Page 40 of Force Play

“That’s me.” The vinyl creaks when I stand from the chair and cross the waiting room.

He gives me a warm smile and makes small talk as we weave through the hallways to a small examination room.

“Is it a requirement that all clinics are set up like mazes when they are built?” Nerves get the best of me, and I let out an awkward chuckle.

“It sure seems that way,” he says, before running through my personal and family history. Asking some additional questions when we get to my mom’s diagnosis.

“The doctor will be in to see you shortly.” It’s the kind smile, like the one he’s giving me now, that emanates compassion and warmth that always makes my hands clammy. Especially in a medical setting. Does he feel sorry for me? Is he calculating the difference in my age now and when my mom was diagnosed?

Sixteen years, seven months, thirteen days. A fact I desperately wish didn’t taunt me each day that ticks away.

Clocks in doctor’s offices always seem to move slower than anywhere else. And right now it’s painfully obvious. I fidget with the gown that doesn’t cover nearly enough of me, tugging at the paper to keep the cool air circulating through the office from making me chilled. Eight minutes feels like a lifetime.

Finally, there’s a soft knock at the door that practically has me jumping off the exam table.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Dr. Maryann Smith.”

“Of course you are.” To her, I’m sure the strangled laugh that comes out of me sounds deranged. I cover my face with my hand, not even sure how my invigorating and productive morning has turned into this. The woman I’m supposed to talk to in a professional capacity is about to be knuckles deep in my vagina. “Sorry. Nice to meet you. I’m Indie.”

“What brings you in today, Indie?” Maryann asks, her soft gray curls are barely contained by the chignon she has her hair twisted into. Crinkles around her eyes deepen when she tilts her lips up in a polite smile.

“You’re not what I expected.” Coughing to cover her laugh, she waits for me to recover. “Oh god. I’m so screwing this all up. Do you know Lara Preston? She and I met this morning, and she told me I should speak with you if I saw you today about a project I wanted to partner on. I just didn’t expect this . . .” My hand sweeps down my paper covered body towards the stirrups, which are already extended out. It’s only a small miracle that my heels aren’t in them yet. “I planned to find you after my appointment, fully dressed and not all amped up on pre appointment jitters.”

“Ah. Yes, Lara is wonderful. She helped us fund a trans health equity program. But why don’t we start with those nerves around your visit? Then, when you are dressed, we can talk about everything else.”

“Yeah, I think I can handle that. I always think better with my pants on.”

“Don’t we all. Nobody really likes these visits, but I’m glad you came in. Looking at your family history they’re critical for you. I’d like to do a mammogram after your exam today. Have you had one yet?”

“Nope, not yet. But I have a feeling today is my lucky day. My previous doctor and I had discussed starting them before I moved.”

“And that’s okay. Your mom was diagnosed at forty, so this is when we would typically start them for someone with your history. Before I do your exam, I noticed you’re also looking for birth control options. Are you using something currently?”

“With the move, my prescription lapsed, and my previous provider encouraged me to take it because of the potentially reduced risk of developing ovarian cancer. But I’m also newly single and conventionally unemployed, and not in a place to be raising a tiny, needy human. So all around, a good idea.” As if being nearly naked with nothing more than a paper tablecloth draped over me isn’t humbling enough, the man who has no business being in this room with me is filling up all the space in my brain that isn’t currently being used for rambling. I push away the thoughts of his hands on my body and the way he looked hovering over me, his shoulders straining, because now is definitely not the time for a stroll down memory lane. It’s just that he was the last partner I had that I needed to worry about any of this with.

“Let’s get you back on oral contraceptives, just to be safe.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say as she washes her hands at the sink before taking her spot at my feet.

When she’s done, she steps out for a moment, allowing me to dress. A few minutes pass before she slips back into the room; a sample pack of birth control in hand.

“This will get you started and we can get you a prescription moving forward. Remember to use a backup form of birth control until these are gone. Now that you have pants on, we have a few other things to discuss, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to start by talking about genetic testing.”

Dread creeps up my spine, making my neck straighten and the muscles snap tight. “Dr. Smith, you’re wasting your time. I know everything there is to know about BRCA gene testing. I’ve gone over every single pro and con annually since I was eighteen. Each year I come up with the same answer: testing isn’t going to keep me from getting sick. Nothing will. Not even daily appointments with you. The emotional toll of testing has never been worth it for me.”

“Tell me something. Have you done your annual review of it this year?”

“No.”

Her hand disappears into a coat pocket, and she pulls out a pamphlet. “There’s a support group that meets here once a week. Come to one meeting and just listen. It’s a mix of some women, like you, who have chosen not to get tested, and others who’ve gone through testing and received results on both sides of the spectrum.”

“I don’t know.” The thin paper feels like a heavy weight in my hand.

“No one is going to pressure you either way. But you’ll have a community of people who know exactly what you’re going through no matter what you decide.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her honestly.

“Now, onto the fun stuff. Whatever you and Lara have up your sleeve, I’m sure it’ll be wildly successful because she’s a powerhouse and, well . . .” She tilts her head to the side, considering me for a moment. “I just have a feeling about you.”

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