Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Um, I’m not sure.”
“Give me your best guess.”
I shake my head and throw out a number that seems plausible. “Maybe five weeks ago.”
“Okay. The first thing we’ll do is a urinalysis. There’s a bathroom across the hall. The sample bottles are already in the room. Use the Sharpie to write your first and last name on the label. After you’ve collected the sample, set the container in the small door on the wall and lock it.” She rises from the stool and pulls open a drawer from the cabinet before grabbing a pale-yellow paper gown. “Then you can change into this. Take off all of your clothing, even your bra and underwear. The flaps of the gown go in front.” She pauses for a beat as I process all the information that’s been hurtled at me. “Any questions?”
I shake my head, trying to remember each step. Mom had offered to come with me, and I’d turned her down flat. As I sit on the exam table, I kind of wish she were here. I feel alone and a little scared.
“All right,” the nurse smiles gently as if she can sense my apprehension, “Dr. Davis will be in shortly.”
“Thank you.”
She bustles out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
First order of business...the urine sample.
A few years ago, Mom had broached the subject of a gynecologist and I’d nixed the idea. It’s not like I was sexually active. Who wants to go to the doctor and have a pelvic exam for shits and giggles?
But now...
It’s completely necessary, and I’m kicking myself for not doing it sooner.
Once in the bathroom, I scrawl my name on the plastic container and do my best to collect a sample. Ironically, now that I need to pee, I can’t force myself to go. It takes at least five minutes to finish up. As soon as I return to the examination room, I strip off my skirt, shirt, and undergarments before wrapping the gown around my body. Then I grab my phone and settle on the paper-covered table to wait for the doctor.
Ten minutes crawl by before there’s a light rap of knuckles on the door. A short blond woman in her late forties smiles before glancing at the chart in her hand. She has a kind smile and warm eyes that instantly put me at ease.
“Hello, Summer. I’m Dr. Davis. It’s nice to meet you.” When she offers a hand to shake, I reach out and take her narrow one. “I understand you’re here for an exam and to discuss birth control options.”
That would about sum it up. “Yes.”
She settles on the swivel stool before laying the chart on the desk and turning to face me. “How long have you been sexually active?”
There’s no reason for embarrassment, but still... “Less than two months.”
“Okay. Do you have a permanent partner?”
Ummm...
I scrunch my nose. “Like a boyfriend?”
Her lips lift slightly as she nods. “A boyfriend or one partner that your intimate with.”
My gaze skitters away. “Yes.” While Kingsley is definitely not my boyfriend, I suppose he falls into the permanent partner category.
She nods before wheeling the stool closer. “The reason I ask is because we checked your urine sample for hCG —
hCG?
I have no idea what that is.
Why would they check for that?
“And it turns out you’re pregnant,” she finishes quietly.
Pregnant.
The word reverberates in my head.
No. That’s not possible.
The roar of the ocean fills my ears until it drowns out almost everything else. My tongue darts out to moisten parched lips. The saliva filling my mouth disappears, leaving it to feel as dry as the Sahara.
Barely can I croak out the question. “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so. The urinalysis is ninety-nine percent accurate.” She rises from the stool. “We’ll take bloodwork when we’re finished. Why don’t you lie back on the table and I’ll examine you? Afterward, we can talk about your options.”
When I walked through the office door thirty minutes ago, I had assumed we would discuss an entirely different set of options. My mind buzzes as I recline on the table. It’s like I’m having a strange, out-of-body experience and this is happening to someone else.
I can’t be pregnant.
Tears prick the back of my eyelids.
“I’ll start with a breast exam.”
Dr. Davis peels back the left side of the paper gown until my breast is exposed and asks me to place my left arm above my head. Barely do I feel her fingers as they move steadily in a circular motion, gently pressing against the soft tissue. Then she moves to the right side and repeats the process.
“I didn’t feel anything that would be cause for concern, which is good.”
I want to burst out laughing, but somehow manage to keep it contained.
Hello, lady, I’m pregnant!
That alone is cause for concern.
Like...major fucking concern.
Dr. Davis extends the metal stirrups and helps place my feet inside them.