The doctor glanced at his clipboard, sighed. "Miss Perfect," he started. He didn't know what or how to say it.
"Given your past history and deliveries, this one does not look good--"
"But I feel fine! Just fine!" Chris looked down at her six month bloated belly. Her hand reached down to her lower back, it always hurt now.
"But given the course of the current pregnancy, it does not look positive. You've had severe cramping and..." The doctor flipped a page. "Spotting two months ago?"
The blood had made her weak. But it happens, doesn't it? The cramps were the reason she even came to see the doctor in the first place. It couldn't have been more than bad nausea right? She could carry a healthy baby to term.
Right?
The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry," he began as he touched Chris's shoulder. "But in my opinion, this pregnancy is highly at risk. It's not your fault, it's only God's way sometimes..."
She couldn't stand it. She wouldn't stand it. Chris picked up her purse and walked right out of the office, ignoring everything and everyone. Fuck the doctor. She felt perfectly fine now. She just hit a bump in the road, as they say. She walked down the street into the chilly March air.
"We're alright, Baby, you and me. You're fine, aren't you? I feel you kicking. You must be fine." She'd do anything for her baby to be fine.
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RandomJohn Mcvie and Christine Perfect met by chance in 1968. Here's my perspective of their love, gains, and losses during the wild ride that is Fleetwood Mac
