NANOWRIMO Day 21

However, after I got off of my morning shift on Tuesday, I received a phone call from Dr. Duck. 

“Marti?”

“Yes?” I said into the phone.

“This is Dr. Darnold Duck. We just got your test results in.”

“And?” I asked, eager to hear what Dr. Duck found out.

“Everything looks good. Your thyroid is fine, no sign of diabetes, you aren’t pregnant, prolactin is normal. So that leaves us wondering what is wrong, and can we get you a fix until it regulates itself again.” 

“Everything looks good. Your thyroid is fine, no sign of diabetes, you aren’t pregnant, prolactin is normal. So the only thing I can suggest is a test for hormone levels. Namely estrogen. Is the medication I gave you working?”

“Well I do not feel as gassy. Though I feel nauseous most of the time I am working since the visit.” I admitted. 

“Have you been keeping up with your journal?”

I climbed into my car and shut the door. “I’ve been trying to. There’s a lot of info you wanted me to write down.”

“Ok, Well, I am going to hand you over to my receptionist, I think we’ll have you make another appointment for two weeks from now. Keep that journal updated, and feel free to include any other details you find relevant to the problem. When we get you back in here I will test your estrogen levels. I am thinking estrogen is probably our culprit. The symptoms fit, and  around your age women do tend to go through a sort of secondary puberty. I will explain more about that at the appointment. For now, is there any questions or anything?”

“No. Just trying to keep going.”

“That’a girl. I will see you in two weeks.”

Dr. Duck put me on hold for about five seconds, when the receptionist picked up the line. She scheduled me in for three Mondays from now, and then I drove to the bank, dropped off my tips and headed home to Spencer. 

The following two weeks were excruciating. I decided, after the phone call with Dr. Duck, that estrogen was the problem and I did not miss an opportunity to tell Spencer that I felt like estrogen had taken me hostage in my own body. It was a good enough comparison.

How else do you explain feeling dissociated from your body?  The feeling that you feel great, you want to be up and active, running around, but your body will only allow you to get up to go to the bathroom? How can you explain desiring chocolate and chicken but only being able to stomach lasagna or some other beef-based dish? That probably makes no sense at all to someone who hasn’t experienced it. 

Or how about the fact that I want to cuddle up to my husband and kiss him, yet instead I yell at him about watching ‘that stupid game’ or something else that evidently irked me off. And then I would sit there, wishing I could forgive him for whatever his offense was, but not able to get the words to come out of my mouth. Instead of “I am sorry for being a pain in the butt,” what ended up happening was that I bursts into tears over the fact that I was hungry and he hadn’t even asked if I might want something to eat. 

Then, there were the trips to the bathroom. Of course, everyone has to deal with that. When you got to go, you got to go. that is not unreasonable. But I feel for my friends who, in high school, tried to continue going to school while pregnant. Or even my friends who are working while pregnant. Not that I am pregnant, according to the tests I am not, but if what Dr. Duck had suggested was true, then I was experiencing the very same side effects of a woman who was. For anyone that is curious and has never been pregnant, here’s what they mean when they say pregnant women pee more frequently: You start the day, you get out of bed, pad your tired butt into the bathroom, then go and eat. By the time you finish your breakfast (If you are lucky and you do not have to interrupt your breakfast by visiting the bathroom again), you are once again back on the toilet. After that, you go to pick up a book. After reading ten or fifteen pages, you find yourself once again back on the toilet. Nobody is exaggerating when they say that you will be on the toilet at least once every hour, on the hour, if not in between. 

All in all, it was a very crappy two weeks. And to just make everything so much harder than it already is being stuck in estrogen’s funhouse, my jeans did not fit me anymore. And my work pants were tight. I ended up buying a new pair of slacks about halfway through the first week. As for jeans, I decided to just wear pajama bottoms around the apartment when it was just Spencer and I. If I had to go out, then I wore my black stretchy pants and a t-shirt. 

