Love Song

The Doctor

    After a quick shower and change of clothes, I meet my driver outside the front steps. He is waiting for me per my instructions, car door open, AC already pumping freezing air into the backseats. Through my sunglasses, I can see the small crowd assembled outside my front gates. Various paparazzi snapping pictures and fans holding up their handmade signs, screaming my name.

    A small smile flirts the edges of my lips. I crack the window slightly and lean forward to wave at them through the gap. Their screaming increases as we approach. I wave and blow them kisses before closing the window back up. I lean back against my seat and snap a quick selfie with my sunglasses still on. My black sun hat paired with bright ruby red lips makes me look like I’m heading to a funeral. 

    In a way, I suppose I am.

    The doctor I am on my way to see will do a blood test to verify I’m pregnant. After which, she will ask if I want to keep it or if I want to know about my “other options”. I still haven’t told Justin or Cal that I’m pregnant. And I still haven’t decided what I want to do about this pregnancy. I hoped I would have made a decision by now, but my emotions are running crazy.

    Seconds after I post my selfie online, I receive hundreds of comments and thousands of likes. I comment back to a few lucky fans before closing my phone. I need a few minutes of quiet before I get to the doctor to think. The back of the car is dark, the windows so heavily tinted it almost looks like dusk outside. I close my eyes and let myself feel the small bumps and curves of the road beneath me. 

    “Mrs. Ferrera?” 

I open my eyes, but it’s still dark. I realize it’s because I’m still in the back of my car with my sunglasses on. I sit up. My driver is turned to face me. I glance out the window. We’re here. 

    f**k.

    I must have fallen asleep. 

    “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Just watch for my text,” I say. 

    Normally, I would have brought my security detail with me while out in public like this. But I also want to    keep as low a profile as possible. One of the best things about this clinic is that it’s on private property. You have to have an appointment to get inside the building, and it’s incredibly difficult for anyone to follow me inside. I come here for the privacy. 

    Phillip opens the car door for me, and I hold my hat low across half of my face. It may be difficult for paparazzi to find me here, but it’s not impossible. And I don’t want to end up on the cover tomorrow with headlines that I’m sick or anything like that.

    When I get safely inside, I take off my hat and sunglasses. The front area is completely empty save for one young woman behind a clear glass wall. I give her my name to check in, and I can see a spark of recognition. But, as I suspected, she doesn’t say anything. I immediately get called back to sit in the room where the doctor will meet with me. Most of my adult life, I haven’t had to wait for very many things. It feels strange now to have to wait.

    I glance around the room at the various posters talking about healthy eating and exercise habits. I scoff at them. With Ivans help, that will never be an issue for me. I wonder what it would feel like if I wasn’t hideously wealthy and had to cook for myself all the time. Or do other things normal people have to do. Like mow my own lawn. Or drive myself around. 

   I shudder.

    There’s a soft knock at the door as one of the nurses comes in to take my vitals. My blood pressure is within normal limits. Heart rate is good. Everything checks out so far. Until she starts asking me a series of health questions.

    “When was your last menstrual cycle?” 

    “Um, is this really necessary? I just need to talk to the doctor about something. I don’t see what this has to do with--”

    “These are just some standard questions, Ma’am. Nothing to worry about,” she smiles.

    “I’d really rather--”

    “It will help speed things up.”

    I sigh. She isn’t going to let this go.

    “It was two months ago.”

    “Is that normal for you?” She presses.

    “No, it isn’t.”

    “Is that what brought you in today?”

    “Yes,” I say curtly.

    She types on her computer constantly while we’re talking. I want to know what she’s writing about me, but I keep my mouth shut.

    “Anything else you’d like to discuss with the doctor today while you’re here, Mrs. Ferrera?” She asks, not looking away from her screen.

    “I just wanted to get a blood test to see if I’m pregnant. That’s all,” I sigh.

    “Okay, not a problem.”

    “And…” I hesitate.

    “Yes?”

