Chapter 81
Chapter 81
The result was even more unbelievable than when she was first diagnosed with late-stage stomach cancer.
Izabella flipped through the medical report in her hand, and the only sound in the room was the rustling of pages.
The doctor sitting in front of her was uploading data to the computer. Seeing her still staring at herself, the doctor patiently asked, "Ms. Salotti, do you have any more questions?"
Izabella shook her head, "This can't be true! How could I be pregnant?"
"Your progesterone levels are a bit low. Did you have any signs of a miscarriage recently?"
"I thought it was just my period coming."
The doctor frowned at her response and looked Izabella up and down. "You're married, right?"
Izabella honestly replied, "For four years."
"And you can't tell the difference between being pregnant and having your period after four years of marriage?"
It's not that she didn't know, it's just that she never even considered the possibility. Her periods were always irregular, and in their four years of marriage, Brett never wanted her to get pregnant because he thought she was dirty, so they'd always taken precautions.
Birth control.
At this thought, Izabella suddenly realized where the problem was. After being diagnosed with stomach cancer, afraid of drug allergies, she stopped taking birth control pills, and Brett didn't
bother with any precautions in the following encounters.
Izabella asked, "Doctor, how many weeks pregnant am I?"
"Five weeks," the doctor replied.
Izabella counted back, and it was the time after she was discharged from the hospital.
Izabella felt stunned, her head hung low and she said helplessly, "How can I be pregnant?"
The doctor found it amusing, hearing her ask the same question over and over again. "From a biological perspective, you are indeed fertile, so there's no question of why you got pregnant. Besides, you've been married for four years, it's about time you had a child."
Before, only her body was numb. Now even her brain felt numb. Izabella sat in her chair, dazed, watching the doctor's mouth move as she analyzed the situation.
In short, there's no way she can escape being pregnant.
"Can I terminate the pregnancy?" Izabella asked.
The doctor assumed she was worried about a miscarriage, so she took a sip of water from her thermos to soothe her throat. "Low progesterone can be nursed, and as long as you take care of your health from now on, a miscarriage will be unlikely."
"I don't want this baby."
There can be many reasons for not wanting a child, and it's a private matter. The doctor didn't want to pry but still offered some advice. "Maybe you should discuss it with your husband. Your health isn't great, and I don't recommend having an abortion." Abortions carry risks, and many women struggle to conceive again due to weak uterine walls.
Discuss it with Brett? The bitterness spread in Izabella's mouth at the thought. Brett didn't even care about her, let alone the child inside her.
If he knew she'd accidentally gotten pregnant, he probably wouldn't even bother taking her to the hospital. She’d have to take abortion pills instead, which would be even more dangerous.
Just thinking about Brett cursing her and the child inside her made her heart ache. She clenched the medical report tightly and took a deep breath.
"Maybe you should talk to Dr. Felton later?" The doctor knew Izabella had a unique relationship with Presley. Maybe Presley could convince her to keep the child.
"Knock, knock, knock..." Someone knocked on the door.
The doctor looked over, and Presley's face appeared in the window. "Right on cue, here he is."
Presley slowly pushed the door open. "How's the checkup?"
The doctor pointed at the computer. "Take a look for yourself in a bit." With Presley there, she was no longer needed. She stood up, "A patient in Room 50 is looking for me. I'll go check on them, and you can take it from here."
Presley sat down next to the computer. "Go ahead, I'll call you if anything comes up."
The doctor nodded relievedly and left the room.
The computer screen was black. When Presley sat down, he couldn't see the results, but he could tell by Izabella's face that there was something difficult for her to say. Was her condition serious?
He opened the computer and looked at the information. Pregnant, five weeks.
"Izabella, you're pregnant?" Presley was somewhat surprised and felt both sweet and bitter. The girl he'd watched grow up was going to be a mother.
He snatched the report from Izabella's hand and read it carefully. Apart from the low progesterone, there were no other symptoms, and her overall condition was still positive.
"I'll prescribe you some medicine to supplement your progesterone later. Don't worry." Presley sighed, "Finally, I'm going to be an uncle."
"Presley, I can't keep this baby."
Not that she doesn't want to, but she can't. Her current situation doesn't allow her to have a child.
"Why not?"
"Presley, I have cancer. I don't even know how long I'll live. Maybe tomorrow I'll be gone."
"Nonsense! You're now taking a newly researched anticancer drug, and medical science is advancing. You should think positively. Who knows, maybe there'll be a cure for you tomorrow."
Discussions about Izabella's illness always created a heavy atmosphere.
"I need to be realistic, Presley. I can't give birth to this baby; the timing is wrong."
"Do you really just want to give up on him like that? I remember you used to love children. Please keep him." Presley pleaded, gripping Izabella's hand.
Her hand was cold and trembling. She clenched her fist, but it couldn't stop from shaking. She shook her head, her eyes red. "Do you want him to end up like me, with no one to care or love them?"
If her body were healthy, she would do anything to keep the child, but it's not.
What if she passes away as soon as the baby is born? What will happen to the child? Will Brett and Kaley raise it?
If that's the case, life would be unbearable for her child, she thought with a shiver.
Presley didn't want Izabella to have too much pessimism. Now that she had a child, Presley hoped it could give her the motivation to keep going.