Page 25 of Hooked On Them

After my pregnancy test bombshell, Paige had insisted I stay at her place, but I’d declined. I needed to be alone with my crisis, thank you very much. Besides, I didn’t need an audience for my mental breakdown, especially when one of Paige’s boyfriends was brothers with one of the potential fathers.

I pushed myself up from the bathroom floor and stared at my reflection. I didn’t look pregnant. I looked like someone who’d been hit by a bus and then reversed over for good measure. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my skin had a lovely greenish tinge that complemented the absolute terror in my eyes.

I needed to see a doctor to confirm the test hadn’t been a false positive. A real doctor, not WebMD, which would tell me that I was either really pregnant or dying of some rare tropical disease.

I grabbed my phone and searched for an OB/GYN who was taking new patients and offered same-day appointments.

By some miracle, the first place I called had a last-minute cancellation and was able to schedule me in a few hours. After hanging up, I showered, dressed in jeans and a sweater that suddenly felt tighter around my chest, and forced down some saltine crackers and ginger ale.

At least I didn’t have to face Dominic today.

The thought of telling him made my stomach lurch again. Would he panic? Would he shut down? Would he want nothing to do with it? Would this destroy everything?

And Carter. Persistent, boundary-challenged Carter. The man who’d somehow sweet-talked Paige or Libby into giving him my phone number and texted me every day since that night. Each message was more ridiculously charming than the last despite me leaving him onRead.

I decided to tackle one problem at a time as I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

Dr. Patel’s office was in a sleek building near Central Park, but the office was cozy and spa-like. I filled out the new patient forms with a shaking hand, checking boxes about my medical history while trying not to hyperventilate.

When was your last menstrual cycle?

I wanted to cry. I didn’t really get periods with the IUD, and when I did, it was a light one that could hardly be considered a period. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bled. How could something so basic elude me? I tracked every statistic for my players but apparently not my own reproductive cycle.

“Nora Hastings?” A nurse appeared at the door, smiling kindly as I stood and followed her back.

After taking my vitals, my medical history, and collecting a urine and blood sample, I sat alone in the exam room. The paper crinkled underneath me with every nervous twitch, and tried not to look at the posters of fetal development on the wall.

When Dr. Patel entered, I was in the middle of calculating how many hours of sleep I’d lost since taking that test last night and how many I’d be losing in the future. The answer: all of them.

“Ms. Hastings, I’m Dr. Patel.” She had a warm smile and calming presence, and I was relieved that the reviews about this place seemed to be right. “I understand you had a positive home pregnancy test and that you are concerned because you have an IUD?”

“Yes.” My voice came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat. “That can’t be right, can it? I mean, IUDs are super effective, and it wouldn’t just... stop working, right?” The desperation in my voice was embarrassing, but I couldn’t help it.

“Well, let’s find out what’s going on. Your urine test came back positive, and we’ll have the blood work results soon to confirm and check your hCG levels, which will help us determine how far along you might be.”

My stomach dropped. “I’m pregnant?”

“It appears so. We can do a transvaginal ultrasound to confirm and check the placement of your IUD and remove it if necessary.”

I was so grateful I wouldn’t have to wait since the office had its own ultrasound machine. The next twenty minutes were a blur of cold gel, an intrusive wand, and Dr. Patel’s increasingly indifferent expression as she studied the screen.

“Well, Ms. Hastings, I don’t see your IUD.”

My mind went absolutely haywire. “What do you mean you don’t see it? It has to be there. It was put in by a doctor. A medical professional. With a medical degree. Who does medical things professionally. I felt her stick it in!”

Dr. Patel turned the screen so I could see it. “There’s no IUD visible. When did you have it placed?”

“Four months ago.” I stared at the blob on the screen, unable to process what I was seeing. “But... where did it go?”

“It’s possible you experienced what we call spontaneous expulsion. It’s rare, but it happens. The uterus can sometimes push the IUD out, either completely or partially. Did you notice anything unusual after your IUD placement? Heavy bleeding, cramping, or perhaps finding something unusual in your underwear or toilet?”

I thought back, trying to remember anything out of the ordinary. “No, nothing like that. I would have noticed if my birth control literally fell out of me, wouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily.”

“So you’re telling me my uterus hostilely yeeted my birth control without giving me any notice? Should I contact my lawyer for an illegal eviction?” The hysterical laugh that escaped me was not my finest moment.

Dr. Patel’s expression was sympathetic. “I know this is a shock. Based on the size of the gestational sac, I’d estimate you’re about six to seven weeks along, which puts conception four to five weeks ago, around the end of September. Does that seem accurate?”

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