As a rule, she was no admirer of these 'check ups'. This one was no exception. Thankfully, there was no asking her to dress in the examination gown that was neither attractive or modest. For this appointment, she was merely asked into the doctor's office.
Her physician asked how she felt, both physically and...otherwise.
Virginie sighed and offered a brief smile. "Physically, I guess I'm all right. Otherwise...emotionally ...coping."
If I may ask, ....forgive me if I'm prying, ....are you and your husband...intimate?"
Virginie replied, not entirely sure how to phrase it. "In a way. You didn't mention that there was any recovery time. A week seemed too ...soon."
"Mr. Poirot doesn't blame you, does he?"
Virginie shook her head. "No. Right now, we're both trying to figure out what part, if any, God has to play in the matter. "
The doctor seemed to be weighing his words with care. "I'm not sure what I believe on that front. I've had to deliver bad news too often to have naive faith in a supposed "God of Love." Before Virginie could contest, her physician added, "That said, I want to double check something." He wrote on a prescription pad and tore the page off. "Dr. Josiah MacNamara is a specialist in knowing what to look for. All the while hoping he doesn't see it."
Croaking the words, Virginie's heart thudded in her ears, "What do you suspect?"
"Right now, 'SUSPECT' is a strong word. I just want to make sure I'm WRONG. In all honesty, I don't trust my knowledge. " He added, "Surprised to hear me say that?"
Virginie nodded. "Commendable honesty. But please, tell me what you THINK...."
"And have you in a blind panic over what might be nothing."
"Not knowing wouldn't do me anymore good. "
Pondering what Virginie said, her physician acquiesced. "The exam, after the...um..."
"Miscarriage," Virginie said the word her doctor was timid about uttering.
"Right. Miscarraige. Anyway, the post miscarriage exam showed something that indicated that the loss might now have been so.... happenstantial that I originally thought . A miscarriage in a first pregnancy is usually attributed to a woman's body fighting against the new organism. More often than not, the embryo holds up. Sometimes, it doesn't. That's what I put your loss down to. However, something showed up and I want to put our minds at rest that it's no more than a clot or benign growth. That's what's more than likely. "
"BUT....." Virginie added what she heard in the man's voice .
"But," her physician carried on from his patient's lead. "I'm comfortable that we caught whatever the problem might be. But keep the appointment. I want a conclusive negative. "Madame Poirot?"
"What do I tell my husband? He's been on tenderhooks since we lost..." She stopped, collected her emotions and continued. "He's angry about it. Not at me. More at God. He's beginning to move passed it. If I have to give him...."
"Tell him that the appointment was called off and re-scheduled for the next day. We'll deal with things, if we have to. Personally, I'd like nothing more than to call you and tell you that my initial concern was unfounded. And that is more than likely what will happen. I just want to be sure. I want you to feel better again so that when I tell you you're pregnant, you can relax and make plans and bask in the anticipation of parenthood."
And there was NOTHING Virginie Poirot wanted to hear more.
~~~~~~
Over dinner, Virginie, casually as she could, mentioned that her follow up appointment had been re-scheduled for the following day."I HATE when that happens!" Hilde sniped, buttering a roll to eat with the Stew Virginie requested. Why didn't they call you before you left the house?"
"It was a last minute thing. I was sitting in the office for about fifteen minutes when the doctor called his receptionist. I thought he was in his office. Turned out to be some sort of family emergency. Not a calamity but something that needed immediate attention. Anyway, Helena, the receptionist, she apologized all over the place on his behalf and set up tomorrow's appointment. Unfortunately, " Virginie sighed, "I have to go to the hospital because he does his weekly rounds on Tuesdays." She was amazed at how easy it was to tell this fib and make it sound so easy. "Helena asked if it would be okay, or would I prefer next Monday at his office?"
"And you said...?" Hercule inquired, stopping himself before he lifted his wife's bowl to pour her stew.
