Karen sighed. “Yes, yes. And I pee after sex every time.”
“Good. For now, you know the drill. Keflex, Monistat, Uristat if you need it, lots of fluids. I’d like you to try this probiotic, too. A lot of women swear by it to help the flora down there.”
“You’re the best, Lillie!” she said, jumping off the table. “Hey, can I get a speculum? You know, just to . . . check things?”
I hesitated. “Um . . . yeah. Sure. They’re available online, but get one from a reputable medical supplier, okay?”
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I pulled off my gloves. “You know you want to tell me I’m a perv, Lillie,” she said.
“Enjoy your weekend, Karen,” I said, laughing. “Take care of yourself.”
I left the exam room. “How’s the sex addict?” Carol asked.
“Inside voice, please,” I said. “Ask her yourself when she comes out.” Karen did love to talk about her escapades, and Carol loved to listen. Match made in heaven （or hell, depending on your tolerance for oversharing）。
“You have a message, by the way,” Carol said. “On the office voice mail, not your direct line.”
“Gotcha.” I went into my office and listened.
“Hi, Lillie, it’s Tasha. Everything’s good, so don’t worry.” I smiled. I loved Tasha, who was a repeat client. She was eight months pregnant with her second baby, and everything was going great. “Listen, I was at the hospital for the birthing class, and I ran into a doctor who said something weird. She said that if I used you, I’d definitely have a lot more pain, and labor would take longer, maybe raising the risk to both me and the baby? Which I totally don’t believe, but I figured you should know someone was trash-talking you. Carla Something? Colleen? I think her last name was Schneider. I told her I’d had a great experience the first time and was definitely using you, but I thought you should know. It was weird. Anyway, have a great evening, and I’ll see you in two weeks! Bye!”
Carline Schneider, the evil obstetrician. “Are you kidding me?” I said, grabbing the phone to call her. Then I put it down. I’d talk to Wanda first to see how to handle this. Carline didn’t take well to comments from “underlings,” as she liked to call the nurses and midwives, CNAs and techs. Instead, I texted Tasha. Dr. Schneider does love a quick birth to get her home in time for a meal. Deleted that so I wouldn’t get sued, just in case. Ah, Dr. Schneider, I wrote instead. Not a fan of midwives in my experience. Thanks for letting me know, and don’t worry. We’ll have every base covered for the big day.
Wanda was at the hospital. I stayed at the office as long as I could—we closed at five, though we’d do the occasional evening appointment （and of course, we’d go in for emergencies）。 For now, I did paperwork, still fuming about the idiot Carline. Some people had no business being in obstetrics. I couldn’t imagine why she’d chosen that field instead of, I don’t know, dentistry without painkillers. Unmedicated amputations. Hemorrhoid lancing. Wanda hated working with her, too, but Carline was the senior doctor in the Labor & Delivery Center.
I could not afford to attract Carline’s ire. Literally could not afford it.
Brad would—
Nope. Brad would not. Once, Brad had listened to my tales from work, commenting, assessing. He’d told me Carline had passive-aggressive tendencies and a fear of her own inadequacy. “A little narcissism, some OCD, a God complex covering a deep insecurity of her own worth . . . the whole package.”
Back when we were still sharing work stories. When I had someone who had my back. A sounding board, a sympathetic ear. Brad hadn’t always been perfect, but marriage . . . I had loved being married.
Based on Melissa’s and Brad’s Instagram accounts, they loved being engaged. So many pictures, so many hashtags. When I saw a photo of the three of them that Brad posted, and saw that he’d added #girldad, I cried. I did. Tears of rage and latent grief. He had been a girl dad. He had held our baby daughter and sobbed with me, and he’d been so incredibly kind in the months afterward. Now, this stranger’s niece was apparently his daughter.
Soon, I told myself, I’d be past this. Soon, I’d be one of those women who’d say I’ve never been happier and mean it. Soon, thinking about my ex-husband, my son, the shattering of my family wouldn’t be the only thing on my mind. Soon, I would fully embrace this independence and be completely solid in my new life.