The Doctor's Wife

Elena rechecked her freshly applied makeup and made sure that all of her strawberry blonde curls were in place. The roasted potatoes would be done soon and the salmon was still marinating.  Today was a special day.  Not only was it the sixth anniversary of their first date, but today was the day that she could tell him that her fertility treatments had finally worked.  It had not been easy keeping such a secret with her husband being one of the most promising young doctors  in the neurology department of such a prestigious hospital.  

Elena had always been the model of what a doctor’s wife should be.  She never complained when she received that phone call that he had to stay late to complete his rounds, or when his pager would go off before they were about to start a movie.  It was a small price to pay for the pursuit of the perfect life that she knew was just a few short years away.  

However, this goal was hindered as the  pregnancy tests kept coming back with only one pink or blue line, that damn the-test-had worked-properly indicator which seemed to mock her when she held it under the light bulb, just to make sure there wasn’t a faint line, to taunt her about the fact that her urine did not contain the hCG hormone.  The urine that couldn’t have come from a perfect, fertile doctor’s wife.  That was when things started to go sour.  

Speaking of sour, a slight wave of nausea moved across her stomach as she put the salmon in the oven.  Was it nerves?  Was it the smell of fish?  Pregnant women had a very sensitive sense of smell didn’t they?  But salmon was Michael’s favorite, except maybe swordfish, but as a doctor he likely knew that it was high in mercury, and therefore not suitable for the conditions of a growing fetus.

And it was salmon that he ordered that weekend when they went to Atlantic City.  They were planning on renting an RV and driving across the country - the trips to Italy and Spain would have to wait until some of the loans were paid off - to attend an interview somewhere near Salt Lake City.  However, when Michael received the call from Morristown Medical Center, they decided that a weekend in Atlantic City would have to suffice.  

“I know that you were really looking forward to this trip,” Michael said, “but think about this… you can wear that black dress that you like and we can walk into the casinos and be the best looking couple at the blackjack table.  Maybe we will even win a jackpot!”

Michael always knew just what to say to win her over.  Elena had a very humble childhood.  On the rare occasion that she was given a dress to wear to a Christmas mass, it was a hand-me-down that some cousin or neighbor outgrew.  She longed to see glamorous bright lights and marble floors.  Elevators that glistened with gold, giant statues and fountains oozing wealth and success,  and cocktails served in crystal glasses.  This was why she never complained when Michael worked late or when that pager went off.  

However, much to Elena’s dismay, she learned quickly that once you walked out of the flashy show of lights onto the boardwalk, suddenly it wasn’t so glamorous anymore.  The homeless woman with rotting teeth mumbling something inaudible to others, cigarette butts in the pale gray sand off spreading out to the cold ocean waves, the neon lights of the tacky souvenir shops and the array of fortune tellers promising to read your palm or your tarot cards.  Why didn’t they try harder to keep this hidden?

Two weeks after they returned from this trip, she received her first negative pregnancy test.  That is when the arguing started.

“Dammit Elena,” Michael bellowed, “ I can’t handle all of this pressure that you put on me, plus the extra patients that I have been forced to take on.  Jill says -”

Elena interrupted, “I don’t give a damn what Jill says.  She isn’t a fertility specialist.  She also should know that all of her intrusiveness certainly isn’t helping matters in that department.”  

The ping of the timer brought Elena back to reality.  She hoped that she hadn’t burnt the fish, but when she peeked into the oven, it was the same orange pink shade of a sunset.  She had forgotten to turn the oven on.  This must be that pregnancy brain that people talked about.  Shoot - and Michael was due to be home in about ten minutes.  Thank goodness salmon didn’t take long to broil.  Maybe she should call him to make sure that he was on time.  This was too important of a day for him to work late.  This was the day that she had waited for.  This was the day that would make all of the working late and the pager interruptions during dinner worth it.  She would finally have the perfect life.  

She thought about the argument that they had had last night .  The one that ended with him saying, “I am sorry, Elena.  I can’t do this anymore.  I’m not coming home.”  

That argument did worry her for a minute.  After all, wasn’t she supposed to be the emotional one, with all of the hormone injections.  However, the next day, she knew.  She could feel the tiny bubbling cluster of cells forming inside of her.  She immediately called the hospital that morning and left a message for Michael.  She said that it was important that he be home on time tonight because she had something very important to tell him.

She finished preparing the meal, and began to set the table.  It was a night to use the good silver that they received as a wedding gift.  Even though he was a few minutes late, she decided to light the candles.  The soft wax slowly melted into tears that threatened to drip onto the tablecloth.  She hoped that he would get home before that happened.  Everything had to be perfect.  After all, she was the perfect doctor’s wife.