After all the chaos and fear on Boylston Street, Caroline Reinsch wondered if she heard the question right. The blast had perforated her eardrums and punched a bloody hole in her thigh all the way to the femur, splitting the quad muscle. “Is there a possibility you are pregnant?” the X-ray technician asked, standing over her gurney.
The question hung in the air at the Faulkner Hospital. A routine one for women of childbearing age undergoing treatment, it seemed almost cruel to Reinsch in that moment, when all she was thinking about was whether her boyfriend, Christian Williams, was going to live. She was 39, he was 41, and they had been trying to conceive since last fall without any luck. Now she wondered if they ever would.