4. Bridget
CHAPTER 4
Bridget
I leave the office a little early on Monday afternoon so I can make it to my doctor’s appointment on time.
Dr. Francis enters the room with the nurse following behind her. “Hello, Bridget. So, we’re performing your yearly exam today.”
My eyes lock on a spot on the ceiling as I shift uncomfortably on the table. “Correct.”
“How is everything? Do you have any changes in your medical history? Any concerns?”
“Yeah, I’ve had some pain on my right side, and my periods have been more painful than normal.”
“I see. Can you describe the pain?”
“Most of the time it’s dull, but sometimes I get a sharp stabbing pain. More so on my right side.”
“Is it constant or intermittent? Does it happen during sex? During your cycle?”
“It comes and goes. I haven’t noticed it during sex, but it does seem to be stronger during my period.”
“Understood.” Dr. Francis pulls the stirrups out of the table, and I continue inching my body to the edge until nearly my entire ass is hanging off, then ease my legs into the stirrups. Despite the way the stirrups’ position holds me open, I still try closing my legs, as though this medieval contraption would allow that. Is everyone like this at the gynecologist, or is it just me?
I stare at the same spot on the ceiling as I hear the nurse preparing the tools for the scraping and prodding that will inevitably ensue. The rolling stool shuffles around me as I feel cold, gloved fingers on my inner thighs. “Ahhh,” I groan as goosebumps prickle my skin.
“Sorry, but you know what they say, ‘cold hands,” Dr. Francis begins.
“Warm heart,” the nurse finishes, not even pretending to be amused. How many times a week must she finish that line for her? Here’s an idea: Buy the woman some hand warmers so she isn’t making uncomfortable women more uncomfortable.
Why am I like this? Why can’t I do pleasantries like normal people? Laugh at a doctor’s awkward small talk and interact with people like everyone else?
The exam progresses like usual except for what feels like a lot of extra prodding once the doctor begins the I’m going to see how far I can shove my arm inside of you part. I don’t remember this much examining in my normal yearly visits, and anxiety niggles the back of my brain.
“Ow,” I hiss when her fingers hit a tender spot on my right side.
She performs the rest of the pelvic exam without incident before moving on to the breast exam, then allowing me to sit up. And of course, I feel the thin paper beneath me disintegrate as my ass rubs all over the table underneath. Ugh.
“Your breast exam is clear, but it would be wise to schedule a mammogram in the next year or so. We usually start at forty, but given the family history in your chart, it might be worth starting sooner. We should have the results of your Pap back in a few days, but I’m going to send you over to radiology for an ultrasound. I was able to feel what might be a cyst on your right ovary, and I’d like to take some blood and run some tests to rule out a few things.”
“Like cancer?”
“Yes, like cancer, but until we know for certain, there’s no cause for concern. Ovarian cysts can be somewhat common, and not all are cancerous. Many can be removed laparoscopically, but not all benign cysts need to be removed, depending on the amount of pain they cause.”
“Okay.”
Fuck.
She smiles at me and places a hand on my knee. I can’t help but recoil at her touch. I don’t mean to, but I’m not in a place emotionally to receive physical touch.
“Do you have any questions?”
“No. But I’m sure I will once we have more answers.” I give her a smile I pray looks sincere and less murderous than I feel.
Dr. Francis and her nurse leave, and I rise and move toward my clothes. I dig my underwear out of its hiding place and stand balancing on one leg at a time as I pull them on. Running a hand over my ass, I feel the thin strips of paper from the exam table that have congealed to my sweaty butt cheeks. Gross. I shuffle across the room with my panties around my knees until I close in on the trashcan. Its opening stands taller than ass-level so I tip it, angling it against me as I attempt to wipe the thin wet shreds of paper off me and into the mouth of the receptacle. I vow to invent a better covering for OB/GYNs to use on their exam tables.
After pulling myself together and putting on the rest of my clothes, I exit the exam room and meet the eyes of the impatient nurse. “This way,” she says as I follow her quick steps down the hallway to the ultrasound room.
The rest of the afternoon continues in a blur as the ultrasound confirms that I do indeed have a cyst but will need to wait for the results of my blood test before I find out if it’s benign or not.
By the time I get home, I’m exhausted and decide to take a quick shower before changing for bed. I realize that I haven’t even checked my phone since leaving work and retrieve it from my purse, plugging it in on my nightstand. Looking at the screen, I see a ton of messages from Becka. Shit.
Becka
How did today go?
What did the doctor say?
Seriously, are you ok?
I can see you haven’t read my messages yet.
CHARGE YOUR PHONE
I’m not freaking out
Ok, maybe I’m picnicking
Picnic
Panic
Ducking autocorrect
Fucking
Ughhhhhh answer me
You said you’d text me after your appt
I’m fine
Sorry, haven’t looked at my phone all day
Appt was fine but they had to run some extra tests
My phone lights up with a call from Becka, and I swipe to answer the call. Her panicked voice doesn’t even say hello before she peppers me with questions. “Extra tests? Did they find something? Is it cancer? What did the doctor say?”
I run a hand through my hair and blow out a long breath. “Becka, stop. I’m fine.”
“I swear if you say ‘I’m fine’ one more time!”
“There’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Francis said I have a cyst on one of my ovaries and they ran some tests to see if it is cancerous or not. I should have the results in a few days. There’s nothing to worry about yet.”
“Damn, girl. Okay, we’ll get through this. Let’s get coffee soon and we can talk about everything when you know more.”
“Deal. Now go spend some time with your husband.”
Hanging up the call, I turn off the light and lie back on my bed staring up at my ceiling. Seconds later, my phone buzzes and I roll over to see what Becka wants. Only, it’s not Becka.
Pup
It’s been 3 days. I’m dying to know what you’re thinking.
I’m thinking about a lot of things—thoughts I haven’t shared with anyone, not even Becka—but after being faced with what could potentially be my own mortality today, I decide to give the pup a chance. He was excellent at so many things the other night, and I could use a distraction right now.
Want to know what I’m thinking about?
You
I can’t stop thinking about you
Hypothetically, if this were to happen again, what are your plans?
I wanna take you out on a real date
The thought of going out in public with him gives me anxiety. What if people think I’m his mother? Fuck, I am technically old enough to be his mother. I know we met in a club, but this is different. This is not a club full of drunk people looking to hook up. What if we’re out at a nice restaurant and someone I know sees us? What would people think? This is a bad idea.
Or we could stay in. I could cook for you
It’s as though he can sense my hesitation. Maybe this could work. I said one more night, and a night in would be perfect.
What would you make?
What do you like?
Are you implying you can actually cook?
I’m not implying anything. I can, and I will.
What would you like me to make?
Surprise me