“When was your last period?”
“Before the spotting? Let me check.”
I grab my phone and pull up my tracker. “December eighth.”
Dr. Bernard nods. “Is it possible that you’re pregnant?”
“No. I’m on the pill. Faithfully.”
“Alright, well I’ll test for it just in case." She peers at her computer screen. "I see here you want a full std panel?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a risk of exposure that you know of?” she asks, her eyes shifting to my wedding ring. She tried to do it fast, but I caught it.
“No known risk, no. But I’m not one of these women out here with her head in the sand. I love my husband, but I don’t put anything past anybody. Run me every test you got.”
She smiles knowingly. “Smart woman.”
I love Dr. Bernard, because she makes all of the unpleasant pap shit bearable. No stirrups, a small, heated speculum, constant verbal notification of everything before she does it, and she’s extremely gentle.
After my exam, I dress quickly before she comes back in and takes her seat.
“So, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary during the exam," she says, and relief floods through me. "I’ll send your swabs out, and after you leave me, you’ll go to the lab for a blood draw. Some results will come in sooner than others. You can check your patient portal or wait for the notifications, it’s up to you. Did you have any questions or concerns?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, then. Take care of yourself, and we’ll see you back here in a couple of years.”
After my blood draw, I sit in my car for a moment just to get my bearings. I’m tired, hungry, and a little sad, and I don’t know why. Everything just feels…off.
When I get home, I head straight from the shower. I know I must be tired as hell, because I don't even bother with lotion after. I just dry myself off and fall into bed. Drifting off is easy; I'm out before I can even turn my ringer off.
Bzzzzzz.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
What is that?
Oh. It’s my phone.
I sit up slowly, wiping my bleary eyes, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. It’s too light to be day, but not dark enough to be night. And I’m alone. I don’t know where my husband is.
I hate this feeling.
I hate everything right now, actually.
My phone is where Ace would normally be in the bed. I pick it up and see the email notification.
It’s the doctor’s office.
My heart begins to race. For some reason, this kinda feels like laptop activity, so I stretch myself across the bed to grab my computer off the nightstand.
The glow of the screen illuminates my little section of the room. I log into the portal.
This shit looks like Greek to me.
Patient: Raya Taylor
