Chapter 11
Lizzy
“Lizzy Lewis,” the nurse calls from the doorway.
Standing, I approach her. When she sees me, she opens the door further and gestures inside.
“I’m Nancy, and I’ll be your nurse today,” she says with a smile.
I shoot her an answering smile. “Hi, Nancy. How’re you today?”
“Good. What about you?” she returns my greeting.
“I’m doing well.”
We stop for me to get weighed, and I pretend not to notice the few pounds I’ve gained. I enjoy baking too much to let a little weight stop me. Maybe if I had someone to share my concoctions with, I wouldn’t succumb to eating them all.
She takes my vitals, which are all normal. I’m not taking any medication, so that portion goes by quickly. Then she asks the reason for my visit.
“I’m here for my Pap Smear. So, just a regular checkup.” I hesitate, then muster a deep breath. “I’d also like to discuss birth control.”
Nancy stops talking to look at me. “We can definitely do that. Would this be for hormones and menstrual issues or for contraceptive methods?”
I blush like a nun despite being a twenty-six-year-old who has had sex. It’s been years, but I’m no virgin.
“Contraceptive,” I clarify.
“What are you currently using as a contraceptive? Condoms or…?” She keeps her tone professional, not an ounce of judgment in it. But I can’t imagine telling a gynecologist or her nurse that you use the classic pull-out method.
“None.” As she starts typing again, I blurt out, “I don’t use any because I’m not sexually active.”
She nods and notes it on her computer, then pauses to face me again. “You aren’t currently sexually active, but you’d like to get on a contraceptive? Do you plan on becoming sexually active in the near future?”
I redden even further. How do I explain to her that I’ve been asked on one date with a guy I’m not even sure I’m interested in and who hasn’t responded to my messages in days, but because I need to put myself out there and am already here, I’ve decided to get on birth control in case I get dicked down without sounding like a loser?
“Yes. I’m trying to put myself out there more. I have an upcoming date and want to be prepared. Not that I’m going to put out on the first date!” I tack on the end quickly. I know she’s not judging me, but I feel a thousand eyes on me.
“I completely understand. It’s smart of you to stay ahead on this. Do you know which method you’d like? Oral, implant, IUD?” Her demeanor relaxes me enough that my shoulders sag.
“I have no idea,” I confess. “What do you recommend?”
“There are plenty of options. The doctor can go over the specifics of each with you.” She digs into the hanging folders behind her and pulls out a pamphlet. “Here. This covers each one in detail.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, my attention already captured by the small purple pamphlet.
“The doctor will be with you shortly. Please put on the gown and sit on the table.” She leaves with those words, and I dutifully undress, fold my clothes, then put on the gown. The sheet goes on my lap, then I pick up the pamphlet.
It seems there are three different types of birth control.
Combined hormonal contraceptives which are progestin and estrogen such as oral pill, weekly transdermal patch, and monthly vaginal ring.
Those prevent ovulation and are about eighty-five percent effective.
There are progesterone-only contraceptives such as three-month injections and a three-year implant.
Injections seem like too much upkeep, but three years seems like a long commitment.
At least until I see the third type. Emergency contraceptives like the Copper IUD are the most effective at ninety-nine percent.
However, they last for five years, which is an even bigger commitment.
I’m still undecided when Dr. Sanchez comes in. She has a big smile on her face, always a welcoming presence.
“Hey, Lizzy. What’s new? I see it’s been a year since you’ve been here,” she asks as she washes her hands and puts on a pair of latex gloves.
Her question is harmless, but it causes me to freeze. It’s been a year since I’ve been here, and nothing has changed in my life. Nothing new has occurred. I haven’t progressed in any way. I’m happy with my life, but it’s disheartening to realize I’m in stasis.
“There really hasn’t been anything new.” I perk up when I remember, “The zoo got a new python! He’s been an exciting addition.”
Bless her heart, because she smiles and doesn’t comment on how boring or gross that is. “That’s wonderful. I’ll have to bring my daughter to see him soon.”
Her eyes drop to the pamphlet in my lap, then she opens the computer. “Let’s talk about contraceptives then we’ll move on to your Pap Smear.”
I fold up the papers in my lap and look at her. “Sounds good. I’m not sure what type I want to get on.”
“That’s okay. That’s what I’m here for. Would you rather something inserted in your body or daily pills?” She folds her hands in her lap as she gives me her full attention.
“Daily pills might be too much hassle, but the idea of a foreign object in my body creeps me out a little. I guess it’s not all that different than the trackers we put in our animals at the zoo though.” I let that thought sit with me. The animals don’t have a problem with it, so why should I?
“I understand that with the pills. You would have to be intentional about taking them at the same time every day. However, with the implant and IUD, it’s only a one-time insertion and most don’t need to be replaced for three years.
You won’t feel them inside you. Ultimately, it’s your decision.
I will tell you, when I was on birth control, I had the implant.
It worked well for me.” That settles it for me.
If it’s good enough for the gynecologist, it’s good enough for me.
“I’ll do that then. The implant,” I decide.
“Okay. I’ll put in the order now and inject it after your Pap Smear. Now, legs in the stirrups.” She situates herself at my feet and gets to work.
She talks me through the procedure, and when the pinch comes, I’m prepared. It doesn’t stop me from wincing, as the bite of pain still jolting through me.
Once that’s done, she steps out so I can clean myself and get dressed. It seems almost comical to give me that privacy after just being inside my vagina. But I appreciate it nonetheless.
She returns and injects the implant in me. Nausea rolls through me, but besides that, I don’t feel any different. I rub at the site in my arm, trying to soothe the ache. After thirty minutes, I leave the building.
