Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“What does this mean? W-what are you telling me?”
“How many periods have you missed?”
“Um…four. I…my periods have done that in times of stress before. Skipped. I just finished an election. I attributed it to that.”
“Any hot flushes?”
“N-not that I’ve noticed, no.”
But did I not notice? I’ve “felt hot” several times, but you feel hot sometimes. I would never have assumed feeling hotter than everyone else in the room or fanning on a day that wasn’t especially warm meant hot flashes.
“Weight gain?” Dr. Granden probes.
I release a shaky breath. “Yeah. I do seem to be putting on a few pounds. Again, I assumed stress.”
“What about insomnia? Mood swings? Vaginal dryness? Decreased sexual appetite?”
“Well, I’m a vampire, so I never sleep, but I guess? Maybe? As for mood swings, like I said, I’m coming off a campaign, so for a year and a half I basically fluctuate between Linda Blair and being a twelve-year-old rocking in the corner.” I shrug. “We’d have to ask my assistant if I’ve been more of a bitch than usual.”
Dr. Granden’s lips quirk a little, but her eyes remain serious. “And the sexual appetite?”
“I think my appetite has been consistent. I may as well sleep with my vibrator under my pillow.” I snort. “Satisfaction is another matter. Between you and me, doc, these fellas out here just ain’t doing it right.”
We chuckle, and I realize I needed that. Just something to lift this heavy weight from my chest. My whole adult life I’ve prided myself on the focus, the drive, the discipline required to reach my goals. The future was a plan I executed. Now the future, my future—at least one aspect of it—just spun out of focus.
Out of my control.
“Wait,” I say, assembling the implications of what she’s saying as the shock starts wearing off. “If I don’t have a period, does that mean I can’t have kids? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not necessarily, but the FSH level is significantly higher in your blood than typical.”
“FSH?”
“Follicle-stimulating hormone. Your brain makes more of it as your ovaries produce fewer eggs.”
“Follicle, huh?” I laugh humorlessly. “My ovaries have hair?”
She smiles, the tight line of her mouth easing some. “Not exactly. An increase in FSH alone wouldn’t be enough, but coupled with the missed periods and other symptoms you report, and the tests we’ve done to eliminate what it isn’t, the picture begins to become more clear.”
Ovaries. Eggs. Hormones. Babies.
These are not the things that dominated my internal news cycle when I woke up this morning. Besides seeing Lennix and discussing a candidate’s pro-life stance on a call before this meeting, I haven’t given kids much thought today. Life, though, in its infinite wisdom, has shoved all of this front and center.
“Mind you,” Dr. Granden says, “I’m general practice. I’m just telling you what all the signs indicate. Your test results are consistent with a woman in perimenopause, but I would like you to consult with a specialist, too.”
“A sp-sp-specialist?” I ask, suppressing a groan of frustration that my damn stutter hits me as unexpectedly as my grief does sometimes. “This is going fast. What does this all mean?”
“If a woman is in perimenopause and wants to have kids naturally,” Dr. Granden says, her voice softening into compassion, “she better move fast. You could have a year, maybe a little more if we’re aggressive about re-starting your period. It’s hard to say. There are things you can do. Hormone replacement therapy, which does have some risks, but you can talk those through with the specialist. Several of my patients have also had success with homeopathic remedies. Once we get your period back up and running, we can chart when you’re most fertile and you can—”
“But I don’t want a baby,” I blurt. “I mean, I do someday, but not now. I’m not dating anyone. I’m not involved or interested. I have a gubernatorial campaign to run.” If the candidate chooses me. “I…you’re saying I have to have a baby now?”
“I’m saying if you don’t get pregnant relatively soon, then odds are you never will.”
I’m a rug Dr. Granden’s beating, every word coming out of her mouth a whack, sending air and dust flying from me.
“I don’t know what to say,” I manage, though my tongue feels swollen in my mouth. “I’m not sure what to do. I—”
“If you want to keep even the possibility of children, of a child, then we should at least talk about trying to get your cycle back online. That’s first.”
“Uh, yeah. My cycle. Of course,” I say automatically, trusting that the words coming from my mouth are the right ones. “Do you have water? I need some water.”
Dr. Granden nods behind me. “There’s a water cooler there. I can get it if—”
“No.” I stand and turn toward the cooler. “I can.”
I walk on shaky legs to the little stand at the back of her office. The colorful pattern of the carpet swims through a glaze of sudden tears, and the floor tilts beneath me. The whole world just slid to one side, and I’m holding on to an invisible beam, trying not to fall. My hands tremble around the little plastic cup as I fill it with cold water. Mere minutes ago, I was begging not to be pregnant, and now I may never be? My mother was just reassuring me she would still love her grandchild out of wedlock, and now I may never have one to give her…at all?