Throughout it all, Spencer was the best. Seriously. I will not go as far as saying that he did not mind it when I yelled at him, but at the same time he did not treat me like crap just because I treated him like crap. He still gave me massages when my back hurt, (Which was frequent thanks to the fact that whatever was causing all of the insanity, also increased my breasts from being a B cup to being a DD. I have learned very quickly that big boobs really are not all that they are cracked up to be. What gets guys attention, and, yes, they do most certainly do that, also causes a ton of stress on your middle back.) And he did cook me lasagna regularly. Once I was escaped this funhouse, I was going to have to tell him how much I appreciated his support. 

At work, Sage was starting to worry about me. She kept seeing when I wanted to start bartending and even asked if I needed the day off a few times. I did actually take her up on that offer a few times. But, as serving was my only source of income until Spencer got a job teaching, I couldn’t make a habit of it. I had a strict rule that I stuck to which said that I could not take off more than one shift a week. The schedule was running me ragged, but I had survived it, so far.

The doctor’s appointment wasn’t too bad either. Spencer demanded to come in with me, so that if I forgot something he could mention it. Dr. Duck had me take another pee test, this one was for both pregnancy, ‘just in case’ he told me, and estrogen levels. He said that I was to take two pee-cups home with me and take one sample each day, and return them all to him by Wednesday. Since the estrogen test was a three-part test. He then explained to me that he wouldn’t be concerned if the tests came back higher than expected.

“It would just mean,” he said. “That I was correct and you are experiencing a period of growth.” I scoffed when he said that. I did not need to grow, I was twenty-seven. I needed to be sane. But Dr. Duck said that every woman goes through this growth spell sometime in their twenties, only most do not know it because they experience it when pregnant. According to Dr. Duck pregnancy doesn’t actually increase your breast-size, the growth spurt does. And estrogen is the hormone behind both pregnancy symptoms and breast development, so the vast majority of women just have a hard time with the first trimester or so of pregnancy, instead of experiencing the symptoms separate from the pregnancy, like he thought I was. 

“The good thing,” He said, at the end of the appointment, “Is that if the tests come back saying that your estrogen levels are high, I can confidently say you are going through a period of development. The plus side of that is that you will not have to go through it later, and you know it is not going to last forever. The bad news is, much like pregnancy, there’s not much I can do about the nausea if that is the case.”

I asked him how long this growth spurt lasted, and his reply was that it varies from person to person. Even though he did admit that studies on the growth spurt were mostly inconclusive because of the fact that most women go through it all in their first pregnancy. His personal opinion was that it took a pregnant woman’s body just as long as a normal-woman’s body to work through the growth spurt, which meant around thirteen weeks. Which, if all he said was true, meant I still had to live for another six weeks in this hormonal Hell. 

As time went by though, and the estrogen tests came back saying that I did have elevated levels of the evil hormone in my body, I learned tricks to help make the hostage situation be livable. For one, if I wasn’t working at Applebee’s, I allowed myself to lay around on a self-imposed bed rest. Also, while working, I wore a bracelet that had a little bump sticking out that I was supposed to press into my wrist when I felt nauseous. It did not take the problem away, but it did send it to more of a back-of-my-mind thing instead of being front-and center. It made work workable, though the exhaustion was still a hassle. 

It was a very pleasant surprise when, about two weeks after my second visit with Dr. Duck, I was able to go an entire shift at work without feeling the slightest hint of nausea. I was still tired, so it wasn’t like I was all the sudden jumping around and dancing from table to table, but at least I wasn’t feeling nauseous. Not for that shift at any rate. 

“So your doctor said that you can expect this to last for six more weeks?”

“Five now.” I corrected Crystal as we once again stood around folding silverware, waiting to get off from our shift. “And I am kind of starting to acclimate to the symptoms.”

“So it is not bothering you so much?”