    “And possibly to talk about my...options,” I finish.

    She looks up at me then.

    “Ah. I see. I will let the doctor know. She will be in shortly,” she says, getting up to leave.

    A few minutes later, the nurse came back to give me the cup to pee in for the pregnancy test. She also took three vials of my blood, so they can also run a blood test. After she leaves, I have to wait another ten minutes before the doctor comes inside. She’s younger than I remembered. But she might have had some kind of plastic surgery or work done on her face, I can’t be completely sure. No one in LA stays that young without a little help. I should know.

    “Mrs. Ferrera,” she holds out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Dr. Mijaki. I don’t know if you remember me from the last time you were here. It’s good to see you again.”

    She sweeps her long, black hair behind her shoulders and sits down on a stool with wheels. I’m slightly jealous of her lack of body fat around her thighs, and I make a mental note to mention this to my plastic surgeon at our next meeting.

    I shake her hand gently.

    “Yes, thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” I say.

    “Well, when you called, my assistant told me it sounded urgent. And now, I hear you are concerned you may be pregnant,” she says it almost like a question. I can see a hint of pity behind her eyes. 

    “Yes. I took one of those home pregnancy tests, and it said I am,” I reply.

    Dr. Mijaki slips on a pair of latex gloves before wheeling herself closer to me. 

    “Well, while we wait for the results of those tests to come back, you and I can talk. And I can do a quick physical examination for you. Does that sound good?”

    “Yes.”

    “Great. Have you been sexually active recently?” She asks.

    I have to hold back peals of laughter.

    “Yes, I have been,” I say.

    “How many times a week? If you had to ballpark?”

    I count quickly in my head, trying to figure out an accurate number.

    “Maybe five or six times a week,” I say, lowballing my recent average by a lot.

    “With the same partner? Or multiple partners?”

    “Multiple,” I wince.

    “I would give you the safe s*x talk, but my guess is that you’ve heard it all before. But as your doctor, it’s also my job to make sure you are making good, safe decisions. If you want to avoid contracting any STDs, you must use protection while engaging in s****l intercourse. You also drastically lower your risk if you limit your s****l encounters to the same partner every time.”

    “I know,” I say.

    She asks several more questions and completes a quick physical exam before the nurse pops inside and hands her my chart before slipping back out the door. The doctor looks over the first page, flips over to the next one, while I wait impatiently in the silence.

    “Well,” Dr. Mijaki says. “It appears you are indeed pregnant, Mrs. Ferrera. Congratulations.”

    My stomach twists. 

    Somehow, part of me was holding onto hope that the home pregnancy test was wrong. But now I know it wasn’t wrong. 

    “The nurse put a note in here that you want to talk about your options?”

    I nod, pressing the spot between my eyes tight.

    “Well, you have a couple options, of course. You could keep the baby, give it up for adoption after it’s born. Or you could have an abortion. If you go with the last option, we could take of that today for you.”

    She says all of this so matter-of-factly that I wonder how many times she has delivered this same speech over the course of her career. Probably one too many. I have to make a decision now. 

    “I want the abortion,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. 

    Dr. Mijaki purses her lips slightly and says, “Alright. If you don’t mind waiting just a little longer, we can run a few tests and make sure you’re good to go for today. All total, it will take a few hours. Is there someone that can drive you home afterwards?”

    “My driver is here. He can take me home,” I say.

    “Okay. One of the nurses will be in shortly.”

    After she leaves, I collapse backwards on the crinkly paper running across the length of the raised bed. Abortion number three. If I go through with it, I don’t know what to say to Justin. Or Cal. Or if I’ll end up saying anything at all. The last time I got an abortion, I holed up in my cabin in Colorado for several months with Lila. Just the two of us snuggling in front of the TV with a roaring fire close by. It sounds so tempting now. Maybe I need to disappear for a little bit.

    I contemplate the possibility of running away as my stomach continues to churn in anticipation of what is coming next.