As soon as I realise how late I am, I grab my keys and run to the local pharmacy. I buy three pregnancy tests, from three different brands, and the cashier gives me a sympathetic look as she prints my receipt. When I get home, I sprint into the bathroom and rip them open, taking them one by one.
Every single one comes out negative. I sit on my toilet seat, staring at the three little negative symbols.
This makes no sense.
Maybe it’s all in my head, but I feel different. I’ve felt different for the past few weeks, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. It’s like something in my body has changed. I’ve been emotional and bloated. My boobs have been more tender. I’ve felt sick and hot a lot. And now my periods have stopped. How the Hell can I not be pregnant?
So I book an appointment at the clinic for later today.
It all happens very quickly. I see the doctor at two. He makes me fill in a survey about my symptoms. There are over a hundred questions, asking about everything from headaches, to hot flashes, to mood swings. When he reads my answers over, he immediately orders a blood draw and an ultrasound. I have to go to the hospital to get the tests done.
As I lay back in the hospital bed, getting cold goop spread over my stomach by a nurse, I can’t help but feel sad. I always imagined that the first time I had an ultrasound, I’d have a man sitting in the chair next to me, holding my hand. I consider texting the guys to tell them what I’m doing, but they’re still travelling. After some deliberation, I figure I should wait until I have a solid answer. It’s stressful enough, flying internationally with a baby, and the convention is really important. There’s no point scaring the shit out of them if this turns out to be a false alarm.
Besides, whatever the result, I’d really like to tell them face-to-face.
The next morning, I get the call. By nine AM, I’m sitting in the doctor’s office again, waiting for the results. My hands are sweating with nerves. While I wait for the doctor to come in, I pull out my phone.
I only got one message from the guys last night: a quick photo message from Cyrus, showing Jack and Seb sprawled in a big double bed. Seb is holding a crying Cami, trying to feed her, while Jack is trying to distract her with her lion. They both look exhausted.
Got in safe, Cyrus texted underneath. Cami misses you xxx
I trace the picture with my eyes, taking a deep breath.
I’m scared. I know right now, if I am pregnant, I’m going to keep it. It will be hard—I’m nowhere near ready—but I’ll get by. Worse comes to the worst, Cami has a sibling to play with. Right?
My pep talk doesn’t work. Nausea slides down my throat. I’m not sure if it’s morning sickness or just anxiety. I clutch my mum’s bracelet, hoping it’ll give me a tiny scrap of strength.
The doctor steps into the room, holding a clipboard. He’s a tall man with white hair and a thick moustache. “Good morning, Beth,” he greets, settling down in the chair opposite mine.
“Morning.” I smile at him nervously, but he doesn’t smile back. His face is grave. Which it shouldn’t be, should it? Whether I’m pregnant or not, there’s no reason to look at me like I’m dying.
Oh my God. Am I dying?
“So?” I prompt, when he doesn’t say anything. “Am I pregnant?”
He hesitates, then pushes a box of tissues across the desk to me. I stare at it, fear beating in my throat.
“What?” I whisper. “What’s wrong?”
He clears his throat. “Your blood tests came back negative for pregnancy.”
“Oh.” I consider that. I’m not sure how I feel. I didn’t really want to be pregnant; now isn’t the right time at all. But I can’t help the little pang of disappointment that ripples through me. “Then why did I miss my period?”
“I’m afraid that your blood tests revealed an issue with your hormone levels. It appears that you’re currently going through a premature menopause.”
I stare at him. “Menopause? I’m only twenty-six.”
“Premature menopause can happen at virtually any age. It can be triggered by medical treatments and autoimmune issues, but the largest risk factor is genetic. Did any of the women in your family go through menopause in their twenties?”
My head is spinning. “I don’t know. I don’t know any of my family.” He raises an eyebrow. “I grew up in care.”
“Ah. I see how that could be an issue.”
I swallow hard. “So… what does this mean? Will I have to take hormones, or something?”
He nods. “Yes, you’ll have to undertake some hormone treatment to counteract any potential health issues later in life. Early menopause can lead to osteoporosis and cardiovascular issues.”
“But I’ll be fine as long as I take the pills?”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “For the most part. Unfortunately, in terms of fertility, the effects of the menopause cannot be reversed.”
My heart starts beating faster. “What do you mean?”
“Your ovaries are no longer releasing eggs. You cannot have children.”
