The answer never changed.
No.
Eventually, James stopped coming to those appointments