“Think of it like this.” I said, thinking of a good metaphor. “Imagine that someone, let’s say your sister, got mad at you and used some hypothetical super super-glue to glue your foot to your shoe, with a thumbtack stuck in the bottom of the shoe near the padding of your foot. Now, super super-glue is different from plain old super-glue; whatever the super super-glue glue bonds to, it will stick to for a month. Nothing you or anyone else can do would get your foot away from the sole of the shoe after it has been attached with the use of super-super glue. So your little sister thought it would be funny to cover the soles of your favorite shoe with this super super-glue, with a thumbtack pointing up near the middle of your foot. The first few seconds after you inserted your foot into the shoe would hurt like hell. You’d be cussing and trying to get your foot out of your shoe and hopping around on your other foot. But, of course, since this is super super-glue and not just plain old super glue, you  get your foot out. Meaning, that for the next four weeks you have to walk around with a thumbtack stuck in your foot.”

“Damn. I must have really gotten on Natalie’s last nerve. My foot hurts just thinking about it.” 

“Exactly, and it would continue to hurt the entire four weeks, though eventually you’d just be walking around saying, “ouch” every hour or so when the pain increased from it is usual pain to ‘OUCH! THAT HURT!’ pain. But since you are already in constant pain, the kind that say OUCH! THAT HURT!’ no longer gets a scream from you. Just a plain old “ouch.” As though maybe you got a paper cut.”

“I guess that makes a little sense. it is that bad?”

“Well, not pain-wise. But, until today, I’ve felt nauseous anytime I entered the restaurant. So, imagine coming to work and every time you did you felt as though you were going to throw up constantly, though you never did. that is what it has been like. And, I assume that the nausea will return. Since I’ve still got a little over a month to go according to Dr. Duck.”

“Well it is not all bad.” Crystal said, her voice taking on a mischievous tone and an evil glint appearing in her eye.

“Yes, it is.” I said.

“You look good Marti. All curvy and whatnot. I am sure Spencer likes it.”

“Spencer knows how uncomfortable it has made my life. And while he isn’t upset about some aspects of it, he is smart enough to not draw my attention to those parts of it. it is done nothing but caused me pain and annoyance.”

Crystal scoffed. “Sweetie, I wouldn’t mind inconvenience to look like you. Not at all.” 

“It’ll happen to you one way or another someday. And let me tell you, it is not worth it.”

“Leave Spencer at home and we’ll go clubbing and show you how incredibly worth it the inconveniences were.”

I laughed. “You, my dearest friend, need to be in a serious relationship.”

“Why would I do that? There’s so many guys out there. Life is too short to just pick one of them.”

“Just wait, you are going to fall deeply in love with Clint and within three months of marriage find yourself pregnant.”

“Not likely.” She scoffed at me. “That would be like marrying my brother.”

“Too bad I do not have a brother. You could marry him and we’d be sisters.” 

“I am as good as your sister without that.” Your parents have never minded my being around. 

“Yea, that is true. Still, when you fall you are going to fall hard.”

“You  fall if you do not have a type. And I do not. I have not-my-types, but I do not actually have a type.”

“You do. You just have not found it yet.” 

“Well that is kind of funny because I have been dating since my sixteeth birthday and I have yet to find a type.”

“You got pretty torn up over Rocky.” 

“Yea, well he was the first one that I came close to loving. He’s still not ‘my type.’”

“I think Clint is your type. that is why you’ve never dated him, because if you did and if it worked out then you’d be tied down and overran with kids.”

“I have never gotten together with Clint because he never asked, and as stated earlier it’d be like being with my brother.”

“He never asks because you stay away. Remember your Sweet Sixteen party? Bryant asked you to be his for the week or so, but Clint had got you,”

“The Gucci sparkle banana purse. I still have it.” Crystal said, grinning. “do not tell anyone though.”

“See? You kept the present he gave you for your Sweet Sixteen. And, think about it, is a Gucci anything cheap?”

“No. But you know Clint, he never spends any money on anything. He’s had the same jeans since he got out of college.”

“Exactly!” I said exasperated. “He spent a ton of money on you when he doesn’t even spend money on himself. I bet he’d have asked you out sometime that night if you weren’t stuck like glue to Bryant.”

