NANOWRIMO Day 16

GOOD NEWS- I hit 40K today! ALSO- the original plot/title is still in effect. I figured out how to fix it thanks to Amy! Thanks Amy! And now, on with Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse!


I said. “So maybe I’m over whatever I was.”

“That sounds like optimism talking.” Sean said.

I sighed. “Maybe it is.” And we all continued folding the silverware in silence. It took us about ten minutes to finish up. I think that had a lot to do with the fact that I made sure everyone else did their fair share of silverware before being allowed to leave. At any rate, setting up for tomorrow’s shift should be a piece of cake.

“We’re ready to go.” Janice said after we cleaned up our silverware folding table and put everything away for the night.

“Everything done?”

“Yup.” I chimed in happily.

“Ok, let’s go around and make sure.” Jason said, grabbing his managerial flashlight and heading over to the front of the restaurant. He shined the flashlight underneath all the tables and over all the cracks, did a spot check on a few of the tables to see that the sugars, ketchups, salt, and pepper were well stocked, and then checked the counter areas. “Looks good kids. Have a good night.” He said, giving us the go ahead to leave since we already turned in our check out for the night.

“Have a good night Janice!” I called to her as I jumped into my car.

“You too! Get some rest before starting your shift tomorrow morning.”

I wasn’t sure how likely that was, given the fact that I didn’t feel tired at all at the moment. I drove to the bank and deposited all of my money, minus one of the hundred dollar bills. I figured it might be good to keep on me in case of an emergency or whatever. So I placed all the other money I had earned into the automatic teller machine, minus the one hundred I kept for myself, and drove home.

By the time I got home, my body finally decided to feel all the energy I have used throughout the day. I had yawned as I drove away from the bank, and had to blink my eyes several times at the long annoying stoplight. When I got to my apartment, I took out my key and entered into the apartment, walking straight back to the bedroom and just taking off my pants and shirt. I’d worry about getting dressed tomorrow.

“Good night?” Spencer mumbled as I crawled into bed and snuggled up next to him.

“Good night.” I said, drifting off to sleep. I made a mental note to tell him about the old ladies and the nerf gun ambush tomorrow morning before heading off to work again.

Dr. Darnold Duck

The next few days went by in much the same fashion. Work was tiring, but not the exhausting affair it had been before I met NormaJean and the old ladies. I made an appointment with my doctor, and wasn’t looking forward to the visit. What was I supposed to say ‘Hello there Dr. Darnold Duck, I have been feeling really crappy lately. You know, kind of like when I’m getting my period, only I still don’t have my period. And while I still don’t have it, I’m suddenly feeling better so my being here is kind of pointless. Here, have a hundred dollars. See ya’ round.’ Ha. Yea. Right.

“You ready to go?” Spencer asked, swinging the car keys around his finger.

“Yea, I suppose so.” I said, and followed him out to the car.

“I’ll come in with you if you want.” Spencer said for the fortieth time since I scheduled the appointment.

“It’s not necessary. The test wasn’t positive, and I don’t even feel bad now. But I was apparently bad enough that a customer even told me to consult a doctor.” I said on a sigh. “And, since that same customer provided me with the money to go,” I said, flashing the hundred dollar bill that I had crumpled in my hand. “So, here I am. It’ll be nothing. Maybe I’ll get referred to a sleep specialist.”

Spencer stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. “You sure you don’t want me to come with?”

I laughed. “Spencer, I’ll be fine. Go and have fun across the street. I’l text you when I’m done.” I said, kissing him and hopping out the the car.

I walked down the pavilion and into the doors that were marked by big, pink glowing letters that said ‘Women’s Center.’ “Dr. Darnold Duck. 2 O’Clock.” I said the the receptionist.

“Ok. Name”

“Martina MacCale.”

“Ok, Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll tell him you are here.”

