AllFreeNovel
Share Us
MARIALENA
March 2003
“HI, LENA. IT’S GOODto see you. Tell me, why are you here today since you just had your annual pap smear four months ago?”
“Hi, Dr. Ahmed, it’s good to see you too, even if I’d rather not be here.” She gives me a half-smile and leans into the counter behind her.
“I’ve had my period for eight days, and I am still bleeding heavily. As you know, my cycle is extremely irregular, and when I do get it, it’s never more than two or three days. I have my usual back pain and leg pain, but this time around, the cramps in my belly area are way worse. The pain has been horrible. Bad enough that I’ve been taking six ibuprofen a couple of times a day, so I thought it was time I come see you.”
Dr. Ahmed writes some notes down on the chart she’s holding in her hands. “You shouldn’t be taking that much ibuprofen. I’m glad you’re here. Can you explain what you’re feeling?”
“A shooting pain here.” I use my hand to signal just below my belly button. “It’s like someone is gutting me with a knife and twisting it inside of me.” She writes down a few more notes.
“That’s concerning. Have you been feeling anything else?”
“Other than my usual leg and back pain, no.”
She puts the chart down onto the counter behind her. “Lie back. I’d like to feel your abdomen if that’s okay.” I lie back onto the exam table and lift my T-shirt, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling the flaps back.
Dr. Ahmed places her hands on the area below and around my belly button. Her fingers are cold. “I’m going to apply pressure. If you feel any pain, let me know.” She presses into my belly with mild pressure.
I flinch. “Owww, yes. I feel that a lot!”
“Is this the first time you’re feeling this pain?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, you can sit up and close your jeans.” She steps away from the exam table and makes additional notes in my chart. “We’re going to need to run tests, see what’s causing this because this doesn’t sound like the typical PCOS symptoms women have. We’ll start by drawing blood to recheck your hormone levels and an MRI. Let’s get you in for one right away.” She pulls a small booklet from her pocket; it’s bound in black leather. She writes me a script and hands it to me. “This is the script for the MRI. One of the ladies at the front desk can schedule it for you before you leave. I’ll leave your blood work requisition form at the front for you.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good afternoon.” She exits the room.
I meander to my car, worry pooling in my belly, and my gut feeling is that something is wrong. When Dr. Ahmed diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) a few years ago, she told me that I could feel pain sometimes if any of the cysts in my ovaries ruptured. But today, she didn’t think the pain I was feeling was associated with that. She had a concerned look on her face and didn’t have many answers, which worries me. Luckily I was able to get an MRI appointment for this Friday morning. I’ll need to get my lunch shift covered and come up with a cover story for Massimo. I don’t want to tell him about any of this until I know what’s going on.
Before my MRI appointment, I stop by the lab to have blood drawn. Eight tubes of blood later, I’m walking from the lab to the Imaging and Radiology department at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. I’ve had several MRIs in the past. I’m not worried about the actual procedure. The only thing that concerns me right now is that I have to work tonight and need to be at the restaurant by 4:00 p.m. but first need to stop by the apartment to get dressed. As long as I don’t have to wait too long, I should be good.
As expected, getting the MRI was a breeze, and I’m driving back to my apartment with plenty of time to get to work. The radiologist technician said my doctor would receive the results in approximately five days. Five days of anxiety-filled waiting until I get the call from Dr. Ahmed.
I arrive at Trattoria a few minutes early and head down to see Massimo in his office. “Hi, babe,” I say upon entering the office.
“Hi. How’s your mom? How’d her appointment go today?” He drops the paper he was reviewing onto the desk and looks up at me.
“She’s good, and it went well. Results will be back next week.” I lie to him as I approach him sitting behind his desk. I feel terrible about using my mother as an excuse, but I know he won’t ask questions this way.
“I’m glad. Now let me kiss you before the rest of the crew gets here.” I settle on his lap, and he kisses me with his soft, warm lips.
I’m in the kitchen, putting groceries away, when my phone rings. I scurry to grab it out of my pockabook hanging on the coatrack by the front door. When I finally have it in my hands, I see Dr. Ahmed’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Marialena. This is Katie from Dr. Ahmed’s office. I was calling to let you know that the MRI results are back, and everything appears normal.”
“Oh, well, that’s good news.”
“Yes. However, Dr. Ahmed would like to schedule you for a laparoscopy. It’s an outpatient surgery, and she performs them here in the hospital.”
“What kind of procedure is it?”
