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Get it off your chest and you’ll feel better.
No. That part was bullshit. I wouldn’t feel better. Not until I’d followed up and I knew for certain.
A couple of weeks ago, my blood tests had come back. The results had been ‘inconclusive’, which was a nice way of saying ‘we don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with you.’
“So I can’t get pregnant?” I’d asked the doctor, almost in tears.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he’d assured me. “These results don’t mean anything.”
“Then why did I even take the test?” I snapped, letting out a hysterical half-laugh. I remember Doctor Hill’s face, all compassionate and understanding. It was borderline maddening. If he’d shown pity I might’ve grabbed something off his desk, right then and there. Fired it full-speed into the collage of proud parents and happy babies on the wall behind him.
“You took the test so we could get to the next step,” he’d told me.
“Which is?”
“We need to do an HSG. It’s a simple dye test, to check the shape of your uterine cavity and fallopian tubes. And also…”
I lost him on all the rest. He might as well have been speaking gibberish. Anything and everything he said after that fell on deaf ears.
“You’ll make another appointment, Ms. Madsen. That’s all. We can do the test quickly, so we can rule out—”
I left. I just got up and left. I didn’t see his face, or his reaction, or anything like that. I’d just gotten up…
… and walked out.
In retrospect it was probably stupid, not hearing what he had to say. And even stupider not bringing one or more of the guys with me. Yet it was something I’d wanted to face alone. To either feel the relief myself… or face the reality that I might have legitimate fertility problems.
I looked down, and my feet were a blur. I was running so fast I was in danger of falling, and for the first time I was actually frightened. I tried stopping, but my legs wouldn’t listen. It took another dozen or more precarious strides before I finally brought my body to a full stop.
My chest was heaving. For the first time in a long while, I was actually gasping for breath.
Forget about yourself, Sammara.
I sank to my knees on someone’s lawn. The grass felt cool, the ground soft.
You have to stay strong for them. For Jason…
I lowered my forehead to the ground, feeling the coolness of the morning dew against my skin.
And now for Dakota.
My world was all green and blue, and spinning in circles. I wanted to immerse myself in the past. Go back to the happiness of last night.
You’re stronger than this Sammara! Act like it.
I was. I really was. But right now, at this moment… I didn’t feel that way.
I closed my eyes…
And everything turned to black.
Sixteen
SAMMARA
I ran often over the next few weeks, bundling up against the cold. November was especially chilly, probably in retribution of the Indian summer, to the point where it bit at my lungs every time I took too deep a breath.
I didn’t care, though. As much as it cleared my head, the exercise was therapeutic. It kept me from obsessing over certain things. It was a welcome distraction.
