Another house call.
"Carly, I thought we had an understanding. You're only supposed to call me when there's something seriously wrong with you."
"But this is serious!"
Its serious to me. I'd like to see Jonathan suffer through a week of absolute hell and then tell me that this isn't serious. This is serious. I ache, and I throw up, and I hate food. I've never hated food a day in my life, but I hate now. All it does is make me sick. And then I can't go more than a few hours at a time without rushing into the bathroom because of how much my stomach fucking hates food. Then, after I'm properly worn out from feeling shitty, I sleep. But I don't sleep normal hours, oh no, I'm running on Sam time. From whatever time I nod off at night, to straight into the afternoon. Yesterday I woke up and Oprah was on.
Clearly, I need a professional opinion.
"It doesn't require the attention of a surgeon. Listen, I can get an appointment for you with my colleague Brian Jusko. I'll call and tell him to see you right away. He'll take good care of you, I promise."
"I don't want your colleague. I want you." I thought about that for a second and sighed. "Not like that."
"I know."
Good. I just had to get that one out. Sam doesn't like the idea that I've slept with my doctor as it is. If I start openly saying I want Jonathan, someone is bound to get the wrong idea. I may be sick, but I know how this works. I'm not supposed to be saying things like that unless I can back them up with medical reasons or outright fears. Usually, my intense hatred of hospitals covers it. But because this isn't a bloody injury, and I could probably go to any traditional doctor for it if they didn't feak me out with their tables and their blood pressure cuffs, and their bad smells, I need to watch what I say.
"How long has this been going on? Are you sure it isnt food poisoning?"
"Its been about a week."
Give or take. Well, give, but who's counting? It can't be food poisioning if its lasted this long, right? Whatever made me sick would already be out of my system by now. That one is out. And its probably good that its out. I'd have to kick Jonathan's ass if he told me he wanted me to go have my stomach pumped or something. I don't do hospitals. He knows what happened the one and only time he dragged me to his, and I don't think he'll be making that mistake ever again.
When you're strong enough to break their restraints, most places don't want you to come back.
"Then it shouldn't be a virus either."
What? Oh shit. If not as serious things like viruses and food poisoning are out, then I'm screwed. And Sam is gonna kill me if I'm screwed, because we just got back together. If I'm in life-threatening illness territory, he's going to be annoyed that I waited until now to figure it out.
"Oh."
Let's ignore my family's medical history for a moment, and just calm down. Its just soreness, acheyness and vomitting. For all I know, it could be stress related. I haven't been particularly stressed out lately, but between worrying about Dan, and slaying, and spending a lot of time with Sam, and going to school...that could do it, couldn't it? My body could be telling me that I've been taking on too many things at once, via the mean way.
"Carly..."
"What?"
I don't like his tone. That's Jon's serious tone. Everytime he uses that one, I know I'm in trouble. And there's always this look that he gives to match--shit. That look. The one he's giving me right now. I hate that look. Its a bad omen, and it makes the indentation in his chin look bigger, and it doesn't work for me, period.
Stop making that look!
"Has your menstrual cycle been normal?"
..."Excuse me?"
I don't like that question. He shouldn't be asking it. As a guy who I fucked around with a lot, he should not be asking it. And as a guy in general, too. That's a girl question. I don't care if he's getting at something or not, I don't want to hear it being asked, and I don't want to answer it. Its gross. A girl telling that to a guy, doctor or otherwise, is gross. Especially when its a guy who has seen her naked. And him using the word "menstrual" makes it even worse.
Did we bypass helping me and skip to tormenting or something? Someone should have warned me we were going there instead.
"You asked me to help you. If you want me to do that, you're going to have to give me something to go on."
But what does...fine.
"I guess."
"You guess?"
Does he want details or something? I don't get this. I'm humiliated, and I don't know where he's going with this, but I don't like it either, and I think he needs to stop. I'll go see a woman professional if he knows of one, I just want this over now.
"I am, for the most part, I'm a day or two late."
What is with that look?! Geez, its not like that's a sign of the apocalypse or something. I would know, I'm in the line of work to understand the indicators. None of them involved a late period. And that kind of thing doesn't always have to happen like clockwork anyway, so it can't possibly be related to what we're dealing with now.
Does he think I have an STI or something?
If Jon so much as suggests that, I am never speaking to him ever again.
"Are your breasts swore? You said you've been feeling achey."
"...I hate you. And I don't think I want your help anymore."
I got up, turned around, buttoned the top three shirts I'd unbuttoned when he'd been listening to my chest, and then turned back to face him again. I can't believe this. He's always been professional about this before, and the one time when I'm completely unsure of what's going on with my body, he's has to act like this? I need a doctor right now, and maybe a friend if Jon can provide that, and all he's doing is acting like a creep.
I really thought he was better than that.
"Hey, calm down. I think I know what's going on here."
I don't know whether to ask or aim for the crotch.
No, I need to know. I'm going to ask. I have to ask because I need to know.
"What, Jon?"
"I think you might be pregnant."
I might be what...?
No. That's impossible. Its wrong, and its terrifying, and its completely impossible. I'm on the pill. I can't be pregnant. People who use the pill don't get pregnant. And people like me, people who have no business getting pregnant and definitely would never want to, don't get pregnant. Because we'd be bad at it.
He had me going for a minute, but that can't be it. Jonathan is probably trying to get me back for calling him in the first place. He thinks heart attacks are funny. They bring in business for his hospital, so he probably likes them. He's not being serious, he's joking. He's not funny, but he's twisting my arm.
"I'm on the pill."
Remember? The pill? My contraceptive of choice back when I was seeing you? Its never gotten me pregnant before, and it couldn't have done it now. So there, not pregnant.
"No form of birth control is 100% effective, you know that as well as I do."
"Well mine is."
It is. It has to be. Sam and I could never handle having a kid. We'd just...we'd...I don't even know what we'd do. All I know is I'd be a worse mother than my own was, because I'd actually try and then fail. And Sam told me on the first morning he spent here that he doesn't want any kids. So technically, I've known all along that this wouldn't be something he'd want, if it were to happen, which it wouldn't. Because my birth control works.
...But if it did, Sam wouldn't want it.
Great.
"I know this is a shock for you, but you have to be realistic about it. You are showing symptoms of pregnancy."
I am. Okay. I can admit that much. There are symptoms. But symptoms don't make it definite, right? I could have symptoms of that, and then it could turn out to be something else entirely. Its fine to have the symptoms, as long as they symptoms don't mean I'm pregnant. I can accept that. As long as this turns out to be something else, I'm great with that.
"I am." There I said it. "What should I do?" I want to figure this out as soon as possible. That way I can tell him he was wrong, and try to figure out what really is going on with me, and stop panicking over the scary possibility that what didn't happen could have happened.
There's just no way.
"Take a pregnancy test. You can get one at the drug store."
Take a what...? Is he kidding?
Nevermind, I know he's not. And I can't muster the hope it would take to believe that he's kidding. He's serious. This is what he wants me to do.
"I have to get back to the hospital. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?"
"I think you've done enough."
I think I have too. Shit. Sam's going to kill me.
What the hell am I supposed to do if its positive?