Chapter 23 Raya
Raya
Dr. Bernard looks at me over the top of her glasses. “How are you feeling, Raya?”
“Not great. I was spotting for almost two weeks, and now I just feel off." I stare around the cold exam room, shivering, hugging myself for warmth. "Almost like my period is coming, but there’s nothing.”
“I see. Was it heavy spotting? Light?”
“It was heavy at first. Not like a full period. It got lighter every day until it stopped.”
“When was your last period?”
“Before the spotting? Let me check.”
I grab my phone and pull up my tracker. “December eighth.”
Dr. Bernard nods. “Is it possible that you’re pregnant?”
“No. I’m on the pill. Faithfully.”
“Alright, well I’ll test for it just in case." She peers at her computer screen. "I see here you want a full std panel?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a risk of exposure that you know of?” she asks, her eyes shifting to my wedding ring. She tried to do it fast, but I caught it.
“No known risk, no. But I’m not one of these women out here with her head in the sand. I love my husband, but I don’t put anything past anybody. Run me every test you got.”
She smiles knowingly. “Smart woman.”
I love Dr. Bernard, because she makes all of the unpleasant pap shit bearable. No stirrups, a small, heated speculum, constant verbal notification of everything before she does it, and she’s extremely gentle.
After my exam, I dress quickly before she comes back in and takes her seat.
“So, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary during the exam," she says, and relief floods through me. "I’ll send your swabs out, and after you leave me, you’ll go to the lab for a blood draw.
Some results will come in sooner than others.
You can check your patient portal or wait for the notifications, it’s up to you.
Did you have any questions or concerns?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, then. Take care of yourself, and we’ll see you back here in a couple of years.”
After my blood draw, I sit in my car for a moment just to get my bearings. I’m tired, hungry, and a little sad, and I don’t know why. Everything just feels…off.
When I get home, I head straight from the shower. I know I must be tired as hell, because I don't even bother with lotion after. I just dry myself off and fall into bed. Drifting off is easy; I'm out before I can even turn my ringer off.
Bzzzzzz.
Bzzzzzzzzz.
What is that?
Oh. It’s my phone.
I sit up slowly, wiping my bleary eyes, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. It’s too light to be day, but not dark enough to be night. And I’m alone. I don’t know where my husband is.
I hate this feeling.
I hate everything right now, actually.
My phone is where Ace would normally be in the bed. I pick it up and see the email notification.
It’s the doctor’s office.
My heart begins to race. For some reason, this kinda feels like laptop activity, so I stretch myself across the bed to grab my computer off the nightstand.
The glow of the screen illuminates my little section of the room. I log into the portal.
This shit looks like Greek to me.
Patient: Raya Taylor
DOB: 07/06/1995
Lab Order Date: 01/24
Collection Date: 01/24, 9:25 AM
Result Status: Final
Provider: Dr. Norelle Bernard, OB/GYN
***Lab Results***
Test: hCG, Quantitative
Result: 6,282 mIU/mL
Flag: H
Reference Range: Non-pregnant: <5 mIU/mL
***Notes***
*Elevated hCG consistent with early pregnancy
Well, I understand the note, at least.
It has to be a mistake, though. I just had a period. I take my pills faithfully. It doesn’t make sense.
My laptop hums quietly, a soundtrack to my confusion. It’s all so sterile and clinical. Numbers on a screen. It means nothing. And it’s wrong.
It has to be wrong.
In a daze, I push my laptop away and slide off the bed. I don’t even know how I get to the bathroom. I’m dissociating like you do sometimes when you drive home from work and don’t remember how you got there.
Now my hand is on the drawer knob. I only know that because I’m looking at it. I feel nothing as I open it and pull out my birth control pills.
I stare for a while. A few minutes at least. I’m even more confused now, because I didn’t skip any. The number is right. The days are right.
I know it’s statistically possible to get pregnant on the pill, but the odds are low, and I’ve been a stickler, because I do not want a fucking baby. Ever.
It doesn’t make sense.
I flip the pack over and stare at the foil, running my fingers over the holes, feeling the punctures.
Every time I pushed a little pill through it’s foil skin and popped it into my mouth, I was controlling my own fucking destiny.
I was being responsible. Those little holes are monuments to my independence. This can’t be fucking happening to me.
A tear slips out of my eye and crawls down my cheek as I try to figure out where I went wrong. I flip the pack over and over, looking at the front, studying the back. Were some of them from a bad batch? Did they get exposed to an extreme temperature? Were they tampered with?
Wait.
The pack slips from my fingers and hits the cold tile floor with a clang. I don’t even reach to pick them up, I just stare down at them as my Fitbit buzzes with a notification about my heart rate.
It couldn’t be.
He wouldn’t.
Except…the way he’s been acting…he’s been so fucking weird lately. So overly attentive, but shady at the same time.
I thought it had to do with Veronica, but it might even be worse than that.
I sink to the bathroom floor and put a hand over my mouth.
There's only one way to find out.