As soon as she realized she’d missed her period Bernadette puked. It was the excitement, even if morning sickness was about to take her down. Although in her case, it could hardly be referred to as “morning” sickness. The urge to vomit struck Bernadette at any hour.
(A decade later, after a good number of Donahue and Oprah episodes, when it finally sunk in that AIDS wasn’t something that just killed gay men, Bernadette was overcome again with nausea – anxiety this time. She spent the following six months riddled with remorse and fear that the virus lay dormant in her, just waiting for its moment to smite her and leave Brandon orphaned in the care of her doddering father, who was fine and dandy for babysitting but, even if he wanted to, completely unfit for the task of raising a nine-year-