I did as she said, flipping through the Parenting magazine that was sitting on the end table. As I read a story about how to deal with a difficult toddler, I found my lungs constrict as though I was about to cry. The feeling was all too familiar as of late. And though I now felt better physically, I spent the last week in and out of tears. For any and all reasons. I cried during Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, when Rita Skeeter was ‘interviewing’ Harry in the broom closet. Just the mention of Harry not growing up with parents and his eyes filling up with the ghosts of his past had me nearly bawling. Something that Spencer teased me about to no end. Which caused me to get angry with him, and then cry about that.

“Martina?” The nurse in the door said.

I closed the magazine and dabbed at my eyes with my jacket sleeve, then went to the door.

“Are you OK?” The nurse asked me as we walked back to the exam rooms.

I nodded my answer. “Just teary. I’m fine.” I said, swallowing and grinning. “Well, I’m fine unless you count my frustration with the fact that I keep tearing up at the oddest times.

“Are you pregnant?” The nurse asked, referring to my chart. “Just stand against the wall.” She instructed.

I did as she said while she took my height and weight. “Not according to the tests.” I said on a sigh. I followed her into the exam room where she had me roll up my sleeve and took my blood pressure.

“Well, that’s all I have to do. Before I get the doctor, what are your symptoms?

“Well…” I said, taking the time to make a mental list of the odd things my body has been doing to me for the past two weeks now. “I feel fat.” I started. The nurse actually laughed at that.

“You don’t look it.”

“You don’t know me. I have pictures of me and my husband three months ago, and I was a twig compared to this.” I said, grabbing my pulp belly between my thumb and forefinger.

“That’s completely normal. You’ll probably feel less fat after your period.”

“That’s just it. I haven’t got my period. And I’ve had cramps like no other, a few days my contacts didn’t want to stay in my eyes, felt gassier than I think I ever did as a newborn, craved lasagna and cursed all other food, oh, and did I mention mood swings? My husband accused me of them first, and I didn’t know what he was talking about. The frustrating thing is that I know what he means now, but I can’t do a thing to stop it. I’m ecstatic one minute and depressed and de-motivated the next.”
The nurse had quit laughing and was studying me. “Are you on birth control?”
I Sighed. “No. My husband and I went off of birth control two months ago instead of updating my shot.”

“So you are trying to get pregnant?”

“No! I mean, if it happens it happens. We’re neither trying to get pregnant or not trying to.”

“And you tested negative?”

“Yea, after I finally managed to properly pee on the dumb little stick.” Besides my failure to actually pee on the stick, I had found another way to fail pregnancy tests. Not peeing enough. I seriously felt like my bladder was about to burst three days ago when I woke up but I swear there was hardly enough to fill a little sewing thimble.

“I know it’s kind of disgusting to think about peeing in your own cups, but I advise anyone that asks me to invest in small plastic cups for that reason.” The nurse said. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one that figured out that it was in fact possible to fail a pregnancy test. After dispensing that tidbit of wisdom, she left me to wait for the doctor.

About five minutes later there was a knock on my door. “Come in.” I said.
The door opened and my doctor, Dr Darnold Duck, came in through the door. He was an experienced obstetrician and gynecologist. He was my mom’s doctor first, actually he helped deliver me into this world. Now, he was my doctor.

“How are we doing today Marti?”

“Well as you are not my psychologist, I’d have to say I’m doing pretty good.”

“Should I ask what the answer would be if I was your psychologist?”

I sighed. “Probably. I feel like a freaking out of control roller coaster.”

“Uh-huh.” Dr. Duck said, leaning against his counter. “Tell me more.”

“Well like, I was fine and perfect coming here today. But when I got into the waiting room I saw a Parenting magazine and it had an article about how to control difficult toddlers and I started bawling at the nuances that is toddlerdom.” I said, trying my best to remain pulled together. Dr. Duck didn’t say anything so I went on. “Two days ago I cried when Rita Skeeter was ‘interviewing’ Harry Potter in the broom cupboard in Goblet of Fire.” I said. “Just because of the line about his eyes filling up with the ghosts of his past.”

