11. Chapter 11 #2
“God, finally!” I shout to myself, sitting in the bathroom at home, seeing the spot of blood on the toilet paper.
I was this close to telling my mom that I’m pregnant.
This is getting way out of control. I’ve been careful, using condoms all the time, but damn.
..my period is always so late. Every time.
It scares the shit out of me, and as much as my mom tells me not to worry, I do.
I mean, I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.
I don’t want to be thinking about kids. Not now.
Maybe not ever. I’m not one of those maternal types at all.
I don’t gush over babies, I don’t dream about the perfect man, either.
This time, my period was more than two months late, and the last one was even later.
It’s giving me a fucking complex. I make up my mind to have mom take me to the gynecologist to figure this shit out.
Going on the pill is not an option, since I’ve heard horror stories of people that take all the hormones and shit, and then they end up getting fucking breast cancer.
No thanks. Hard pass. I won’t even use an I.U.D.
Forget it. If the boys that I sleep with aren’t interested in using a condom, then they’re outta here.
Plain and simple. I can easily move on to the next.
Mom comes in the front door and calls for me. “In the bathroom.” I call back.
I hear her drop her heels in the foyer and come upstairs.
“I finally got my period.”
Mom’s tone is reassuring. “Good. See? I told you it would come. You’re careful.”
“Mom, that’s not it. I need to go to the doctor.”
She frowns. “You want to go? Sure. I’ll make an appointment. I think they’re still open.”
Thank God. Sometimes mom doesn’t like to deal with things unless they’re fun.
And there is nothing fun about going to the gynecologist. Ten minutes later she finds me in my room, doing my homework, so I can head to work in an hour.
“Tomorrow. They had a cancellation. Do you want me to come with you?”
“Will you be able to?”
Her voice is even. “I can make it if you want me to.”
“Sure.”
The leather bed under my ass is freezing cold, with just a paper gown covering my skin.
The woman does a quick internal and a pap smear, oh, but not before asking if I’m a virgin.
Why the fuck that was a necessary question is beyond me.
I mean, if my hymen is broken, shouldn’t she be able to tell?
I digress. “Everything looks good.” She says.
“Sorry if it’s a little bit bloody. I just got my period yesterday, and it was really late.”
“It’s not heavy enough that I couldn’t get the job done. Not to worry. The results should be available shortly. We’ll do some bloodwork.”
“Yeah, we should do that.” I add.
“Do you have any concerns?” I love it how she divides her glance between me and mom. Why would my mother have a concern? And why would it matter? This is my body, right?
“Uh...yeah.” I clear my throat nervously. “My period seems to be all over the place. It doesn’t come for like two months or more. It seems to be getting later and later and I’m using condoms, so it makes me really nervous that I’m pregnant, when I know that it’s probably unlikely.”
She frowns. “We can run some tests and do more bloodwork. See where that goes. I’ll also order an ultrasound and see where we’re at. Is that fair?”
Okay, I take back my earlier comment about the hymen. She’s pretty cool. I figured that she’d wave me off, the way I feel like my mother does sometimes. I was a late bloomer, sure, but that excuse only works for like a year or two, and this has been going on for too long. “Sure. Thanks.”
Okay, so, I don’t know why, but my mom is glued to me.
I guess it’s fair, seeing as I’ve never had to have any sort of test done before.
During childhood, I bounced back from every disease I had.
I think going to the doctor never required anything more than a simple prescription here and there.
“Mom, relax. I’ve had blood taken before. ”
“I know. But that was just for checkups. Routine. God, I don’t know what I’d do if there was anything wrong with you, Jinny.”
“Nothing is wrong, mom. My hormones are just fucked up.”
Mom smirks at my cussing. I think she likes it. She does enough of it. “I’m taking you to lunch after this.”
“Um...mom? I still have to go to the lab for bloodwork, remember?”
“Well, then after that.”
“Then I have to go back to school, and you have to go back to work.”
“Fuck it.” See? I told you she swears, too. “We’re playing hooky for the rest of the day.”
I’m not going to argue with that. “I’m up for that.”
The ultrasound technician is beautiful, Egyptian if I were to guess, but she scares the shit out of me with the expression on her face as she glides the gel all over my belly and tells me to move this way and that.
Mom asks what the problem is, but she keeps saying that everything is okay.
Mom and I keep exchanging looks because we know that legally she can’t say anything.
There is a sign that says so on the door.
I spend the next five days almost sleepless. I have nightmares about being sick or dying, or about having some alien living inside me. Or that I’m pregnant, but surely, she would tell me that, right? I mean, for God's sake, they would have to tell you that, wouldn’t they?