“Not likely.” Crystal said. “And if so, I am glad he did not. I mean, can you imagine a relationship that last for four years when you are barely sixteen? that is insane.” 

“It doesn’t seem so when you are in that relationship.” I said, glancing at my wedding ring. Instantly one of those goofy cliche smiles that newly engaged girls get spread across my face.”

“You got it bad girl.” 

“Yea, I do.” I grinned, placing the last of the silverware on the finished pile. “That is it. Let’s get out of here. Where’s the checker?”

“Sean? Probably out back smoking. I will go get him.” Crystal said, disappearing to the back. 

Sean came back from outside, griping about his smoke break being cut short. Still, he checked our side work and got us signed out so I let him get away with it.”

“Wanna go out?” Crystal asked me as we headed out to our cars?”

“Out where?” I asked. 

“I dunno. Let’s go downtown. I feel like trying on clothes that costs at least a weeks worth of tips. it is Prom season so there should be plenty of dresses to try on and whatnot.”

“I will have to call Spencer first. But, sure. So long as you do not mind the possibility of my having to bail out thanks to exhaustion.” 

Crystal just laughed at me. “You are exaggerating. If you would go out and about instead of staying how you wouldn’t be so tired. You just wouldn’t. it is laying around that is causing you to be exhausted.”

It was my turn to laugh at her. “If only you knew.”  I grabbed my phone out of my apron and dialed Spencer. I told him I was going out with Crystal and I’d be home later, Then, I got into Crystal’s front seat as we sat out on our way Downtown. 

Then, I got into Crystal’s front seat as we sat out on our way Downtown. 

“So I think I need a new shirt.” Crystal said to me once we were on the highway.

“A new shirt?” I asked.

“A new shirt. Something black I think.”

“Most of your clothes are black, Crystal.”

“Yes, that is because black is highly versatile. It can be layered and placed with just about any of the pants I own. If I want to play secret-agent I can even wear it with black pants, even though if you ask me that makes a totally lame outfit.”

“I thought we were just going to try out different Prom dresses. Now you want to actually buy something?”

“I’m just saying I would not mind if I got a new shirt while we were out either.”

“And no doubt you’ll want a pair of socks as well.”

“O! Yea, I almost forgot that Miss Mismatched now has a store Downtown! Yes, I most definitely will have to stop there.” 

“You already have every set of three-socks they make.”

“There could be new ones. So, what are you going to do I you are pregnant?” Crystal asked.

“Well… I guess I am going to be a mommy if I am pregnant.” I said. Mommy. Wow. Actually, in the month and a half since my body decided to torture me half to death I had never really considered the possibility. I mean, I thought it was possible I was pregnant, but I had yet to consider that a possible pregnancy would make me a mommy, a mom, a mother, or mama. I was still far too young to be a mommy, mom, mama, or mother. Definitely too young to be a mother. 

“Awww! That is so awesome! I am going to be an honorary aunt!” 

“Not according to the tests you aren’t.”

“Those tests don’t know nothing. Seriously. My aunt’s sister-in-law tested negative till she was nearing the third trimester. She did not even find out for sure until twenty weeks.”

“I had a blood test.”

“Yea, those can be wrong too. My second cousin had three that all came back negative. She went in for her yearly pap and three days later they said that the test came back irregular and would she mind coming into the office for an ultrasound. The doctor literally laughed after they had her all hooked up to the ultrasound. They had the transmitter located more towards the ovaries and lower uterus and a foot kicked into the screen. They re-positioned the transmitter and there was a perfectly healthy baby waving at them. At least, that is the way that she always tells me it happened. Six months later she had her firstborn son.”

“It’s not likely though.” I argued back.

“So what is it then?”

“Just dumb hormones. You know how everyone says that you change and mature around age thirty?”

“Yea.”

“Well my doctor thinks I’m going through that a bit sooner than the average woman does.”

“Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.”