Waking up on Friday, I struggled to get a shower and wash my hair. It was exhausting, but I needed to get it done before the appointment. Sluggishly, I brushed my teeth, counted to ten while my stomach did several flips and threatened evacuation again, and then finally put on real people pants.
Strictly speaking, I could have worn sweatpants. The doctor, Doctor Whittaker, would have been fine with it. She had seen me since I was a teenager and had been our family’s doctor since before that while I was still seeing a pediatrician. She was just a little older than Dad and had known Mom and her family all her life. She would have been just fine seeing me in sweatpants on account of being sick, but I knew it would get around to Mom. She would never let that go.
When I got there, driving as slowly and safely as possible considering I often found myself seeing double, I noticed there was a new name on the building. A second doctor, apparently a Dr. Carrell, had joined up and presumably would be taking over when Dr. Whittaker retired. Now that I thought about it, I was surprised she hadn’t already.
Everett had texted every day. I felt bad about not responding to them, but I just didn’t have the energy to explain myself. I knew he would want some kind of reason why I was withdrawing like I was, but I didn’t want to have to go into it with him. Up to now, if we had spent a day not responding, we would catch up. But the last two days, I had ignored my phone completely, sleeping most of the day, and when I wasn’t asleep, I was hunched over the commode, praying that I would keep my insides where they were supposed to be.
“Morning, Helen,” Doctor Whittaker said as she shuffled in. A man was behind her wearing a white coat. “This is Dr. Carrell. He will be sitting with us today if that’s alright with you.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Dr. Carrell will be taking most of the new patients from now on, but since your family has been around nearly thirty years, I thought I would bring him along with me on this one,” she continued. Then, she looked up from her chart and made eye contact with me and her face screwed up to one side. “You don’t look so good, Helen.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve been very ill.”
“It says here you’ve been experiencing nausea and stomach pains? Is that right?”
“Yes,” I replied. “And dizziness. No fainting but close to it.”
“Did you drive here yourself?” she asked.
“I did.”
“We might want to see if someone could pick you up,” she said. “Maybe I can call Dina.”
“Dina, like Dina’s Diner?” Dr. Carrell asked.
“The very same,” she replied, still looking at me. “Helen, why don’t you relax on the chair there and I’ll go grab a few things and be right back? Steve, if you could get her blood pressure for me?”
“Sure,” he said. As she walked out, Dr. Carrell took my blood pressure, and as the cuff slowly eased off my arm, he cleared his throat. “So, Dina’s Diner, eh?”
“Yup,” I said. “I took over running it a few weeks ago.”
“Are you responsible for the lasagna on Sunday?” he asked.
“No, that’s one of my cooks. His grandmother’s recipe.”
“It’s to die for,” he said. “I come every Sunday for it.”
I nodded. I thought his face was familiar. I was tracing back through memories of it later as I waited on them both to come back with the test results. She had me pee in a cup and then took a pinprick of blood from my finger but nothing else. I figured if that was all they needed, maybe I wasn’t as sick as I thought I might be. That was a big relief.
It took a while, and when I finally figured out why I knew Dr. Carrell, they were on their way back. His face had popped up in a distinct memory where he brought a young lady in, and they both raved about the lasagna. Tony had seemed so happy. I smiled at the memory of the cook beaming with pride.
Dr. Carrell said something, but it didn’t register.
“I’m what?” I said, coming back to reality and hearing the distant echoes of her words coming back to me. I surely didn’t hear what I thought I heard.
“You’re pregnant,” Dr. Carrell said. “Looks like it’s very early, but you’re very clearly pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant?” I mumbled.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no. That can’t be right. I must have some kind of sickness that looks like I’m pregnant. Like, like…
I drew a blank.
Dammit. Oh, dammit.
“Are you okay?” Doctor Whittaker asked.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
She nodded solemnly. I could see the judgment rolling across her mind. I was the girl who’d left and went off to the big city. Now I suddenly reappeared and ended up pregnant. And very clearly without a wedding ring. She thought she had me all figured out.