Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
When I get closer, however, I realize those are moans of pain, followed by Wren’s calm voice saying, “Let’s have you sit up until Dr. McGuire gets here, okay? It seems like you experience less distress when you’re upright.”
I jog the last few steps to the door and knock three times. “Ms. Underwood?”
“I’m ready, yes, please come in,” she says, her moan becoming a gargled whimper as I step inside. She’s already in a gown and drape and positioned on the exam table, making me bless Wren again for moving fast and getting everything prepared.
“It hurts so bad,” she continues. “I can’t stand it. This is why I can’t sleep. Every time I lay down, the pain gets so intense I just writhe around on the bed in agony.”
“And when did this start, Ms. Underwood?” I ask as I move to the sink in the corner, washing up.
“Call me Sylvia, Ms. Underwood is my mother,” she says. “And early Friday morning. About twelve hours after I had the IUD inserted at my primary care doctor’s office. And it’s just gotten worse and worse since then.”
“But there hasn’t been any spotting,” Wren supplies. “And no fever. So, if it’s an infection, it’s still in the early stages.”
Drying my hands, I turn back to nod at both women. “That’s a positive sign. Let’s take a look and see if I can figure out what’s going on with a manual exam. If not, we may have to order a scan to determine the exact location of the IUD and if it’s implanted itself somewhere it shouldn’t have. Lie back and scoot down for me, please. Feet in the stirrups.”
Ms. Underwood bites her lip, a strange expression crossing her face as I move to the rolling chair at the end of the exam table. She holds my gaze for a beat too long before lying down and shifting slowly into place, her moans now echoing off the low ceiling.
Ignoring the prickle at the back of my neck, I grab a pair of gloves from the box by the table and pull them on. Just a few minutes later, I see the problem. The IUD has lodged itself half in, half out of her cervix. “Okay, take a deep breath for me,” I say. “As you exhale, there’s going to be a little bit of pressure.”
Her exhalation ends in a sharp yip, but by the time she asks, “What was that?” I have the IUD in hand.
I lift it high enough for her to see it, before plunking it into the stainless-steel bowl Wren provides. I explain where I found it and follow up with, “Either the device wasn’t properly inserted, or your body decided to expel it. It’s fairly rare, but I have run into a few cases of women whose bodies won’t tolerate any kind of IUD, the copper or those with a hormonal component. But, if you’re still interested in this form of birth control, we could make an appointment to try—”
“No, way.” She sits up fast, pressing her knees together. “I’m never putting anything up there ever again. Except for you know, things that I’ve put up there before that I know don’t cause rabid animal invasion feelings. That was torture. I’ll just go back on the pill. It was annoying to have to remember it every day, but nothing like that.”
“Sounds like a good alternative,” I say. “Do you need a prescription?” Sylvia indicates that she does and shares her preferred brand.
As I scribble the script, I’m already mentally moving on to my next patient, when Sylvia lets out a victorious “Ah ha!” sound.
I look up to see her beaming at me with a knowing gleam in her eyes.
“I remember now,” she says.
“Remember?” I sign my name to the script and tear it off. It’s another old-fashioned thing I enjoy—paper scripts—and Wren always makes sure I have several pads on hand. We’ve been running low, but now that she’s back, she’ll take care of it. That’s what Wren does. She takes care of things.
Too bad she can’t take care of Ms. Underwood…
Sylvia wags her finger my way. “You’re that guy from Middle-Aged Match, the dating app. You matched with me like…two weeks ago, but never replied to my message.”
My stomach dropping to the floor, I stammer, “Oh, w-well, that’s… I didn’t realize.” I clear my throat. “I apologize. If I’d realized, I would have referred you to another—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sylvia cuts in with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “I’ll delete the match when I get on my phone. And I’m not going to sue or anything, why would I? You’re a total professional. It was just driving me crazy, not knowing where I’d seen your face before.” She shrugs. “And lots of guys don’t respond to messages. That’s normal behavior for the douchebag half of the population.”