"I said I didn't mind going to the hospital. The doctor's office is on the main floor, so it's not like I'd be on some prolonged tour. And the poor man must be tired of seeing me, so I just want to get this over with so we can move on. I need to move on, Hercule. Michael is in ..."
Poirot nodded; and ladled his wife her stew and buttered a bread roll for her before serving himself. "Oui. I can ask my patrol partner if he can come early to drive..."
"It's okay, love. You'll be long out of the house before I have to be up. It's nearly lunch. Eleven when I'll see him, so I'll eat lunch..."
"I have the perfect solution!" Hilde declared. "I'll accompany you to the appointment and then we can have lunch after. There is this new Bistro your sister told me about, Hercule, with the most delicious desserts you gain five pounds just looking at them! "
"I love that idea!" Virginie declared. "And I'll bring a cake home for dessert."
Her husband was agreeable to that and the rest of the evening meal was relaxed and normal, as it had been, in time past. Talk about the day, and the mundane chores and happenings of life.
That night, husband and wife made love as they hadn't for a while. Afterward, in each other's arms, Poirot kissed the crown of his wife's head; taking in the fragrance of her. "I am sorry, my love."
"For what?" she asked; her head, resting on his chest; drawing an invisible heart with her finger, as she did, the first night they shared a bed as husband and wife.
"I am not sure I can accept what happened as if it was...from God."
"Maybe it wasn't. This is not an ideal world, Hercule. Bad things happen. It rains on the just as well as the unjust. But our son is safe and happy. He's probably wearing Auntie out."
Hercule Poirot chuckled as he hadn't since that terrible day. "That is something to think about. No doubt, the angels, they are happy that she has something different to do. Do you think Angels have to pass the daily inspections?"
"I don't think so," Virginie replied, giggling at the idea. "But if there is any sort of Choir practice, you better believe they'll be in order AND on time."
Poirot joined in on the pleasant imaginings. "I am not sure she would want Michael singing along if he sounds anything like me. I do love to sing of my Savior. I just do not do it well."
"Well, the Psalms do talk about making a 'Joyful Noise' ," she said. Propping her head up in one arm, Virginie smiled at her husband. "I DO love you so much, Hercule Poirot. I know this has not been an easy time, dear husband, but tonight may well mark a new beginning. No promises. I just want to think about good things from now on. We have each other. We need to be grateful for blessings."
He agreed. "I can hardly argue, when I see before me, the beautiful face of a lady I have been in love with since the very first time I saw you."
"Did you know you wanted to marry me, even then?"
"Oh yes. Though I was sure you had the suitors and gentlemen callers."
"A few. Though Madame did not approve of them all. There was the odd cad, but more often than not, they just wanted to marry a respectable name and assumed that Madame Deroulard wold feel the same. But I did not want to marry a name. I didn't wish to be bored silly or live in comfortable misery. The worst of life's hardships, beside one you do love is much easier endured than a life of societal luxury with someone you don't know or wish you'd never met. We will move past these hardship together"
"We are doing so now." Hercule Poirot kissed his wife, tenderly, on the lips.
~~~~
In her dreams, Virginie knelt at the altar of their church, praying for forgiveness, for deceiving her husband. She simply could NOT tell him what her doctor ONLY suspected.And what would good it do, to scare him and Hilde for nothing, if, in fact, it turned out to be nothing. Merely the reality that first time mothers did lose their children because of some...physiological rebellion that caused morning sickness.
As she sat in a half full waiting room with Hilde, Virginie confessed, in a murmur, to her longtime family friend, "I HATE this! Society expects women to dress modestly, and then we go to a doctor, and all pretense of civility seems to fly out the window."
Hilde did her best to suppress a giggle. "I know it well," she admitted in the same whisper.
"I hope you won't think me a glutton for it, but if I can find Chocolate Cream Pie at that bistro, I'm having two slices!"
"Well deserved," Hilde agreed. "Just don't forget to bring a cake home for dessert tonight.
The dreaded exam, thankfully, went quicker than Virginie expected. Or perhaps she was just used to it. She met with her physician after changing into her own clothes from the examination gown. "I will have Helena call you if all is well, which I suspect will be the case. All the same, I'd sooner be sure."
