“Sedona,” she asks, her voice careful, “what form of birth control do you use? Or heat management?”
Clara shifts on her feet. “She gets the injections. Every three months.”
“The hormonal suppressant?” Maggie asks.
“Yes,” Clara confirms. “Omegatrol. It suppresses the ovulation cycle. Keeps the heats regulated.”
Maggie writes something down. Her expression is tight. “When was your last injection?”
“Two months ago,” I say.
Maggie stops writing. She looks up at me. Her eyes are serious.
“Sedona, I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to think carefully. Have you ever missed an injection? Or taken medication that might interfere with it?”
I shake my head. “Never. I’m religious about it. My heats are… difficult. I can’t afford to have one unexpectedly.”
Maggie nods. She taps the pen against the notebook.
“What is it?” I ask. Fear coils in my gut. “What are you thinking?”
Maggie takes a breath. She glances at Clara, then back to me.
“I shouldn’t speculate without a specialist,” she says. “But I’ve seen symptoms like this before.”
“Symptoms like what?”
“High fever. Elevated heart rate. Dilated pupils. Restlessness.” She pauses. “Hypersensitivity to touch.”
My blood runs cold. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Maggie says gently, “that your symptoms mimic the onset of a heat cycle.”
The word hangs in the air.
Heat.
Clara gasps. “What? No. She had her injection. She’s not due for another month.”
Maggie picks up one of the pill bottles from the bed. She holds it up.
“These antivirals,” she says, “they work by ramping up your liver function. They speed up your metabolism to fight off infection.”
She looks at me.
“Do you see where I’m going with this?”
I stare at her. My brain is sluggish, struggling to connect the dots.
“The injections,” Clara says, her voice rising. “The Omegatrol… it’s metabolized through the liver too.”
“Exactly,” Maggie says. “If you’ve been taking these antivirals for a while, or if you started a new course recently, they could be processing the suppressant out of your system faster than intended.”
She sets the bottle down.
“It’s a rare interaction,” she admits. “But it happens. The suppressant levels in your blood drop. Your body thinks it’s time for a heat.”
I sit there, frozen. The implications slam into me.
