h as a daisy? Life is not fair.
There’s a knock at the door.
“That’ll be the good doctor,” Christian grumbles,
obviously still smarting from my irony. He stalks from the
table.
Can’t we just ha一ve a calm, normal morning? I sigh
hea一vily, lea一ving half my breakfast, and get up to greet
Doctor Depo-Provera.
We’re in the bedroom, and Dr. Greene is staring at me
open-mouthed. She’s dressed more casually than last time
in a pale pink cashmere twin set and black pants, and her
fine blond hair is loose.
“And you just stopped taking it? Just like that?”
I flush, feeling beyond foolish.
“Yes.” Could my voice be any smaller?
“You could be pregnant,” she says matter-of-factly.
What! The world falls away at my feet. My
subconscious collapses on the floor retching, and I think
I’m going to be sick, too. No!
“Here, go pee in this.” She’s all business today—
taking no prisoners.
Meekly, I accept the small plastic container she’s
offered and wander in a daze into the bathroom. No. No.
No. No way . . . No way . . . Please no. No.
What will Fifty do? I go pale. He’ll freak.
No, please! I whisper a silent prayer.
No, please! I whisper a silent prayer.
I hand Dr. Greene my sample, and she carefully places
a small white stick in it.
“When did your period start?”
How am I supposed to think about such minutiae when
all I can do is stare anxiously at the white stick?
“Er . . . Wednesday? Not the one just gone, the one
before that. June first.”
“And when did you stop taking the pill?”
“Sunday. Last Sunday.”
She purses her lips.
“You should be okay,” she says sharply. “I can tell by
your expression that an unplanned pregnancy would not be
welcome news. So Medroxyprogesterone is a good idea if
you can’t remember to take the pill every day.” She gives
me a stern look, and I quail under her authoritative glare.
Picking up the white stick, she peers at it.
“You’re in the clear. You’ve not ovulated yet, so
provided you’ve been taking proper precautions, you
shouldn’t be pregnant. Now, let me coun
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