Porcelain (On Hold)

Porcelain: Chapter 5

     A/N: Okay so, this is the full chapter.  I am a little irritated that I didn't get the comments I wanted to update but whatever.  So I am going to say in advance now, that I want 30 comments on this chapter before I ever consider updating again.  So please just leave a message of what you think!  Don't be a ghost!

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     I don’t think I have ever been so nervous as I am now.  

     The sea foam green walls are the only color in the entire clinic, making keeping your mind busy difficult.  White made up the rest.  White, off-white, eggshell, and a little bit of gray are all that seem to make up the ceiling, floor, and furniture.  It felt so... aseptic.  The longer I sit in the eerily empty hall, the more antsy I become.  I fidget in my seat and finally settle on my worn out shoes for entertainment.  And worn out they are.  They are my old pair of sneakers; you can barely tell they are Sketchers since the name has rubbed off from frequent use.  The purple soles are more of a washed out pink now.

     At the sound of my name I turn to face my mom sitting beside me.

     “It’ll be okay, you know.  I went through the same thing as you,” she said, patting my hand and looking down the hall for a staff member.  I sighed, feeling a bit worse than I already did.  I can’t help but think to myself, but you had dad...

     “Ah, here they come now.”  That pulls me out of my inner thinking to see in fact a woman in green scrubs come towards us with a clipboard in hand.  She looks friendly enough, a small smile playing on her full lips and blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun.  She looks to be in her thirties.

     “Hello-” the woman takes a quick look at the clipboard, “Annika, are you ready to get started?”  

     “No,” I say, looking at her nervously.  Even I could hear the desperation in my voice.  She only smiles lightly and tells us to follow her to the room.  

     I wring my hands together for something to do as we walk through the clinic, which doesn’t take too long.  The hospital as a whole is of fair size, but we are in the short baby wing.  I know there is another on the other side of town, but they do not have the obstetrician who, in fact, is the man whom my mom saw when she was pregnant with me.  She apparently trusts him whole heartedly, but I am uneasy at the idea of a man being the one to treat me.  Even more so since the guy knows my mom, knows me.  I mean, how sad is it that I’m repeating history?

     The only things that adorn the walls in the hall are bulletin boards with schedules and notices and even some pictures of women with their children.  I just about made my wrist bleed from digging my nails into my skin when I saw a picture of a smiling girl in a hospital gown, baby in her arms.  She looked no older than 15.

     We made it to the assigned room and the woman ordered me to sit on the exam table and asked my mom and I a few questions before saying Doctor Koone would be in momentarily.  I sigh and look around the room, finding not much more on the walls than what is in the hall.  A person would think that a baby clinic would be a bit more uplifting.  All I feel is dread when I see the hunk of machinery by my side.  Buttons and wires, thin screens lightly glowing in anticipation of a user.  

     My mom sits in the extra chair against the wall, going through her purse to no doubt find the list of questions she made during our wait in the lobby.  Sometimes I think she is wound tighter than I am about the situation.  And my dad... well, I haven’t seen him much the past couple days.  Mom can only smile sadly at me when dad avoids my gaze during meals.  I have started simply taking my food to my room to escape the hurt that overcomes me when he won’t catch my eye.  He may have said he would support me, but right now that promise is translating as ‘I have no choice but to tolerate it.’