Carrie was lying wide open on Dr. Reid’s exam table with her half-socked feet in the stirrups when she first felt it.
“Oh my god, this is it!” she moaned to no one in particular, seeing as the last time she
saw the gyno was when she was paged out of the room 17 minutes ago, probably for an emergency baby squirting out.
“I’ll be right bach.” Dr. Reid said in what Carrie considered to be an international accent. You know the kind where they could be from France, or Nigeria or Mongolia? I t isn’t a bad thing to be of indeterm inate origin, Carrie thought as the speculum dove into her ya-know-what and made her want to melt like Alex Mack out of the room and the blood and the pain.
What she felt was movement, but more of a healthy punching. Which means she was further along than she thought, and super, super, very fucked.
Carrie grimaced and shifted to her left side. She stared at a laminated print entitled “Wombs of the World” and thought about the Tofurky sandwich she left half of in her car. Does vegan cheese spoil?
“Fuck!” she yelped, and the pain escalated like a misinterpreted work email all the way to the top of her stomach. Except she really had no one to answer to but herself.
“How hard is it to take a PILL!” The elderly nurse in Garfield scrubs opened the door without knocking as Carrie mourned loudly to herself.
“Yes, ma'am.” Carrie sat up because she was pregnant, not petty.
“Dr. Reid had to run across the street to the hospital for a premature birth.”
“Thank you.” At that, the nurse fluffed her hair poof, pursed her lips, and awkwardly let
the door close behind her, an act which seemed to take no less than four minutes. Carrie had zero idea why she was thanking anyone, especially someone who gave her no further directions.
“SO DO I...?” Carrie yelled to the closed door. “Excuse me?” The nurse poked her gray head in. “Do I go and just reschedule?”
“What was Dr. Reid going to do before she left?” “Um...tell me how pregnant I am?”
“Sure...” The nurse left the room with a confused look.
Carrie spiraled as she laid flat on the table. She thought about Dan in the shower, doing it doggy-style, the spigot splashing water and Head and Shoulders into her eyes and mouth. She coughed and he came, because ya know, guys are into a helpless woman with no dandruff. She thought about Dan P., the better Dan with the hair that was good, who was very responsible and always used protection, but some weird brand called “Rubbah.” Carrie was willing to go with knockoff condoms because she preferred off-brand everything else and honestly Dan P’s giant P, but guess what--Rubbah was no Honey Nut Scooters. And of course, there was Daniel, who ya know...would do. But with her nasty habit of forgetting the pill almost every other day and having to take two and throwing up because too much estrogen and then
going to bed for a day and half because too much estrogen and then crying because she slept forever because too much estrogen, she was really a wreck who should not be having sexual relations under any circumstances. And finally, she thought about the Tofurky sandwich going bad in her Ford Fiesta.
She closed her eyes and tried to do a fuck timeline in her head. Dan was late May, Dan P. was early June, and Daniel was July through October, because she was bad at ending things, and enjoyed sleeping lightly on a mattress directly on the floor, in a room with no window covering and plenty of Sonic cups. Because companionship.
Carrie’s stomach made a noise like an internal man shaking his fist at the sky. Except maybe it was a girl, and that might be better because women know better than to use a brand called Rubbah.
“Hi Caree.” Dr. Reid was back, and had blood on her white coat.
“Aren’t you delivering a baby?” Carrie kept her eyes closed because the internal man was still yelling.
“He requires a, eh...how you say...specialist. Anywhoo, I have your results bach.”
“But you didn’t do any tests?” Carrie opened her eyes and grabbed her stomach.
“No taysts needed beside urine and blood. You are nawt...” Dr. Reid put her finger to her
lips and looked to the fluorescent lights. Carrie stared at the international woman in a white coat. Dr. Reid screamed and doubled forward, her hands covering her nose and mouth.
“Escuse me, I am coming down with a cold. You are nawt pregnant. You aren’t getting your pay-riod because you have too much estrogen.” She left the room with snot coming down her nostril, searching for a tissue.
“WHAT!” Carrie threw her legs out of the stirrups and sat up. The internal man was
silent, but the internal punching had moved south.
“Oh, and your abdominal deescomfort, es probably gas.” Dr. Reid opened the door a
crack with a tissue stuck in her nostrils, because when you’re a doctor, who cares! She closed the door. Carrie got down from the table and stood with her ass to the wind in the patterned gown. She grimaced. There would be no Dans to text any news to, not that she would until the last minute. There would be no internal man or woman screaming and punching their way to existence. There would only be gas, and like Dans in and out of her life, and pills in and out of her body, it would pass. She thought of the rotten Tofurky sandwich and knew what she was to do. Poof. Frrrrrrt.