Mom all but chews her fucking fingernails down to the quick as we sit in the gynecologist’s waiting room, waiting to find out what alien is living inside me, when my baby will be born, how long I have to live, or what rare, incurable disease I have.
Personally, I could puke. My period came and left equally fast, adding insult to injury.
Maybe I’m going through menopause? It almost seems that way.
It’s like reverse puberty. Only, the rest of my body is perfectly developed.
I haven’t spoken a word about this to anyone.
Not even to Bowie, my best friend. I’m too scared.
I’m scared that if I talk about it, that it will come true.
As my name is called, I swear to God I feel my heart stop.
Dr. West comes into the room we’re in not even a minute later.
Not giving me enough time to properly prepare myself for the worst. The ball in my throat is almost too much to handle, and I’m so afraid that I’m going to break down in tears and be further humiliated.
She opens the file on the computer, and scans it, as though she’s never seen it before.
I could scream. Did she not look it over already?
Does she not realize how important this is?
Am I really just another patient? Just another number?
I can feel the sweat on my palms as I feel every second pass before she speaks.
“Well, it looks like you have lazy ovaries.” She says simply, as her eyes are still on the scanned document from the lab. All I can see is illegible scrawl marks on the sheet of paper.
“What does that mean?” I ask, trying like hell not to cry.
“It means that you’re not ovulating. Your uterus is shedding by rote. It’s not shedding when it’s supposed to, and that’s why your periods are late and light.”
Mom chimes in. “What can we do about this, and is she going to be okay?”
Dr. West waves. “She’ll be fine while she’s young. There is little that needs to be done here. When she’s older, however, and in her childbearing years, this will be a problem.”
I panic. “Why? Is it going to get worse?”
“It may.” She answers honestly. “Some women with lazy ovaries tend to have no periods. We can control it with hormones, even now we can use hormones to bring your period on, but that’s up to you.”
My neck cranes in disgust. “You mean the pill?”
She nods. “Yes. There are all sorts of different birth control pills that we can use to help bring on your period, and then later, when you want to have children, I can refer you to a fertility clinic. But chances are, you are going to have a difficult time conceiving a child, if your ovaries aren’t working.
Not unless you use artificial insemination or some other fertility method. ”
I cut the air with my hand. “No fucking way. I’m not going on the pill. Forget it. I don’t want to have kids, anyway.”
Mom places a hand on my leg. “Honey, this is moons away. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Fine. I’m not.” I scoff, pulling my ass off the cold leather bed.
“I’m outta here.” I leave, not bothering to wait for mom.
I’ve heard enough. I don’t want kids, I don’t want to go on the pill, and I sure as hell don’t really give a damn if I get my period or not.
Nobody needs to know this. Nobody needs to know a goddamn thing.
Not about the fact that my female parts don’t work, not about the fact that I won’t be able to have children without some serious medical intervention, nothing.
This stays with me. And I’ll beg my mother not to tell a soul.
She’ll understand. Nobody can know. Not even my best friend. Not ever.
The tears don’t start until I get home. I refuse to let my mother see me cry.
Here she thought that I was dying, and the relief is apparent on her face.
She has no idea what is going through my mind, and I dare not tell her, either.
She’ll think I’m being dramatic, and maybe I am, but all the same, this is nothing like what I thought it would be.
My life just changed in the blink of an eye.
I’ll always be different from everyone else, and not in a good way.
What if I meet someone some day that wants to have kids and I can’t give them to him?
He’ll pass on me, that’s for sure. I make up my mind to be rich and hardworking, instead, to make up for my shortcomings.
We all do that, right? We all compensate for the things we fall short on, right?
If you’re short, you wear heels. If you’re ugly, you’re smart and ugly.
If you’re fat, you’re pretty. You get it, right?
That’s what I’ll do. I’ll work hard, be smart, be rich, and I’ll never need to please a man in any other way.
Better yet, I’ll never discuss kids. I don’t want them anyway.
So, what’s the big deal? Fuck him. Malfunctioning ovaries or not, I don’t want kids.
And why am I basing such importance in my life on a man, anyway?
I don’t need one. I don’t need any of them.
...until I do...
I jolt up out of bed, chiding myself for this recurring nightmare that hasn’t shown up since I left Kruger Manufacturing.
What’s more, this is yet another quality night of sleep that’s been interrupted by this silly worry that I have in the back of my head.
It’s lived there since I was sixteen and it doesn’t seem to want to go away.
The clock reads two o’clock in the morning, and the only thought that brings me any peace is wondering how Led’s night went.
And if he’s even home yet...or who he’s at home with. ..