“But—I only just started feeling symptoms.” My voice is getting higher as I start to panic. “Doesn’t it take, like, years to go through menopause?”
“Judging by the FSH levels in your blood, it’s likely you’ve been feeling symptoms for years. The symptoms of perimenopause are very similar to premenstrual syndrome symptoms.”
I stare at him. “Can’t I freeze my eggs, or something? I had a period—” I try to count back the weeks, but my brain is filling with static. “It wasn’t that long ago!”
“Since you’re still getting occasional periods, it’s possible that you’ll still have some viable eggs. But…” He hesitates, sympathy softening his eyes. “I really wouldn’t get your hopes up, Beth. The chances are low. Maybe, if we caught it earlier…”
He keeps talking, but I can’t hear him. All I can hear is my own shaky breathing in my ears, and the rain starting to splash against the windowpanes of the surgery. I flex my fingers, trembling. My skin is fizzing and numb. I’m so full of emotions, I don’t even know what I’m feeling. All I know is it hurts.
The doctor finishes talking and looks at me expectantly.
“Thank you,” I whisper, standing shakily and taking the prescription he hands me. “Thanks so much.”
I turn and walk back through the waiting room in a haze, barely registering the receptionist saying goodbye to me. Right as I reach the door, it opens. A heavily pregnant woman steps inside, holding hands with a man. They’re both laughing, shaking rainwater out of their clothes and hair. I freeze, staring at them, my heart beating out of my chest.
She’s normal. She can have a baby. Why? Why? What does she have that I haven’t? I start breathing harder, tears pressing behind my eyes.
“Are you alright, love?” The woman asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
I nod silently, slipping past her and heading out into the rain.
It’s falling in buckets. I’m immediately drenched as I run back to my car, clutching my purse to my chest. I climb inside, slamming the door behind me, and then just sit there, soaked and panting, listening to the water drumming against the windows and car doors.
Then I start to cry quietly, pulling out my phone.
It’s four-thirty AM in New York, but I figure the boys might be jet lagged. It’s not like Seb and Jack ever sleep, anyway. Someone must be awake. I need someone to be awake. I can’t do this by myself.
I hold my breath as the phone rings. It rings, and rings, and rings, and finally disconnects. More tears slip down my face. I end the call and try Cyrus. Then Jack. Nothing. By this time, I’m openly sobbing. I try Seb one last time, this time letting the call run over to the answering machine. When the automated voice tells me to leave a message, I open my mouth, but all the words dry up in my throat. It hurts too much to even say out loud.
“Um, hi,” I say eventually. “Sorry to call you in the middle of the night. I know you guys are busy. When you can, can you please call me back? Um, thanks.” I take a deep breath. “I just really need—”
The call cuts off. I swallow hard, lowering the phone shakily back into my lap. Rain crashes against the car windows, blowing wildly outside, and I curl up in the driver’s seat, running my hands over my face.
Realistically, I know they haven’t abandoned me. I know they’re just sleeping. But sitting out here, in the rain, with no one answering my calls—I feel just as alone as I did, each time my foster parents drove me back to the care home. I feel just as unwanted.
Swallowing down a sob, I click on Benny’s contact. He probably won’t be awake yet, but he will be in a few hours. I can still message him. I stab the button, opening up our text thread, and my mother’s address shines up at me from the screen. I stare at it, my mouth drying. The doctor’s voice echoes through my head.
The largest risk factor is genetic. Did any of the women in your family go through menopause in their twenties?
I know I told the guys that I would wait for them to come back before contacting my birth family. But they won’t be back for a week, and I suddenly don’t know if I can wait that long.
I don’t have anybody who loves me right now. No mum. No sister. No boyfriend. At the end of the day, the guys are just my employers. Friends with benefits. There’s nothing tying us together. I need someone who loves me. Unconditionally. Someone who I know won’t leave me.
I take a deep, gulping breath. What’s wrong with me? How can life be this unfair? It’s like the universe is laughing at me. First, my own parents didn’t want me. My grandparents handed me over into care. Countless foster families tried me out and decided they wouldn’t keep me. My whole life, I’ve been completely alone. I’ve had no one.
What did I do wrong? Why am I not allowed to have a family? Everybody else has one; why can’t I?
I don’t have anyone. Anyone at all. For fuck’s sake, I just need one person. Someone who cares that my heart has just broken.
I think for a long, long time, weighing up my options. Then I start the car, and settle in for the long drive down to Cornwall.
