Only since Savannah suggested I might be pregnant. ‘Nope.’
‘Dizziness?’ she pauses, pushes her black framed designer glasses up higher onto her nose.
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘A few times.’
‘Increased thirst?’
‘Yep.’ Fuck, I didn’t even think that was a symptom, but now she mentioned it, Scarlett used to take a litre bottle of water everywhere with her when she was pregnant.
‘Any changes in your training or exercise routine?’
‘I’ve had to cut back a bit. Pilates feels harder than usual. I get breathless.’
She hmms softly, like she’s connecting dots I’m desperately trying to pretend don’t exist.
‘Any major stress? Travel? Illness? Stomach bugs?’
‘All of the above.’ I laugh weakly. ‘Paris, then work exploded, then my brothers insisted I travel to Barcelona with them, for a project which they didn’t even secure. Then the Cosmopolitan feature, and before that—’ I stop myself before I sayI slept with a man whose name I don’t know, yet I haven’t been able to get him out of my head and his face is the one I see every time I close my damned eyes. I blow out a breath. ‘Life is busy.’
She offers a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re a Beckett. Busy is your baseline.’ Intelligent eyes meet mine over the rims of her glasses. ‘I have to ask… any breast tenderness?’
I freeze. Heat creeps into my cheeks. ‘A little.’ A shaky breath escapes me.
‘And you're still taking the prescription I gave you?’ Her fingers skim over the iPad. ‘Desogestrel?’
‘Yes,’ I say quickly. ‘The mini pill. I take it back-to-back. I never missed even one. I even take them at the same time every day. I’m careful.’
‘Good.’ She crosses her legs and says in a gentle tone. ‘But you know the pill isn’t one hundred percent.’
My stomach plummets. ‘I know. But—still—I can’t be…’ I can’t even bring myself to say the P word. ‘I just can’t be.’
Her voice softens, slow and calm, like she’s talking someone down from a dangerously high ledge. ‘Right, well, we’ll run a full panel of bloods. Iron, thyroid, vitamin D, B12, hormones, blood sugar—everything. And I’ll need a urine sample. Ruling out a pregnancy is a standard procedure.’
I nod, even though my vision blurs for a second.
‘Don’t panic.’ She pats my hand kindly. ‘Half my female patients on the pill get early pregnancy screens purely to rule it out. Most come back negative.’
‘Okay,’ I whisper. My voice doesn’t even sound like mine. It sounds like someone who’s terrified of what she might find out.
‘We’ll check absolutely everything, and whatever’s going on, we’ll handle it together, okay?’ She squeezes my hand. She’s the best. That’s why she gets paid the big bucks.
Her kindness almost makes me cry again.
Dr Tessa turns to her desk, snatches up a urine sample pot and presses it gently into my hands. She points at the doorway. ‘Bathroom is across the hall.’
I manage to find it, despite my shaky legs. By the time I do what I need to do, wash my hands and return with my sample, Dr Tessa is snapping on examination gloves and reaching for blood vials.
‘Ready?’ she asks, taking the urine sample from me anddipping a test stick in it. She sets it behind a stack of files, out of my sight.
A fresh bout of nausea rips through me, but I nod. She tightens the tourniquet around my arm, and the needle pricks my skin. She draws blood into eight different vials. Finally, she finishes and presses a pad to my arm to stop the bleeding.
‘Hold this here.’ She motions to the cotton.
I squeeze my arm, though my fingers feel numb. My pulse hammers, pounding through my ears.
She disposes of the needle, removes her gloves, and washes her hands in the small sink by the window. Everything she does is calm.
I am anything but.
