“Great,” she told him, crouching again so she could get her phone.
When her sweaty thumbprint didn’t work to unlock it the first five tries, she had to punch in the code while the menfolk waited for the silly woman to make her phone work. She finally managed to open the picture she had taken late last night, only now that she looked at it, it didn’t seem quite as nefarious. She thrust it in her doctor’s face. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I… tend to worry.”
He squinted his eyes. “You’re right. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, good,” she said, letting a wave of relief wash over her. One thing down, only ten thousand things to go.
Dropping the phone in her bag, she perched herself back on the table, her thighs sticking to each other and the paper gown. “Anyway, I’m wondering if there’s something wrong with me. I’m tired all the time. Well, most of the time. Also, lately I always feel like I’m coming down with something. Like, not anything bad, but I’m just sort of achy and my throat feels a bit scratchy. Although that could be from yelling at the kids so much.” She let out an awkward chuckle while they stared at her, both deadpan. “Also, I can’t sleep. I mean, I fall asleep. I just can’tstayasleep, and I know I’m getting to that age when that can happen to women, but Ireallylove to sleep.”
Setting down his laptop, Dr. Kildorf took the two steps required to cross the room. He lifted his hands to her neck and felt her lymph nodes. “How long have you been feeling this way?”
“I don’t know. A few months?”
“Lymph nodes feel good. Let’s have a look at your throat.” He got a tongue depressor out of a glass jar and swiped the light thingy off the wall, and for a brief moment, she was filled with hope that he’d see something and be able to fix her right up.You have a simple case of thrush. I’ll send you home with an anti-fungal and you’ll be feeling like you did when you were twenty in about three days.
“Open wide and say ahh.”
Too far back! Too far back!“Blechhhh-ahhh-agh-gah.”
“Oh wow. That’s quite the gag reflex you’ve got.” He and Dr. Probably-Still-Wore-Pull-ups-at-Night exchanged a glance, and she knew what they were thinking:her poor husband. For some reason, her cheeks burned even more.That’s right, assholes. I’m not a world champion blowjob giver. So what?
“Throat looks great.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Maybe it’s a hormonal thing then? I am getting closer to menopause.”
“Do you still get your period regularly?” he asked.
Do you really want me to answer that in front of Junior?“Yes, but something’s different. I used to feel great at the beginning of my cycle. I had lots of energy and… well I just felt terrific, actually, but I don’t anymore, so I was wondering if maybe my estrogen levels aren’t as high as they used to be.”
He shook his head. “If you still have a regular cycle, you still make enough estrogen.”
“But, maybe it’s not enough for me?” she asked.
“Trust me, it’s enough,” he said. “And you don’t want to start mucking around with your hormones, especially not at your age. It’s best to wait until you’re having serious issues, like incontinence, for example. Now,that’sa problem that needs hormone therapy.”
“Right, gotcha. Well, I don’t havethatproblem.” Except when she sneezed mid-stride or laughed too hard. “Maybe it’s my thyroid? Or could it be adrenal fatigue? I’ve read a few articles…”
“Adrenal fatigue is something homeopaths made up to get desperate women through their door.”
Oh, someone’s a little touchy about alternative medicine. “Well, to be honest, I feel kind of desperate lately.”
Tears filled her eyes.No, no, no! Don’t you dare cry in front of them. She blinked repeatedly, but it was too late. It was happening. All the frustration came bubbling up through her tear ducts—the sleepless nights worrying about the kids and her mom and the planet and inflation, the exhaustion from all the arguing, the sense of wishing she knew what she was doing with her life, and the ever-increasing desire to just hop on a plane to Costa Rica. It all came pouring out at once. When she managed to speak, her voice came out so high-pitched, she could barely register it. “Or maybe it’s my iron?”
Could a lack of iron cause uncontrollable crying?
“Tell you what, I’ll order a few tests just in case. Check your iron, thyroid, that kind of thing. But I don’t think they’ll show anything,” he said, tapping away on his laptop. A second later, the printer started up. He handed her the lab request form. “I’d say it’s more likely that it’s just your life.”
With a quick nod, Dr. Kildorf picked up his laptop and opened the door.
Dr. Teenage Heart Throb hung back a bit. “My mom has been having a rough time lately too. I’ve been trying to convince her she needs more exercise. Trust me. It helps everything.” He clicked his teeth and sucked in some air. “It’s hard being a woman.”
“Yeah, thanks,” she told him, even though in her mind she was slapping him upside his head.
“Good luck,” he said, before closing the door behind him.
She tugged off the paper gown and stuffed it in the trash can, then dug around in her neat pile of clothes for her carefully-hidden underwear. She dressed quickly, then collapsed onto the chair for a minute, wanting a glass of wine, a nap, and a shower all at the same time.It’s just your life. Who says stuff like that? What an asshole. It wasn’t ‘just her life.’ It couldn’t be, because if that were the case, how the hell would she go about fixing it?
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