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Breathe.
Stepping into the hospital for the first time in a month wasn't to be taken lightly. By some horrendous miracle, I found it within myself to get back to work the day after having my heart broken by a man who still hasn't responded to any of my messages.
Add that to the queasy feeling that's settled in my stomach since I woke up this morning and what are we left with? Me hunched over the employee restroom toilet that I'd sprayed four times so it was clean enough to hover over.
I'm tired, nauseous, stressed. My regular mood at work, it seems. Except now, I can explain why I want to curl into a ball and sob relentlessly for years on end.
Call me dramatic but I would rather be anywhere but here.
"Fae, you need some ginger ale?" Alyssa questions from outside the stall. "I can go grab some really quick and some nausea medicine."
I shake my head, completely forgetting she can't see me. "No, I'm fine. I just need to get the rest of it out and I'll be fine." My tone sounds like I'm trying to convince myself more than her.
We linger in silence for a moment before I hear Alyssa gently plop herself down on the bathroom floor, and I shake my head.
"You don't have to stay, love." I tell her, the sudden urge to throw up hitting me like a truck.
"Too bad." More silence, "When was your last period?"
Shit.
Is it normal to be absolutely terrified at the aspect of having a child? Not even thinking about that far, as a matter of fact — housing one for nine to ten months and then having to raise one.
Especially when the father is who he is. This is more pressure and stress on him. I mean, if he pushed me out, how would he react to me being pregnant with his baby?
Oh my God. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.
"Farrah?" The voice that snaps me from my drowning thoughts belongs to Dr. Brennan, a gynecology attending that I paged in panic. "Did you hear me?"
My eyes widen as I realized she was talking while I was plotting my impending doom, "What did you say?"
Dr. Brennan chuckles and shifts the pregnancy test results from one hand to the next, "Are you excited to find out the results?"
No. "Guess I have to be." Can I just walk out in incoming traffic?
"Okay," Her voice is sweet, calming, gentle enough to soothe mothers in labor — I need her to calm me down right now but all I can feel is my heart pounding against my chest and the blood in my body boiling. She hands me the sheet of paper and with one glance at it, I can feel the nausea rise again, "Well, Nurse Samuels, the results show that you are six weeks pregnant."
