Her eyes are sympathetic, but I know she’s just telling mewhat I need to hear. It’s not the same tough love that Cindy gives me. Or Dr. Peck.
“If you have too many heats, you might not be able to hold a stable job. There’s not enough known about HHOS for employers to be sympathetic or accommodating to it. I just want you to be aware of the risks, but like I told you when you first came here, it’syourchoice.”
HHOS. Hyper-Hormonal Omega Syndrome–the only known cause for premature heat cycles.
“And you’re sure there aren’t any suppressants I can take?” I ask as I hold my hands tightly in my lap.
She shakes her head. “Not with the combinations of medication you’re already taking. They’re still very experimental, and there’s little to no data on how they interact with other meds. Unfortunately, Opal, there are just not enough people with HHOS to get an accurate statistic on the effects of suppressants.”
It’s true that there aren’t many of us. And even if there were enough of us to get any accurate data, that would mean we’d have to let ourselves be poked and prodded. We’d all have to enter drug trials, and that just isn’t a feasible reality at all.
I’m just happy to be here. My old doctor was nice, but pushy. Dr. Peck wasn’t an omega or a woman, so he wasn’t sympathetic to my situation, and I wasn’t ready to be forced into a decision. After my sudden heat last May, he couldn’t ‘in good conscience’ let me continue combining my pain meds with my blockers, so he refused to prescribe any more.
My symptoms had escalated after withdrawing from my pain meds, probably because of my hormones trying to regulate themselves after my first heat. The agony I went through, on top of the memories from my time in isolation at the hospital, was almost enough to break me, but then I found Dr. Wyatt. The struggle of finding a new doctor who also tookmy insurance was worth it because she immediately helped me get back to a hormonal baseline.
She also reported Dr. Peck to the board for malpractice. She said that withdrawing my meds was a biased choice, and she was appalled by his lack of empathy. I’m not sure how that proceeding went; I was just glad to have my pain meds back.
“And, I don’t have to worry about getting pregnant during my heat?” I ask her. “Like… my chances of getting pregnant aren’t higher simply because of my disorder, right?”
“No, your IUD should do its job. I don’t think HHOS affects fertility that much, but there aren’t a lot of statistics to go off, either.” She pauses, a look of concern on her face. “Opal, I understand it’s a sensitive topic, but we need to discuss what you might do for your next heat. I know the hospital visit was less than ideal.”
That’s the biggest understatement of the century. For a second, I let myself believe her wording is an accurate one, like my visit to isolation was like a poor man’s holiday rather than the traumatic experience that it was. I still feel sick when I think about it. The nausea creeping up my throat each time I remember the sterilized space and the pain and the state of confusion I was in for five days straight.
I don’t blame the nurses or the staff. I don’t even blame the hospital. There aren’t any regulations set for them to follow. It’s not even like there isn’t enough money to help make accommodations for omegas with HHOS, but it’s just not a priority. Not when less than one percent of the population has it.
Omegas normally have the safety of their packs to help them through their heat cycles. It’s very rare for an omega to need a safe place provided for them during their heats, because they already have one with their pack.
I think back to my diagnosis earlier last year, when I realized that I wouldn’t have the luxury of falling in lovefirst and then dealing with my heat after. Everything I had planned for my life had been turned upside down. There was no more direction, no more certainty.
So, I started going on dates.
Anywhere, anytime, with anyone. I would stop anyone that I thought was semi cute in the quad and ask them out for coffee. I met a lot of people looking for casual relationships, which isn’t what I wanted or needed. I needed something serious. I needed someone looking for a commitment.
I needed to find a pack so I would be safe when my heat inevitably came. And it was that ticking time bomb that led me to ask my childhood friend for help, knowing that she interacted with a lot more people than I did. Cindy was more than excited about it, and I thought it would work–until that horrible night.
My scent was stronger than usual because of my hormone issue, and that alpha—opportunist or not, made me feel vulnerable.
When I don’t say anything after a few minutes, Dr. Wyatt turns and gives me her full attention. “Have you made any progress with your scent match? The one that pushed you into your last heat?”
I grimace at the question, fully aware that I haven’t even tried. There are too many variables, like the fact that he already has an omega, or the fact that I’m not sure they’ll be interested in letting me invade their pack just because I’m scent matched to two of them. I haven’t even met Thatcher yet. He always seems to be missing when the other two unexpectedly corner me.
Alright, they’re actually very chill, but their scents send me into a tailspin. And since they’re always together, it’s like an elixir of fruity delectableness that makes my head whirl. Thetart and excited watermelon of Kit mixed with Sam’s soft, sweet apple. My mouth waters involuntarily at the memory of it.
I think back to this weekend when they asked me to live with them. The fantasy of it was so tempting and attainable, right in the palm of my hands. I could grip it with my fingers so easily, the image of what it would be like to immerse myself in their lives and their pack so concrete in front of me.
My blockers aren’t going to work forever, but I can’t be a wrench thrown into the gears of their perfect life. The idea makes my stomach clench, and not in a good way. Even having the daydream about being a part of their pack makes me guilty.
Still, despite telling myself I would be honest with my new doctor, I let the omission slip out. “He actually invited me to come live with him.”
Her eyes soften as her lips curve up. “That’s amazing, Opal. Did you tell him?”
This time, I choose to tell the truth. “No, not yet. I think they just recognize how bad my current living situation is.”
“Hm,” she responds, thoughtful. “Maybe. Or maybe his instincts are pushing him even without the conscious knowledge of being your scent match. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”
My lips flatten. I really doubt that’s it, but I nod in agreement anyway.
She gives my shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Maybe you won’t have to be alone for your heat this time.”
