Page 49 of Serving the Maestro

“I had to check her records and make sure you were listed, but your mom went into menopause at an earlier age. She was only a couple years older than you when she started hormone replacement therapy.”

“Yeah, I know. I remember...” I stopped, shaking my head. That was an old, uncomfortable, miserable history I didn’t want to think about. “But I can’t be going into menopause. I don’t have any symptoms of that. I’m still having periods.”

“Irregular periods.” She squeezed my hand again and patted it. “And for the past year, we’ve been monitoring you because you’ve had trouble sleeping, more trouble concentrating, decreased libido. Last year, when we checked your bloodwork, your estrogen levels were on the lower end. It’s possible there’s nothing wrong, but I’m concerned you might have a condition that can make conception difficult.”

“Difficult.” I swallowed, trying to process everything she’d said. “Wait—my libido—”

As blood rushed to stain my cheeks red, she arched her brows. “Okay, we’ll move decreased libido off the symptom list.”

Looking down, I blinked back even more tears. Damn Trent and his too beautiful girlfriend. Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck them both.

Dr. Nguyen covered my hand in hers and squeezed. “Jazz.”

When I looked up, she offered a reassuring smile. “I may be wrong. That’s why I wanted you to come in, so we can set up the testing and find out for sure.”

“Okay.” I clung to her hand like I was drowning, and she was the only way to keep afloat. “What’s this condition called?”

“Primary ovarian insufficiency.” She offered me a box of tissues, then leaned back in her chair when I tugged my hand free. “Or POI, for short. Basically, it’s when the body tries to go into early menopause. The ovaries stop releasing eggs, or only release them sporadically.”

I nodded to indicate I understood.

With a squeeze of her hand on mine, she continued. “Having POI doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant. Equally important, you’re in a financial situation that could allow you to take steps that would make conception easier.”

“Okay.” I swiped at the tears with the tissues, but more just fell. They wouldn’t stop falling. “I...are you talking about artificial insemination? How do we find out for sure if I have this?”

“We need to do a few more tests, spaced out at specific intervals to get a better picture,” she replied. “We need to know what your estrogen levels are throughout your regular cycle and your FSH hormone. Do you understand the function of that hormone?”

“Not really.” I managed to smile. “Biology was a long time ago.”

“FSH is short for follicle-stimulating hormone—it controls your menstrual cycle and stimulates the growth of the eggs in your ovaries. So pretty important stuff.”

“And if my estrogen and FSH are low...?”

“Then we take the next steps if you decide you want to get pregnant. The best option is in vitro fertilization, which is expensive, but it’s an option.”

She continued to talk for several minutes, and I nodded, trying to understand, trying to take it in.

The odd silence finally got through my numbness, and I looked up to find her watching me.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“No.” With a watery laugh, I got up and walked over to the window. “No, I’m not.”

“Would you like me to call somebody for you?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to talk without bursting into tears. Why? I thought. Why can’t I ever have just one thing I want? Just one?

“Jazz—”

“I need to go,” I said abruptly. “Whatever we need to do, tests, blood work...they call me for that, right? Good.”

I didn’t give her time to answer, just turned and hurried out.

I had to get out of there.

Once outside, I flagged down a taxi and gave the driver my home address. Maybe he saw something on my face because he didn’t treat me to the typical death-defying speed race typical of so many New York cabbies.

As he drove, I sent Cam a message.

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