Page 104 of If the Stars Align
This is morning sickness.
I’ve never felt this nauseated in my life.
My phone dings. Time’s up.
I pick up the stick, which I’d put face down on top of the toilet paper dispenser.
It’s negative.
I nearly cry with relief.
It’s been a week, and I haven’t told Jeremy I thought I was pregnant. I’m not sure I’m going to. Istillhaven’t gotten myperiod, and right now that’s my biggest concern.
I wonder what’s wrong with me.
I consider asking my mom, but her mind will immediately jump to something catastrophic, like cancer, so I don’t.
I’m having a hard enough time not catastrophizing as it is.
I call my doctor, and she tells me to come in for blood tests. When the results are back two days later, I go in to see her.
Her brow furrows with concern as soon as she takes one look at me. Quietly, she examines my chart. I wipe my sweaty palms on my hospital gown as I wait for her to speak.
“Well, you’ve lost twenty pounds since I last saw you, Sunny. And you were already thin to begin with.” She scoots her chair toward me with a sympathetic frown. “What’s going on? Aren’t you eating?”
I bite my lip. “It’s thisjob. I wake up filled with dread every morning because I hateit so much, and I can barely stomach breakfast. And while I’m working, I’m so busy, I almost always skip lunch. I guess the only meal I regularly eat is dinner.”
It’s not until I say the words out loud that I realize the extent of the problem. I always loved food—I never would have dreamed of skipping a meal before I became a lawyer.
That’s when it dawns on me. I’ve become so used to being miserable that it doesn’t even register anymore. Not even when my stomach is churning from being so empty.
My doctor sighs. “Look, I know you’re in a stressful profession—I get it. But this job is doing a real number on you. Your blood pressure’s through the roof. And your blood tests show you’re anemic too. Have you noticed feeling more tiredthan usual lately?”
I shrug. “I’m always tired. When I get home from work, all I want to do is nap on the couch.”
She nods. “And you’re not eating nearly enough. That’s why your periods have stopped.”
A tear falls down my cheek and, before I know it, I’m sobbing. “I can’t live like this,” I tell her.
“I know you can’t,” she says.
She prescribes me an iron supplement and three weeks off from work, at which point she wants to re-check my blood pressure.
I don’t give a shit what the partners will think about my medical leave.
But I’m pretty fucking scared to tell Jeremy.
I can already see the disappointment on his face when I tell him I despisebeing a lawyer so damn much, it’s actually killing me.
As soon as I leave the doctor’s office, I stop at Whole Foods for a croissant. But I’m still starving, so I decide to sit for lunch at an Italian restaurant. I order lobster ravioli and clean my plate—as well as half a loaf of bread, which I dip in olive oil and parmesan. I’d all but forgotten how delicious and decadent a meal can be. Both my bodyandsoul are satiated in a way I haven’t experienced in ages. Even though I’m stuffed to the gills, on the walk back to the apartment, I stop and buy a pint of rocky road for later.
When Jeremy gets home, I don’t tell him about my doctor’s visit yet—I’ll save that conversation for tomorrow evening. I need a clear head for what I want to do when I wake up in the morning.
As soon as he leaves for work, I get up and shower. But I don’tflat-iron my hair. I let it air dry and enjoy the beachy waves that appear. While I was sitting alone at lunch yesterday, I decided to stop chemically straightening it. In time, I’ll get my natural curls back.
And that’s only the first step in my journey back to myself. I made another significant decision yesterday. I have a three-week break from work, and I know precisely how I want to spend it.
I finish my breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, then open my laptop. My heart’s racing. But for the first time in far too long, it’s not because I’m anxious.