On my way home, I pass the mall. Impulsively, I pull into the parking lot and go inside. It’s silly to buy a new outfit for a date, but I want to treat myself. This is my first date in over a year, not counting Betty’s setup.
Entering one of the department stores, I make my way to the women’s section.
Flipping through racks of clothes, I try to find something that speaks to me.
Some printed skirts catch my eye. There’s a leopard print one and a snake print one.
They’re both maxi length, which does cause me trouble with only being five feet tall, but I grab them anyway.
Skipping to the next section, I add a maroon lace dress, a razor blue halter-neck top, and a white fur blouse. My next stop is the dressing room.
First, I try on the skirts. Both of which drag to the floor.
I hold back my groan of frustration. Every pair of pants and long dresses have to be hemmed.
Even the petite ones, which are made for five-foot four-inch women, are too long.
I try not to dwell on the fact that this world wasn’t made for short people, which makes sense since I’m in the first percentile.
For heaven’s sake, I can’t even reach the middle shelf.
I pull off the skirt and go for the maroon dress.
This one lands at my knees, which is longer than it’s meant to be, and it’s tighter than intended around my curvy thighs.
Being short and curvy proves to be even more difficult.
I can’t shop in the junior’s section because my bust and hips can’t squeeze into them.
Then I try on the blue blouse. It’s a brighter color than I’d normally go for, but it was too pretty to pass up. It fits well but stretches tightly over my boobs. Lastly, I grab the white fur top, its straps slip off my shoulders.
Now I remember why I don’t like shopping. Nothing ever fits. Getting dressed, I collect all the disappointing clothes and hang them on the rack. A saleswoman at the counter stops folding clothes to address me.
“Did none of them work out for you?” she sounds upset for me, and that makes me instantly like her.
“No. None fit me right.” I redden as I admit it.
“Hmm. Let’s see if I can help. Are you shopping for a specific event?” The lightness in her voice lifts my disheartened spirits.
“A first date.” I might as well be honest. “At a sports bar.”
She wrinkles her nose which makes me laugh. “I’m guessing he chose the place.”
“Oh yeah. Sports bars aren’t really my scene,” I confess.
“Mine either. Do you have a dark pair of jeans you could wear? We can find a cute top and coat to go with them,” she suggests.
I wince. “I’m not the biggest fan of jeans. I hate the way they fit.”
She nods understandingly, then perks up. “I have an idea! Follow me. I’m Kendra, by the way!”
“I’m Lizzy.” She smiles, then zips through the store, grabbing items so quickly off racks and shelves that I can’t process what they are. I see a wave of sheer fabric and some green plaid.
When we return to the dressing room area, she presents her findings. “Here’s a pair of sheer fleece-lined tights. They’re furry and warm, but still sexy. And they’ll fit no matter what.” She holds them out for me to feel.
“Woah, those are soft!”
Then she holds up a dark green, plaid jumper.
It has a V-neck top, cinches slightly at the waist, then falls into a loose skirt.
“Here’s the dress to wear on top. It’s cute, but still casual enough for a sports bar.
And you can wear this top underneath it.
” She holds up a black mock-neck, long-sleeve top.
“That’s perfect!” I grin as I clap my hands together. “I already have a black top like that though, but can I still try it on to complete the look?”
“Of course!” She leads me to a dressing room and hangs the clothes before leaving me to try them on. “What’s your shoe size?”
“Six and a half.” I barely get it out before she’s out of the room.
I slip on the outfit and can’t believe how well they fit. Twirling in the mirror, I appreciate how it shows off my figure without being improper.
There’s a knock on the dressing room door. “It’s me! I brought the final touch.”
I open to see Kendra holding a pair of high black boots with chunky heels. Quickly, I put them on. She’s right. They complete the look.
“Now that’s how you show up to a first date!” She winks at me. “And your bangs look amazing with it!”
She’s right, and I can’t help but smile. “Thank you so much!”
“Of course! I love helping people find the perfect look. One day, I’m going to work in a high up fashion brand. Just wait and see.” Sighing, she turns to go.
“Wait,” I call out. “Um… If a man asks you on a date, but doesn’t respond to your text, is the date still on?”
Kendra pauses for a while, pondering the question. I’m grateful I can ask her because I don’t have anyone else.
“When did he ask you, and when’s the date?”
“He asked me on Tuesday, and we texted some then. But that was two days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. But I’ve only texted him twice without a reply. And the date’s supposed to be tonight.” The more I talk, the less sure I am that the date is happening.
“If the time, date, and location are set, then I’d say just show up. If he isn’t there in the first fifteen minutes, then bail. But you might as well give him a chance. The worst that can happen is he doesn’t show.” Her words reignite my faith, but not completely.
“Okay. I’ll go,” I agree tentatively.
“Plus, then you get to wear this cute outfit!” She looks me over one last time and smiles. “Dang, I did good. Go change, and when you’re ready, I’ll check you out so you can have my employee discount.”
I’m about to tell her she doesn’t have to do that, but she’s already down the hallway before I can open my mouth. Doing as I’m told, I change back into my clothes and go to the front. Kendra’s waiting for me and checks me out with the discount.
“Thank you so much,” I tell her, trying to express my gratitude not only for the discount, but for acting like a friend.
“Girl, it’s no problem. Have fun on that date. And if the guy doesn’t show up, then it’s his loss.” She squeezes my hand before handing me my bags and with one last smile, I leave.
On the drive home, I realize I’m more excited to wear my new outfit than to see this man. Maybe it won’t be a bad thing if he doesn’t show up.