Dr. Duck laughed. “I’m afraid I’m not in the loop on the Harry Potter thing, my grandkids are into it but I’ve neither read the books or seen the movies. I take it that’s not a very emotionally charged scene?”

“No, it’s upsetting actually. But the line just reminded me that he grew up mainly without parents and I teared up as though it was the end of Titanic, and not an interview in a cupboard.

Dr. Duck unfolded his arms and studied me, similar to how his nurse had. “So you are coming to me because your emotions are a little wacky? If I remember correctly you opted to quit taking the birth control shot. The hormones in your body are probably adjusting to not having the hormones just be there. The adjustment period is to be expected.

“Well, I know that.” I said, feeling like maybe I was wasting both my hundred dollars and his time. “It’s just… I don’t know. I suppose I might have had a bug of some sort. But the last two weeks have just been odd. I’ve been eating lasagna by the panful. My contacts didn’t want to stay in my eyes for a few days. I keep running to the bathroom every ten minutes or so. I can’t sleep, even though I’m exhausted by the end of my shift. I was having issues with my body burping with the frequency of a case of hiccups. And, did I mention my stupid emotions?”

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?”

“Yes, it was negative.” I replied, still feeling a hint of pride at the fact that I had figured out how to actually pee on the stupid thing. Of course, after having heard the nurse’s suggestion about buying plastic cups for that purpose, I was fairly sure my days of failing pregnancy tests were over.

“Well I’m going to give you a test anyways. Just go down to the bathrooms down the hall, put your name on the cup before peeing and when you are done put the lid on the cup and put it in the silver dispenser area. I’ll meet you back here in about ten minutes. I’m also going to go ahead and give you a pelvic exam, so when you get back go ahead and get undressed from the waist down and sit on that table there with the blanket behind you.” Dr. Duck said, opening the door and pointing me towards the bathrooms.

Ten minutes later I was on the exam table with my feet dangling off the edge when there was again a knock on the door. Dr. Duck, followed by his nurse came in seconds later and I lay back against the exam table.

“Well, Marti, you were right. The test came back negative. I’m still going to examine you and see if I can find anything. That ok?”

I thought to myself that if it wasn’t, did he really think I’d have stripped myself from the waist down and then lay myself on this table? Not likely. “Yes.” I said.

“Ok.” Dr. Duck began. “First let’s have you sit up so I can listen to you breathe.” I did as he instructed and felt the cold metal of the stethoscope touch my back. “Deep breath in.” Dr. Duck instructed. “And out. Good. One more time, in. And out. Great job Marti. Go ahead and lie back down.” When I had done that he placed his hands on the top of my stomach and padded around with his fingertips down to below my belly button. It reminded me of a cat trying to find a place to lay down. “Good, nice and squishy.” He commented. I think it was for my benefit. “Well that all looks good. Let’s see what’s it look like from the inside. When was your last pap smear again?”

“Six months ago.” I said.

“Right.” Dr. Duck pulled the stirrups out from the sides of the table. “Scoot your but down here near the edge of the table and put your feet in the stirrups for me.” He instructed, and waited as I did.

Once I was situated, Dr. Duck put that annoying metal thing inside me, from what I can tell it was the some thing used for pap smears. Then he took his flashlight and gazed into the metal contraption. “All looks good down here, Marti. I’m going to feel for your uterus. See if it’s grown any.” He said, removing the metal contraption. He then stuck two of his fingers inside me, pushing upwards while his other had rested just above my pelvic bone. After he had sufficiently poked and prodded other areas in my lower abdominal region, he rolled his chair so that he was sitting to my side, paper blanket back in place. “Well, Marti.” He said to me, removing his gloves and throwing them away. “All looks normal. I won’t deny your symptoms sound like pregnancy, but it appears to me that you are not. It is possible, however that you are earlier along than you think, meaning I wouldn’t be able to tell if your uterus has grown or not. At the moment, your uterus is the same size as it should be.”

