Page 39 of Strike Zone

“You’re pregnant.”

My chest constricts as the wind is knocked right out of me. It’s wrong. It must be wrong. I have an IUD for crying out loud. My pulse begins to race, pounding so hard I can hear it whooshing in my ears, the doctor’s voice becoming white noise.

This can’t be happening. I’ve always been so careful. I have two years left before my IUD needs to be changed. It’s impossible. A wave of nausea sweeps through me, washing over me. I cling to my sick bowl as my stomach muscles tighten, forcing that single slice of toast up and out of me in a gross projectile.

Only when I stop retching does the doctor speak again, this time with a soothing, consolatory tone. “I’m assuming this wasn’t planned?”

“Not even close.” Another wave hits me.

“I’d like to admit you for twenty-four hours, just to get you feeling a little better.”

“No. If I don’t have the flu, and it’s not a bug, then I’m stuck with the sickness until I hit the three-month mark, right?”

“Most likely. Your bloodwork will give us a better picture of how far along you are, and we can coordinate with your OBGYN for further treatment. The good news is that I can give you something to help with the nausea.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Do you want to discuss your options?”

“No, I already know them and what I’m going to do. It’s a no-brainer for me.”

“Okay. Can I at least have one of the nurses accompany you home? I don’t like the idea of letting you leave in this condition. You’d really benefit from more fluids.”

“Now that I know what I’m dealing with, I promise to hydrate, even if I don’t feel like it.”

“I’m going to arrange someone to take you home.”

“It’s okay, I’ll call my sister. She lives a few blocks from here.”

“If she can’t come, you’re not leaving without an escort.”

“Fine.” I grab my phone and tap out a quick message.

Me: Can you come pick me up at Dr. Schneider’s office?

Brooke: What’s up?

Me: Just the stomach flu. I’ll be fine, but he doesn’t want me taking a cab home alone. I need you for twenty minutes tops. Can you come?

Brooke: On my way.

Me: Thanks, sis.

By the time Brooke arrives, I’m glad she’s here. My limbs are weak, and my stomach is still in knots, only now I don’t know if it’s nausea or knowledge. One thing’s for sure, I’m not telling Brooke.

She gets me home but won’t leave when I tell her I’m fine, clucking around me like a mother hen. “You’ve been sick all week, and you didn’t think to call me?”

“I just need to rest. There’s nothing you can do for me, so why bother you?”

“Because I’m your sister, and I love you. Or maybe because if you’re sick enough to go to the doctor, then you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Single people get ill all the time. It’s not like you were going to rock up here and find my rotting corpse or anything.”

“Wow, you just took a dark turn. I was thinking that you need someone to bring you soup or give you a trashcan to puke in. Maybe even give you towels to kneel on when you’re hugging the toilet. Now I’m worried about finding you croaked. I’m staying until you feel better.”

“No, you’re not. You have a life and a husband to go home to. I’m just going to be sleeping. The doc sent a prescription to the pharmacy for some anti-sickness drugs. They’ll be delivered in an hour, and I’ll be on the road to recovery. Thank you for helping me home, but honestly, you can go.”

“I don’t like this, Dee. Maybe I should call Mom to come hang with you.”

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