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I SHIFTED MY weight from one foot to the other as we waited for the doctor to look through more reports before discussing Mary Catherine’s condition in any detail. I definitely wouldn’t have called the doctor warm and fuzzy. She was all business. In a way, it reminded me of Mary Catherine when she was on a mission.

Eventually, the doctor said, “I’ve reviewed the scans and initial bloodwork. I’ve consulted with our ob-gyn and neither of us are sure what happened.”

“What about the baby?” Mary Catherine interjected.

I didn’t like the way the doctor took a moment to let out a sigh. It could’ve been that she was just tired after a long day. Or it could’ve been that she was about to give us bad news. I felt Mary Catherine squeeze my hand. Hard.

The doctor cleared her throat and said, “I understand you’ve been going to a fertility clinic and you’re still very early in your first trimester. I would recommend that you consult with your fertility ob-gyn as soon as possible. I see in your chart this is Dr. Christina Ashe. Correct? A brilliant doctor.”

Mary Catherine loosened her death grip on my hand and sat up in the bed. “So the baby is fine?” The hope in her voice scared me. It would make the heartbreak all that much worse if things went south.

The doctor took a moment to look at Mary Catherine. “The pregnancy appears to still be viable. But again, I’m sure your ob-gyn can give you more specific insight. Until then, I’m going to put you on strict bed rest for a minimum of two weeks.”

I worked up the nerve to ask cautiously, “Is Mary Catherine in any danger?”

“All pregnancies can be dangerous. I think rest, proper diet, and time will maximize outcomes.”

She had spoken like a car mechanic talking about a brake job. She never cracked a smile or showed any emotion.

Mary Catherine fidgeted. Telling my beautiful wife that she was going to be laid up for two weeks was like telling a world-class sprinter they could only walk.

“When you say bed rest …” she began.

The doctor didn’t let her finish. “Let me make this perfectly clear. I am ordering you, as your current attending physician, to go home immediately, lie down on your bed in comfortable clothes, and only get up to go to the bathroom.” She looked up at me like she expected I had something to add. When I didn’t say anything, the doctor said pointedly to Mary Catherine, “I’m sure someone can bring you your meals in bed. Perhaps, unless they are complete jerks, they’ll even eat a meal or two there with you. But for the safety of your health and the viability of the pregnancy, you should limit your movements as much as possible. Do you have anyone to help you?”

I chuckled. “We can manage to find someone around the house.”

The doctor gave us a few more guidelines, then looked intently at Mary Catherine. “I want you to follow my instructions,” the doctor told her. “I do not want you out of that bed for a minimum of two weeks. That is not up for any debate.”

For the first time since I’d met Mary Catherine, she had no comeback or comment.

I was at least smart enough to hide the smile that wanted to burst onto my face.