“So nothing is wrong with me? Cause I was kind of hoping that you’d know what was wrong with me.”

Dr. Duck laughed again. That’s a change. I come in here and all you tell me is that you are fine and later you want me to tell you what’s wrong.”

“Well, I haven’t felt bad for a few days. But the last two weeks have been a pain in the butt.” I said.

“I’m going to leave for a few minutes so you can get dressed. When I come back we can talk about some possibilities and where to go with them.”

And with that he left once more, the nurse following along after him. I got off of the exam table, went over to the pile of clothes I had made and began re-dressing myself. I then hopped back up on the exam table, and looked around at the little display model of a woman’s reproductive system.

The knock saying Dr. Duck had returned came about four minutes after I had gotten dressed. “Ok Marti. Here’s the deal. I’m going to give you a prescription for the issue you have been having with indigestion. Also, as I said from what I can tell, I don’t think that you are pregnant. However, it is obvious that something in your body is out of its normal rhythm. In order to be any more specific than that, I need to run a blood test. I want to just go ahead and have them check for pretty much everything. Thyroid, diabetes, pregnancy, prolactin levels to name a few of the biggies. As I’m having them scan you for diabetes please make sure that you don’t have the shot within four hours after eating and drinking. I can’t really do anything else until we get those results back in, so if you are worried about anything I’d get them done as quickly as possible.” Dr. Duck said, scribbling down what I suspected was my prescription. “In the meantime, I want you to keep a journal on you at all times. When you feel out of control emotionally, journal the date, time, place you are at, what led to the feelings, what the feelings make you want to do. Anything else you think important about it. In that same journal I want you to document when your body does something that you find odd or out of your control. Anything, frequency of bathroom visits, headaches, dizziness, whatever. Write it in your journal. The other thing I want you to keep in that journal is the food you ate that day. Don’t worry about calories or anything like that. I just want to have an idea what your diet is. Maybe malnutrition is causing some of this. Could be that you are missing some vitamins or minerals in your diet and your body is wanting those. I want to see a organized version of this journal next time I see you. Did you catch all that?”

“Record my diet, weird things my body does, and moods. Got it.” I said, sounding very much as though I was repeating back a customer’s order instead of a doctor’s.

“Great! Well how long you do that depends on when you get that blood test. Here’s your prescription as well as my order to get your blood drawn, and the local clinics around here that I suggest you go to. When I get those blood tests in I, or one of my nurses, will call you to have an appointment set up. Do you have any other questions?”

“Nope. I’ll get that blood test before dinner.” I said, hoping off of the exam table.

“That’a girl.” Dr. Duck said. Sometimes, it bugs me how patronizing he could be. Still, he was a great doctor and I couldn’t fault him for that.

I left Dr. Duck’s office, dropping off my hundred dollar bill I had gotten from the old ladies. Nearly as soon as the bill left my hand I began feeling nauseous.

Spencer was there when I got out of the clinic, and immediately asked me if I was ok after I climbed into the car. “I’m ok.” I assured him. “I just fee a bit nauseated. Dr. Duck gave me a prescription to help with indigestion. We should go pick that up, and also I’m supposed to have my blood drawn at one of these clinics.” I said, handing him the sheet. “We’ll have to wait another hour and a half or so though. I am supposed to wait four hours after eating before I get my blood drawn.”

Spencer took me to the pharmacy to get my prescription, which costs thirty-five dollars to fill, thanks to my not having insurance. I did have the next best thing though, a rewards card. So although I was paying outrageous prices for the medication itself, I at least benefitted from it too. We then went to the park to walk around and talk until it was time for me to get the shot.

A Change in Job

“I’m thinking about leaving Applebee’s soon.” I said to Spencer as we walked hand-in-hand around the walking trail. The weather was a bit on the chilly side, so I had on a light jacket, but other than that it was an ideal day.