"I felt terrible; lying to Hercule about this. But he's been so nervous about everything concerning my health, since the....loss, I couldn't bring myself to rattle his nerves anymore. And, once we get the all clear, we'll be able to move on. In fact," Virginie confided. "we've taken the first step in the direction..last night."
"Good," her doctor nodded in approval. "Sad as this situation was, you can't hold to it forever. You'll move on and eventually be blessed with a new baby. Did you have a specific number of children in mind?"
Shaking her head, Virginie Poirot replied, "I think we'll take it a child at a time. Life holds no guarantees, whatever plans we might have."
Virginie stood up to leave the office and then took her hand off the handle. "When can I expect to hear about the results?"
"Hopefully, you'll know by the end of the week. I could put a rush on it, but the odds are, every other doctor in this hospital has done the same thing. I'd rather the results were ACCURATE rather than quick. Both would be ideal, but not realistic. So, let's say, a week."
Virginie comforted herself in the confidence that her doctor did not expect anything serious. No more than he believed the issue to be. At the very 'worst' , nothing that couldn't be attended to with minimal physical or emotional strain.
The rest of the afternoon was spent, eating at Le Bon Apetite and then treating themselves to a minor shopping spree of a hat a piece and a few other ladies' items. They arrived home and got dinner ready; Chicken Shepherd's Pie, from the bistro, along with Raspberry Chocolate Torte.
"You are not well?" Poirot noted the small helping his wife ate.
"I'm fine. Just FULL."
Hilde elaborated, "After the doctor's, we visited a few of the shops in the area. Made an afternoon of it. That's why dinner is out of the container rather than the kitchen. Though, if I hadn't just told you, Hercule, you might not have guessed."
"Au contrare , I would have guessed, good Hilde. Of all the time I've known you, cher Madame, I have never known you to make the Shepherd's Pie with chicken."
A few days later, Virginie endured a bout of pain than was usual for her, just before 'that time of the month', but she rode it out with an extra pain tonic and spent the day in bed, reading.
When Hercule arrived home from work, it was easy enough to tell Hilde informed him, because she could his shoes could be heard, dashing up the flight of stairs. Just before he reached the door, his footsteps slowed and he rapped gently, before the door to the room slowly opened and he peeked in. "Virginie? Are you awake?"
"Come in, Hercule," Virginie bookmarked her page and put her book down and moved in a bit so her husband could sit down.
"Are you not well?"
"Nothing serious, love. Just what afflicts every woman each month."
Her husband did not ask for details.
"I suspect that the physical uproar of the last few weeks has my body all tense. I took a pain tonic so I should be good tomorrow."
"Do you wish for me to bring up your dinner? We can eat together."
In truth, she didn't feel like eating, but she didn't want to worry her husband. "Just a little. I'm a bit tired. That's what comes of being lazy all day. I'll have to make it up to Hilde tomorrow and let her lie in while I work on the house."
"The house, it is fine. You are my concern."
"And I'm fine, apart from natural aggravations." Setting her book on the end table, Virginie pulled back the bed spread and prepared to get up. "I'm also bored to death with sitting in this bed all day. I can come down for dinner and you can tell me what feats of heroism you performed today."
"But you said you were tired."
"Bored tired. So let me dress and we'll have dinner. After which time, we can take a walk. Some fresh air will do me the world of good."
In fact, the after-dinner walk did do both of them good. "As per always, my love, you worry when you don't have to," Virginie said as the two walked around the park, hand in hand.
"It is my job to care for you. And as you know, dearest, I take, very seriously, the job I love to do."
Virginie could not argue that fact. Nor did she want to discourage him. Keeping Madame Deroulard's caution in mind; that is was better, far and away, to marry for love than for station, Virginie got the best of both. She was married to a man who was respected within the community, and equally, someone she dearly loved. He wanted to keep her safe as any good husband would want to do for the woman he loved. Why fight it?
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