This check-up was just to make sure I was healing properly. Good news? I can pee without wanting to cry, and I don’t feel as bloated. Not-so-great news? The bleeding is still all over the place, but I stay padded up—even if the pads I use aren’t the best.
This time, Mom came with me. And if there’s one thing about my mother, she’s gonna ask every question that crosses her mind. Not out of distrust—more out of panic. She doesn’t want to see me hurting, so naturally, she’s throwing out every possible scenario.
"She’s healing, but could this have been pregnancy? Even at her big age of 35?"
I swear I could hear Dr. Serena brace herself before she answered. “Mrs. LeRoux-Beaux, at this time, no. This was not a pregnancy.”
Mom let out a breath like she was relieved, but Dr. Serena wasn’t done.
“That being said, I’ve never fully ruled it out either. Under the right conditions, conception is possible. But with her body—and what she’s currently going through—it’s not likely to happen naturally. The way her anatomy works, bodily fluids get drained out because there’s nowhere for them to go after a while. So, realistically, that window closes fast.”
Mom nodded, but I knew what was on her mind. Even now, in her sixties, she’s always wanted grandbabies. It was something we never really thought was possible for me, so it was never a conversation we had in depth. But now? I could see the gears turning.
And me? I was sitting there wondering what my dad would think. He refuses to accept that it’s even possible. No discussion, no debate—just a flat-out “nope.” It’s funny how the people who raised me can see my body so differently.
By the end of the appointment, Mom was quieter but not defeated. Before we left, she smoothed a wrinkle out of my shirt like she used to when I was little, looked me in the eye, and said, “No matter what, you’re still the most beautiful daughter in the world.”
I know she worries. She always will. But for now, she accepts it.
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