“I thought you liked that job?’ He said, turning to face me.

“I did.” I said and after a pause added, “I do. Really, I do.” I said, looking into his eyes so that he would know I was being sincere. “It’s just…” I started playing with my jacket sleeves, shying away from saying the thoughts that had been percolating in my brain for the last month or so.

“What?” Spencer asked me, worry in his voice.”

“I’m kind of tired of being exhausted. I was thinking, if I get Sage to train me on Bartending…”

“So you meant to say that you were moving from waitressing to bartending? That’s great Marti! You have always said they make more money than you do now.” Relief shown on his face as his face lit up in excitement.

“Well, I’d have Sage train me, stay for about a month bar tending for Applebee’s. But I really want to work in a bar. Flash Point seems to be a very happening place. Crystal has a friend that works there and she easily gets four hundred a night. That’s quadruple what I’m making at Applebee’s. During the time I’ll be training bartending at Applebee’s and the time I’ll actually be bar tending for Applebee’s, I’ll be getting paid near double what I get for waitressing.”

“So leaving waitressing behind for bar tending all together?”

“That’s the plan. Plus, the dress code is more relaxed. I could actually wear my work clothes out and not look like I just got off of work. Are you upset?” The glow on his face had faded just slightly when I mentioned the Flash Point. It truly was the hottest night spot around. It had just about everything a night club could want. Multi-colored lights that flashed around the dance floor all hours of the day or night, a great and top-of-the-line stereo system. There were even small side-rooms for parties to gather in, aside from the typical VIP section most night clubs had. Which is probably what Spencer was thinking about that caused his face to dim. While the official purpose of the side-rooms was for parties to hang out, rumor had it a lot more actually happened in those rooms.

“I’m not upset. Just… confused. What made you think about giving up Applebee’s?”

“It’s something I’ve been contemplating for several weeks.”

“Does the Flash Point even have a dress code?”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, they prefer the bar tenders to at least have some type of shirt on. Will I have a uniform though? No. And you know the Flash Point isn’t a strip club. They do allow teens who are eighteen to come in.”

“If I’m not mistaken it’s twenty-one and up after two am.”

“City curfew for those under twenty-one is midnight. So it’s kind of silly to expect that those under twenty-one be at a club past that. I don’t even know why they bothered to make that rule. It’s not like it’s an old club and that’s just always been the rules. It just opened a few months ago.” I paused, waiting for him to say something. “Besides, this is still at least two months away. Bar tender training takes nearly a full month to graduate from. So it’s not like I’m going to be reporting into the Flash Point tomorrow or anything.”

“True.” Spencer said, thoughtful. “I’m sure it’ll be a great experience for you. It will probably just take me a little while to get used to the idea of you working in a night club. I suppose an advantage will be an improved wardrobe.” He said, perking up. “Too bad everyone else will see you in that same wardrobe.”

I shoved playfully at Spencer. “An improved wardrobe, huh? You don’t like my current wardrobe?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just mostly practical. It’ll be great seeing you in clothing that actually shows off your curves. I can appreciate that.” He said, kissing me.

“This outfit isn’t totally practical.” I said, stepping away from him so I could be sure he got a decent look. I was wearing thin black sweat pants and a pink fitted t-shirt with a picture of a skull and crossbones with the words “I be a Pirate” printed beneath.

“No, it’s comfy. I would like to see you actually dress sexy every once in a while. Or, in the case of this possible new job, every night.”

“I occasionally dress sexy!” I cried in defense of my admittedly work-or comfy wardrobe. “I’ve got that little black dress I got for my birthday.’

“That you’ve worn a total of three times.” Spencer said.

“One of those three times was our anniversary. Our first anniversary.”

“Exactly. You’re great about dressing up for a reason, I just want to see you dressed up because you can. Is that so horrible of me?”

