Except that time in the middle of the night, when Logan pulled out. And the alley…oh God.
“January fourth.” My voice sounds so distant. “That’s probably the conception date.”
“And have you had any bleeding? Anything that resembled your period, maybe?”
I flush. “I don’t track that very closely. Stress sometimes makes my period disappear.”
“Are you under a lot of stress right now?”
Well, I’m married to a hockey player who is playing really well despite being in a bitter feud with my father, and they might go on a deep playoff run together.I go for the explanation that a doctor is likely to understand. “I’m a fourth year medical student.”
“That’ll do it. Where are you hoping to match?”
“Here. Emergency Medicine.” My voice shakes.
“Okay. Good luck with Match Week, by the way. So…that conception date would put you at eleven weeks.” She scans my face. “That’s in the first trimester, if you want to consider your options.”
I nod. “I might want an abortion, yes.”
“I’ll get you some information about that. Change into a gown and I’ll do a quick physical exam as well.”
“Thank you.” After she leaves the room, I strip down to my socks and underwear, then stare down at my midsection. “What the fuck, body?”
I haven’t had a single symptom. It’s a miracle that we decided to do dry January after our blowout night at Breakaway, and that spilled into sober February and I just haven’t felt like beer in March.
I’ve been too tired.
And a little nauseous.
Okay, maybe I’ve had some symptoms, but in my defence, they’re also common symptoms of being three months away from graduating medical school.
I feel lightheaded now. Is that a pregnancy symptom?
Or is it just a sign that I’ve recklessly blown up my life in a new and completely foolish way?
When she comes back, she sets two pamphlets down on the desk, then she quickly sanitizes her hands. “You probably know the drill here, but I want to look at your eyes and listen to your organs.”
I smile at her, although it’s a challenge, since I still feel stunned. “My roommate did this all this morning.”
She laughs a little. “Medical students.”
“Sorry.”
“No, I’d do the same thing. Take a deep breath and hold. Good, and again.” She pats the exam table. “Lie down for me.”
After she gives me the all clear, she hands me the pamphlets she brought in. “Here are the details about terminating the pregnancy.”
“If I’m not sure…”
“Totally understandable. Until you do make a decision, I would encourage you to follow the standard prenatal guidelines.Which means avoiding alcohol and recreational drugs, among other things. The second sheet also lists medications that are considered safe in pregnancy if you need something for your back. But honestly, rest is the most important thing for recovery when it comes to muscle injuries like this.”
Standard prenatal guidelines.“I, uh, am shadowing an interventional radiologist tonight.”
“Oh.” She nods. “You’ll need to tell them that you’re pregnant. They’ll give you appropriate PPE to wear.”
Shock still ringing in my ears, I mutter a thank you as she leaves, then I stumble through getting dressed again. I clutch the pamphlets until I get outside, then I remember that I have my backpack and I drop heavily onto a bench so I can shove them in the main pocket.
Crap.
