Doctors' offices have always made me immensely uncomfortable. You never get through immediately; there's always a fifteen minute and up waiting period.

In that amount of time, someone as imaginative as myself can think a vast number of ways in which something could be severely wrong with me, because you're never at the doctor if you're alright.

Today, however, I'm at the doctor's office and I'm almost sure that there's nothing physically wrong with me.

It's what's inside of me that's the problem.

You see, I made the brilliant decision to have unprotected sex, which has landed me here, in a doctor's office, wanting to "make sure" that I'm actually pregnant, as if three positive pregnancy tests aren't proof enough. 

Despite the knowledge that it is highly unlikely that I am not pregnant, I still hope; and with that hope comes nervousness.

My palms are clammy and I'm constantly alternating between bouncing my knees and tapping my feet against the tiled floor. The receptionist is looking at me with a concerned expression, as if expecting me to have a full blown panic attack, and to be honest, I'm somewhere pretty near to that.

In an attempt to calm myself, I pull out my phone and play Candy Crush. It doesn't help. 

I plug in my earphones and try to listen to some music, but after two minutes, I realise that I don't even know what the hell I'm listening to; it could be classical music, or rap music. I wouldn't know.

I rip out the earbuds in frustration, and lean back in my chair, closing my eyes.

"Miss, would you like some water?" the receptionist asks, startling me.

In my fit of irritation, I forgot that she was there.

"Yes, thank you," I reply in what I hope is a calm voice, but even to my own ears, it sounds harsh.

She dips below the desk and comes back up with a small unopened bottle of water.

"Thank you," I say to her, as she passes me the bottle.

"You're welcome," is her reply. She looks as if she wants to say more, but she's cut off by the ringing of her phone.

She picks it up, and has the briefest of conversations, before saying, "Dr.Davidson is ready to see you now.

*•*•*•*

I'm shaking like a colt trying to walk for the first time.

"Sit," the doctor insists, pretending not to notice my nervousness.

"So, tell me exactly what's going on," he says, looking me in the face.

"I fucked without a condom, and now I think I'm pregnant."

"Okay," he replies, completely unfazed by my bluntness. "Lets find out," he says, sounding like Dora the Explorer.

And for some reason, on some level, I don't want to explore this, because it feels as if not investing it will make the problem sublime and diffuse, but I know it won't.

"Put this on, and change," the doctor tells me, handing me the gown that patients use to cover themselves.

He does an overall examination before the test, but to be honest, I'm not there; I tell him "no" when he asks if I'm experiencing pain during the breast and pelvic examinations, but apart from that, I'm gone.

"Okay. It's too early to see the baby doing an external ultrasound, so I'm going to have to do a trans-vaginal ultrasound."

All I hear is the word "ultrasound"; my heart beat skyrockets.

He must be misreading my expression, because he suddenly try's to reassure me.

"It won't be painful—"

"That's not it. I don't want a baby,"

I reply, and god does it feel good to finally say those words out loud to someone.

I've thought them many times, but there's this sense of release that comes with saying it out loud, like taking a shit after holding it in for an entire day (if you're one of those people who finds shitting in public to be absolutely terrifying, such as yours truly).

He gives me a sympathetic look, but says nothing, and for that I'm grateful.

What would he say? 'It's okay'? 'You'll be a great mother'? 

I hate it when people know absolutely nothing about you, but suddenly become your personal counsellor once they hear a sentence of your life. If I were the kind of person to divulge my personal information and feelings, then maybe, I'd take their advice, but since you they nothing about me, it's just annoying.

He's talking to me now, preparing for the ultrasound and telling me what will happen, but I can't concentrate on what he's saying.

However, as I feel the cold probe enter me, it feels so... final. Like the final nail to my coffin.

This is it.

He turns off the light so that he can see the image on the ultrasound screen, and that screen is now the only major source of light in the room, begging to be looked at, but I can't do it.

"Well..." Dr. Davidson says, sounding surprised, but not in a good way.

I start to shake, trembling so hard that the paper covering the cot on which I am laying begins to rattle loudly.

"Miss Quinn, the good news is, you're not pregnant", he says.

I freeze.

Then I breathe.

I let out a loud breath of relief, as relief is my automatic response to hearing something like that in a situation like this.

However, as soon as that breath is released, I 

1) remember that Dr. Davidson seems unpleasantly surprised, 

2) realise that he said "the good news is"; that means that there's bad news, too, and

3)realise that he is still inspecting my insides with the probe, frowning at the screen.

Something isn't right.

"Dr. Davidson, what's wrong?" I ask, sounding like a nervous wreck all over again.

He continues to look at the screen, and I can see that he knows exactly what is wrong with me; it's just one of those moments in which you try to figure out how to phrase something in the best way possible so as to lessen the blow.

He sighs, and pulls the probe out, then switches off the machine.

"Your condition is in no way life-threatening, Miss Quinn," he states, it might just cause complications in the future."

"Do you mind telling me what my condition is, before I shit myself?" I snarl as he turns on the light and hands me a wad of tissue paper.

His lips twitch. 

"You've been nothing but nervous since you stepped into my office. I said that so that you wouldn't shit yourself."

Through my nervousness I have to smile at him.

"Okay so what do I have?"

"Miss Quinn, you have fibroids."