She hooks her black Charlotte Olympia pumps into the roller stool and gracefully slides it underneath her and sits. I know these shoes because the last time I was here for my annual, I’d worn the same Charlotte Debonaire Platform pump and she animatedly commented on how she had the same pair that she primarily wore for work. That struck me as funny as she was wearing a pair of Yves Saint Laurent Tribtoo patent pumps that day. I recall because they were patent leather and I don’t do patent leather…well until that day when I saw how Dr. Barnes rocked them fiercely.
My phone goes off for the second time since I’ve been here. It’s Azmir and I’m afraid to answer for fear that he’ll ask where I am. If I mention GYN, all types of bells will sound in his over-involved-in-Rayna’s-feminine-world mind. I send him to voicemail and return my attention back to the task at hand. I recall how I’ve sent him out of town without a release. That’s something I don’t typically practice. I make it my business to drain Azmir before each departure unless something unavoidable presents itself.
“What can we do for you today, chica?” Dr. Barnes smiles her dazzling, two million dollar smile. She’s up there with Azmir per her alignment. “You were here hardly six months ago,” she comments while skimming my file.
This doctor is fierce and that is the only way I can describe her. She looks to be barely thirty years old and always wears a full face, primed with tactful colors against her flawless chestnut skin. She runs her own practice, and is very responsive to my questions about my body. I know of her through Michelle from years ago. When I decided to dump my old GYN, Dr. Barnes was the first practice I looked up and I’ve have been hooked since my first visit. There aren’t too many young, stylish, and competent professionals that I come across. Michelle used to say Dr. Barnes reminded her of me. I didn’t see it. This chick could sit me in a corner with all of her swag.
I lick my dry lips as I try to formulate my words. “Well, Doc B,” I stall. “I’ve been a little off lately.” I trace my lip with my left thumb.
“Damn! I forgot all about your wedding!” she trills in her valley girl manner, lifting my hand to admire my rings. “How was it? I’ve heard about your husband, chica. He’s a big fish!” She’s all teeth, full-on glittering smile. “Girl, you know how hard it is for us black professional women to hook a good one! You did that and beyond,” she gleams.
“Yeah,” I sigh ruefully. I do. “He’s definitely been hooked,” I retort with a faux smile, thinking about how Azmir would really be hooked if I am, in fact, with child.
“Okay, chica. What can I do you for today?” she flicks her long and behaved weave that I struggle with if it’s a weave at all, this is how immaculate this woman is.
“Well, I’ve been sick lately. I was diagnosed with a virus and an ear infection a few weeks ago, and while I think I’m over them, I’m now feeling queasy a lot—”
Dr. Barnes’ phone trills, and she pulls it out and punches the keys to reply to it.
“...it’s just that it’s been a whimsical month, at best,” I murmur pathetically.
Dr. Barnes narrows her perfectly arched brows. “No honeymoon period in newlywed land? I can hardly imagine that if you’re here,” she observes pretty accurately on a lifted brow, which helps breaks the ice.
Okay...I can do this.
My phone goes off again. It’s Chanell calling. I send it straight to voicemail.
I offer a light smile, a fortifying move on my part. “I missed my pills for two days last month...about a week after the wedding. I hopped on a plane and forgot to pick them up before heading to the airport.” I shake my head. “I didn’t realize it until I was on the flight back home.”
“Okay,” she gives a comforting nod as though she knows there’s more to come.
My phone sounds again. It’s Azmir again. I’ve honestly been here way longer than I anticipated. I can’t continue to ignore my husband’s calls, especially when he’s out of town.
Just a few more minutes, A.D.
“And then I got sick about a week after. I was prescribed antibiotics. My admin assistant so happened to have walked in my office one day while I was taking one of the last pills and reminded me that the antibiotic can contravene birth control pills. And now I’m late...and sick.”
“Yes, their concomitant use causes the contraceptive to fail,” she affirms. “What kind of symptoms, chica?”
“Some that are not all that dissimilar to the ones I experienced last August. But then, just a few weeks ago, I was spotting. It wasn’t my usual flow, but enough for me to use tampons for about a day and a half,” I hint over.
“Ooooooh,” Dr. Barnes recognizes my panic.
The phone in the exam room buzzes and her front desk person says she’s needed for a code red in another room. Dr. Barnes goes into a cabinet and pulls out a plastic cup with a lid before strutting back towards to me.