The Oval Office ✓ (Book One)

Chapter Fifty Seven

                              Lauren's P.O.V
                               7 years ago

This place even smells depressing. The scent of disinfectant wafts up my nose, and I try to keep a straight face. They take cleanliness a little too seriously here. In the waiting room, there are various people who- for whatever reason, cannot conceive. I nervously tap my foot, waiting to hear what I already know is true.

We've only actively been trying for three years, but before that, we weren't exactly trying not to. So here I am- not pregnant after thirteen years. When I was younger I never thought I'd be one of those women. The ones who obsess over having kids so much that they can barely think about anything else.

I don't think I'm quite that far yet, but if my mind weren't constantly pulled in a thousand different directions, I'm afraid I might turn into one. I didn't even want kids before I met Kyle; my father sort of ruined that for me because I never wanted to turn out even slightly like him. Sure, he was financially successful and so are we, but he was a fucking religious nutcase. I find it ironic that he- a part time preacher, broke on of the most important commandments of his religion over a verse that's been mistranslated throughout the years.

It's not like it matters now, though. Isabelle's dead and my father was beaten to death by his prison roommate. "As he should." I think. His roommate was a practicing pagan,gay, and a bodybuilder, they didn't exactly get along to begin with- so once he found out about what he did, he was a goner. When I visited the roommate a couple days later to thank him, he basically said "And I'll do it again." If I were in his position- a hundred pounds heavier and way more fit that my father, I would've done the same thing.

  "Ms.Wells." A nurse calls my name from the front desk. I stand up, taking a deep breath. "If you go ahead to that area at the end of the hallway they'll perform the standard check up and send you on to an available doctor's office for the tests you came here for."

  I nod, having to stop myself from speed walking. I want to get this over with as soon as possible. So I sit still, not complaining when the newer phlebotomist accidentally nicks my finger too hard. I've never been bothered by needles or pricks-  because even with the ones that are painful, they're over in less than five seconds. No point in getting worked up over it.

  "I am so sorry-" the phlebotomist apologizes all over herself as she presses gauze to my finger dripping with blood.

  "It's okay." I laugh. "Better that you did it on me than a cranky old man, right? We all fuck up."

  "No, it's not okay, I'm supposed to-"

  "Seriously- I'm not going to sue you. Calm down." I stand up, walking over to the small line of people waiting to get their blood pressure taken. When it's my turn, I'm done in minutes, and after the rest of the checkup, they send me to a room three doors down. At least it doesn't smell as much as the rest of the place- but it still has that pristine hospital scent to it. As I sit impatiently, waiting on a nurse to come do the blood test, my eyes wander around the room.

Like every doctors office, there's the annoying cheat sheets and posters telling you how everything you're putting in your body is garbage, that you're not washing your hands properly, and that vaccines don't cause autism. I roll my eyes- the fact that it's 2016 and people still believe that is hilarious. How many studies have to be done; How many doctors have to tell anti-Vaxxers how fucking stupid they sound before they'll actually listen? I pull out my phone, and the time reads 3:29. Fuck me - the appointment was supposed to be over at 2:30.

  I text Director Roberts to let him know I won't be making it to the 4:00 briefing, and the nurse finally arrives. "Sorry about that-"she says. "We're slammed today."

  "It's fine." I fake smile, my eyes immediately darting to the testing cart she's rolled in. "Let's just get this over with."

  I look away as she wipes my arm down and inserts the needle. Even though they don't bother me, looking at them while they're going into my skin does- and I don't know a single sane person that would disagree.

This nurse isn't as talkative as the others, but she gets it done quickly, twisting the needle a bit when my blood flow slows down. You can tell she's been doing this for a while. When she takes it off, I've got another thirty minutes to wait. Fun.

That's the part that's almost torture. With every test comes waiting- and I've already been to about ten doctors, each of them saying the same thing: you're just unlucky. I've been on hormones, had ivf fail to take, and had numerous foster applications rejected because we work so much. The hormones made me sick so I was taken off of them. Neither of the embryos would implant. We were close to a foster-to-adopt situation with a set of eight year old twins, but they both had abandonment issues- and with their social worker, we decided it wouldn't be fair because the both of us are usually only home at night.

There was a baby too, but her mother got sober and had her back in just a few months. The door opens again, and in walks the doctor. From all of the years of going to appointments, I've gotten a feel for when there's good and bad news. When the first embryo looked like it was going to take, I could tell before that doctor even opened his mouth. Same with this one- except the vibes I'm getting from him are far from positive.

"So-" I say. "Ya find anything new?"

He sits down, handing me a piece of paper with the results on it. "Lauren-" he sighs. "We ran your LH and FSH levels. Your FSH was extremely high and your LH was slightly below where it should be."

"Okay.. what exactly does that mean?" I sit up.

"Well there's not an exact science to the percentages but... I'd say you have less than a ten percent chance of conceiving."

——-

I knew what was coming, so shouldn't have been surprised, but finally hearing a doctor say it caught me off guard. After all- most of them have dismissed me. Refused to do the tests I wanted because it wasn't for a condition that would affect my quality of life. I sit now, on the edge of our bed, waiting on Kyle to come home. Both of our schedules are all over the place, so it's almost always one of us waiting on the other- unless our work crosses paths. We usually go to sleep and wake up together unless there's something really damn important going on.

I slip out of the jeans I've been wearing all day, swapping them for an old pair of sweatpants and tank top. I take my hair out of its tight bun, rubbing the spot it was pulled back at. I really need to cut my fucking hair. The clock reads 9:47- so I sigh, climbing under the covers. I normally wouldn't go to sleep so early, but the day's been exhausting.

I had two interrogations and a case to finish before the doctors appointment. That's just the standard day, but I had to question three more people after the appointment. Thank god these people were cooperative with our investigation, because I don't know if I would've had the patience to deal with any bullshit today.

I hear Kyle open the door, and immediately sit up. "Hey- how'd the doctors appointment go?" He asks, sitting on the edge of the bed as he removes his shoes.

"Umm....I..."

He turns around to face me, laying down and inching over to my side of the bed. Just from my tone of voice- since I'm usually the type of person to just say it, he can tell somethings off.

"I... the... My FSH levels are high and since I'm... allergic to the hormone control pills for it I can't.. the likelihood that I'll... you know... is pretty low."

He wraps his arms around me almost protectively, and I rest my head on his chest. "Okay- I love you. We'll figure it out." He says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as he kisses my forehead.

Normally, we could talk for hours; but he can always sense when I just don't feel like speaking much. He talks plenty through body language anyways, and tonight is no exception. Cocooned in his arms, we don't have to talk. Physical touch is enough- especially when we're both wearing so little clothes that it's basically adult skin to skin contact. With my finger curled up against his chest, I look into his eyes.

"I love you too."