“Not horrible.” I conceded.

We continued walking around the walking trail, and when we finished it was about the time I was allowed to get the shot.

“Man I want a burger or something.” Spencer said when we got in the car.

“Then get me to a clinic so I can take this blood test and we can eat.” I said. “Do you know where any of these places are?”

“Yea, that one,” he said, pointing three business names down from the top of the paper. “Whenever I have to actually attend a class I pass it. It’s about twenty minutes from here.” He said, putting on his seatbelt and starting up the car.

“You’ll come in with me this time?”

“I would have gone into your doctors appointment if you wanted me in there. But yes, I will go in with you.”

“And hold my hand?” I asked. I didn’t mind pap smears and other doctor-type of visits… unless they featured a needle at some point. I got squeamish just at the thought of needled. Ironic, since my birth control of choice while I was on it was Depo Provera, more commonly known as ‘the birth control shot.’ Still, I never saw the needle. The nurses at Dr. Duck’s office knew better than to be waving needles around in front of me, as I actually passed out at my first visit.

One of the nurses had been taking a tray of needles to the back for testing or something like that, and I was walking back to the exam rooms. I saw the tray of needles and promptly fell over, unconscious. Dr. Duck laughed when, later after I had come around, I expressed my desire to put myself on the shot. He’d tried to talk me into getting on the pills (For which I informed him that I had inherited my mother’s affinity for forgetting to take pills), the patch (Which I thought would irritate my skin. I didn’t even wear jewelry because of the way it felt against my skin. Wedding ring excluded.), and even an IUD, or intrauterine device (Which I thought too risky if something screwed up). In the end, I got my way. I’d bring in the Depo Provera bottle, give it to the nurses, then lay facedown on the exam table. Once I was laying on the table, then the nurses would get out the needles and inject me with the shot. Dr. Duck always made sure I had the most experienced nurse there administering the shot, so I never even once felt it. I had a feeling that I’d feel the needle that was going to collect the blood from me.

“Of course.”

“And tell them to block my view from any needles before we go in. If I forget I mean.”

“I know, Marti. I will.” Spencer said, and then he grabbed my hand that was laying in my lap and squeezed it reassuringly.

The blood testing wasn’t all that bad. When I mentioned my problem with needles the nurse said that no needles were kept in sight. They were all stashed in cabinets and that I just had to look the other way the entire time. I closed my eyes to be sure. And, as promised, Spencer came in with me and held my hand, letting me squeeze his hand until it was over.

“Ok.” Said the nurse once the needle was put away. “You may open your eyes now Marti. And you might want to let your husband’s hand get a little circulation back init as well.” She said, laughter in her voice. As I opened my eyes she was carrying four test tubes, all filled with my blood, over to her computer to print out labels for them. “We’ll be shipping these off to our lab before I go home today. Your test results should be in within three or four days.” She said, leading the way back out to the waiting room area.

The wait was agonizing. Crystal asked me at the start of every shift if I had gotten the results back yet. The doctor’s appointment had been on a Thursday, meaning that “three or four business days” meant that I would not get my results back until Tuesday or Wednesday. I was back to all my weird lasagna cravings, and Spencer had been making a lasagna every-other day as a result. The good news was, my contacts were happily back in my eyes and I got plenty of sleep, when I wasn’t working that is. When I was working, I was still exhausted. And, while the medication that Dr. Duck had given me helped with the indigestion, it did nothing for the nausea I felt pretty much constantly while I was working. I hadn’t thrown up though, and I considered that a small victory over the whims of my body.

The day after the test, when I returned to work I had talked to Sage about getting me trained to be a bartender. She said that I could start training when I felt better. I began to wish that I’d see those old ladies again. Feeling decent those few days made the return of the nausea and dizziness and all the other crap unbearable. The good thing about being sick or not feeling good for a long while, is that after a while you forget what it was like to be feeling normal. You just, expect that you will feel like shit.