The room they brought me to was bright, too bright, the white walls and buzzing fluorescent lights unforgiving. A doctor with rimless glasses and a calm, professional voice introduced himself, I caught the name but immediately forgot it, my mind already spiraling.
"Please lie down," the nurse said gently, helping me onto the narrow bed. I obeyed, folding my hands over my stomach as if I could shield it from what was about to happen.
They dimmed the lights slightly. The machine beside me hummed to life, the ultrasound wand clicking softly as the doctor prepared it.
"This is just routine," he said evenly, the kind of tone that was supposed to comfort. "We'll check to ensure everything is clear. It shouldn't take long."
Routine.
Nothing about this felt routine.
