“Are you sure?” asked Candy.

“I’m sure.”

Candy could not see Dr. Foley, but she could hear him, especially when he said, “Scalpel.” She heard the sound of the scalpel slapping the rubber glove.

Closing her eyes, Candy waited for the pain. Thank God it didn’t come. All she could feel was the sensation of people leaning over her. For the first time she allowed herself the luxury of thinking that this whole nightmare might actually pass.

It had all started about nine months previously when she had decided to go off the pill. She’d been living with David Kirkpatrick for five years. He had believed she was as devoted to her dancing career as he was to his writing, but sometime after her thirty-fourth birthday she had begun nagging David to marry her and start a family. When he refused, she decided to try getting pregnant, certain he would change his mind. But he had remained adamant when she had told him of her condition. If she continued the pregnancy, he would leave. After ten days of weeping and countless scenes she had finally agreed to this abortion.

“Oh!” gasped Candy as she felt a stab of white-hot pain somewhere deep in her being. It was akin to the feeling when a dentist finds a sensitive spot in a tooth. Thankfully, the stab didn’t last long.

Dr. Burnham glanced up from his anesthesia chart, then stood to look over the ether screen at the operative site. “Are you guys pulling on the small bowel?”

“We just packed it away out of the operative field,” admitted Dr. Foley.

Dr. Burnham sat back down and gazed directly into Candy’s eyes. “You’re doing just great. It’s common for someone to feel pain when the small intestine is manipulated, but they’re not going to do that anymore. OK?”

“OK,” said Candy. It was a relief to be reassured that everything was going as it should. Yet she wasn’t surprised.