onlysweetpea
Bluelighter
This is either the second coming of Christ or the condom broke.
Not really wanting to talk about it right now, so I’m gonna shut up and just let y’all know I’m going to see my doctor tomorrow.
Brain is blank this morning. Blanker than blank.
My heart stopped this morning at 8AM when our receptionist got me in the staff kitchen telling me my mother was on the phone.
Mother's know, mother's know, mother's know.
I took a deep breath and stared at the flashing red light on my phone, forcing my hand closer to the receiver. Pick it up. I told myself. Pick it up. She can’t do anything to you. She’s thousands of miles away…That is, of course, if she knew yesterday and hopped onto a flight this morning…to cane me in public.
“Hullo,” I croak.
“Ay, I’m calling to say we booked our flight,” she barked. My eyes welled up with tears. My throat tightened.
“When?” I asked tentatively, masking the pain in my voice. They’re coming, they’re coming. They’re coming. My family like the fucking Tommyknockers. My family, like something Stephen King created.
“April 29,” she said.
My capsized brain put two and two together and as quickly as my heart started to ache, it stopped. My cousin is getting married. May 1st. That’s why they’re coming.
They’re not coming because you're pregnant, ASS. You may not even be pregnant, ASS. So what if you threw up 2 days in a row without warning or any inclination of being sick. So what if you’ve eaten your way through the house this weekend…eating salsa knowing you HATE salsa…eating tuna knowing you HATE tuna…eating hotdogs with -gasp- ketchup even though you know and everybody who knows you knows you HATE WET CONDIMENTS . (Ketchup being the main perpetrator of the wet condiment brigade.) So what if your fingers have swollen. So what if Saturday morning you lit a cigarette and it tasted distinctly like death, like…if rigor mortis has a taste…this was it.
I wrote all of it off as crazy and that’s all I can do till tomorrow at 12:30PM where I walk into Bayspring Women’s Medical Group and have a nurse practitioner look up my vagina and ask if she sees anything hiding in there.
I hung up the phone with my mother after taking their flight information down.
Minor heart attack, that mom phone call. And I thought I had a stroke when I looked down at the pregnancy test last night.
Not really wanting to talk about it right now, so I’m gonna shut up and just let y’all know I’m going to see my doctor tomorrow.
Brain is blank this morning. Blanker than blank.
My heart stopped this morning at 8AM when our receptionist got me in the staff kitchen telling me my mother was on the phone.
Mother's know, mother's know, mother's know.
I took a deep breath and stared at the flashing red light on my phone, forcing my hand closer to the receiver. Pick it up. I told myself. Pick it up. She can’t do anything to you. She’s thousands of miles away…That is, of course, if she knew yesterday and hopped onto a flight this morning…to cane me in public.
“Hullo,” I croak.
“Ay, I’m calling to say we booked our flight,” she barked. My eyes welled up with tears. My throat tightened.
“When?” I asked tentatively, masking the pain in my voice. They’re coming, they’re coming. They’re coming. My family like the fucking Tommyknockers. My family, like something Stephen King created.
“April 29,” she said.
My capsized brain put two and two together and as quickly as my heart started to ache, it stopped. My cousin is getting married. May 1st. That’s why they’re coming.
They’re not coming because you're pregnant, ASS. You may not even be pregnant, ASS. So what if you threw up 2 days in a row without warning or any inclination of being sick. So what if you’ve eaten your way through the house this weekend…eating salsa knowing you HATE salsa…eating tuna knowing you HATE tuna…eating hotdogs with -gasp- ketchup even though you know and everybody who knows you knows you HATE WET CONDIMENTS . (Ketchup being the main perpetrator of the wet condiment brigade.) So what if your fingers have swollen. So what if Saturday morning you lit a cigarette and it tasted distinctly like death, like…if rigor mortis has a taste…this was it.
I wrote all of it off as crazy and that’s all I can do till tomorrow at 12:30PM where I walk into Bayspring Women’s Medical Group and have a nurse practitioner look up my vagina and ask if she sees anything hiding in there.
I hung up the phone with my mother after taking their flight information down.
Minor heart attack, that mom phone call. And I thought I had a stroke when I looked down at the pregnancy test last night.
