Page 57 of Why We Break

“Hmm, okay then. I guess that’s uncomfortable for you?” he asks, pressing harder, and I have to take a moment to try to catch my breath.

“Yeah, it is,” I say, wincing as he continues to press on the side of my stomach.

“Are you always this tender?” he asks, pushing into my other side with even more force.

“Uhh, I don’t know,” I answer. “I don’t have people pressing on my stomach that often.”

He gives me a glare that tells me he doesn’t appreciate my response, before turning back to press under my belly button and asking, “Do you normally have stomach pain without the pressure?”

“I mean, I have really bad cramps sometimes and I’ve been noticing some bloating lately, but I thought that it was just something I was eating,” I explain, reminding myself that having an attitude with him won’t solve anything.

“Are your periods normal?” he asks, before pressing his whole hand down hard in the middle of my stomach, and I let out a cry.

“Sorry, that really hurt. And I guess? I don’t know. Like I said, I cramp really bad, and some months I don’t really have one,” I tell him, not really knowing what he’s looking for.

“I see. Well, this level of discomfort isn’t normal, Miss Scott. So we’re gonna do an ultrasound to see what’s going on. Get dressed and give me just a minute to make sure the room’s empty and the tech is ready for you,” he says, and just like that, he’s gone and I’m alone.

Umm, okay, this is definitely not how I expected today to go, but I try to remind myself it’s probably nothing. He was pressing really hard, so it doesn’t seem like such a big deal that it hurt, right?

After redressing, a nurse knocks on my door and leads me down the long hallway to a room with a big sign that says “Ultrasound” on the door. The nurse lets me into the small, dark room and introduces me to the ultrasound tech, and they both step out for me to undress from the waist down again. I try to take a few calming breaths as I settle on the table, and after a few minutes, the tech comes in.

“Hey, my name’s Sam and I’ll be doing your ultrasound, okay? Just lie back and we’ll get this done quickly,” she says, giving me a reassuring smile.

I try to ignore the cold of the wand as the tech inserts it, and a grainy picture comes up on the screen. I squint at it, but since I have no fucking idea what I’m looking at, I wait for her to say something.

Immediately, I know something’s wrong by the look on her face. After a moment, she says, “I’m gonna grab Dr. Millwood, so he can see this in real time.”

She comes back a minute later with the doctor who walks in and looks at the screen. After a moment, he breaks the silence. “Oh my.”

I stare at him, confident he won’t leave a statement like that hanging, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Uhh, sorry, Doc, but do you want to clue me in?” I ask, and I hate how nervous my voice sounds even to my own ears.

“Oh, sorry. I’ve just never seen a case this bad before,” he says, still looking at the screen. My stomach plummets at his words, waiting for him to continue, but he seems lost in the ultrasound. The tech and I make eye contact, and I feel my frustration rising at her apologetic grimace.

“Okay, I need someone to start filling me in now please,” I say, trying to keep my words calm.

“Right. Do you see this right here?” he says, pointing at the screen.

“Yes, I do, but I have no idea what I’m looking at,” I admit.

“It’s your ovary. But normal ovaries don’t look like that. They’re about half that size, and do you see all those dots? The ones making your ovaries look like Swiss cheese? Those are cysts,” he explains simply.

I just glare at him as the tech continues moving the ultrasound probe, and I will myself not to cry at the way he’s talking to me. “Okay, so what does that mean?”

“Well, we’ll need to run some other tests, but my guess is PCOS. You can look it up later,” he says, brushing me off.

“All right, fine. But what do we do about it?” I ask, feeling my patience sliding away rapidly from the combination of his brushing me aside and his lack of bedside manner. Did he really just suggest I WebMD whatever the hell this is?

“Well, you were already coming in for birth control, so we put you on that and hope it manages the symptoms,” he answers.

“Okay, and then it goes away?” I question him.

“Uh, no, probably not. There’s no cure for PCOS, if that’s what it is. The cysts may fluctuate, but we just won’t know.”

I feel my throat tightening, and I will myself not to cry. “Okay. But what about kids? Will I still be able to have them?”

The room goes silent for a moment before the doctor shrugs. “Uh, judging by this, I wouldn’t count on it. I mean maybe I guess, but as bad as your ovaries look, I’d say no. But since you were coming for birth control, that should make you feel better. Anyway, let’s make sure we’re getting good pictures of this,” he says, turning to the ultrasound tech like he didn’t just destroy the future I’ve built up with a few words. “This could be great for that presentation I’m giving later this year.”

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