“Side effects can include mood swings, headaches, bloating, breast tenderness, fatigue. Some women feel fine. Some women feel like they’ve been hit by a truck. Everyone’s different.”
“Great.”
She smiled. “I know it sounds intimidating, but you’re going to do great.”
I didn’t believe her.
But I nodded anyway.
She handed me a prescription.
“Fill this today. Start injections tomorrow night. I’ll see you back here in three days for monitoring.”
I took the prescription.
Stared at it.
“Truth.”
I looked up.
Dr. Beaumont’s expression had softened.
“This is going to be hard on your body,” she said quietly. “Make sure you have support. Someone you can call if you need help. Someone who can be there for you.”
I opened my mouth.
“I do,” I lied.
She studied me for a moment.
Then nodded.
“Good.”
I filled the prescription at the pharmacy on Magazine Street.
The pharmacist handed me a white paper bag and a pamphlet on how to self-inject.
I sat in my car in the parking lot and opened the bag.
Inside was a box of pre-filled syringes, alcohol wipes, and a sharps container.
I stared at the syringes.
My hands started shaking.
I got out of the car.
Walked back into the clinic because I damn sure couldn’t do this at home with my mama all in my business. Also, if I passed out, I wanted Dr. Beaumont to be close.
I found the bathroom.
Locked the door.
Set the bag on the counter and pulled out the needle kit.
The syringe was small—smaller than I expected—but it still looked like a weapon.
