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The Morning After
2006-05-25, 12:11 a.m.

Oh shit

The room was dark. It was probably best, because I didn't want to look at him. Not that this was his fault. I knew the stakes. Christ, I felt it break. I knew it was broken, and I was too drunk to process the information to the point of saying so before we had finished. I hid behind the darkness. Already I was calculating... when did I have it last? Last week, ok, so I'm not mid-cycle, that's good, but oh. wait. I get them early, so I am still in the danger zone. Shit. Shitshitshit.

He just kept repeating that it was broken. Suddenly he was less attractive to me. He sounded more like a petulant teenager than the 28 year old man that he was.

Look, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it.

I needed to get the hell out of there. I put my clothes on. All I can think about is getting home so I can call health services first thing in the morning. The faster I start sleeping this off, the faster I can get through the next 2 weeks and find out if it worked. I've already started to silently pray in my head.

Morning comes crashing down on me. I'm still drunk, and desperately wishing that I wasn't. I can't walk. I can't see. My head is pounding. My fist coherent though of the day is that I can't wait until today is over and onde with. I sleep for another half hour and try again. More water, a couple of Advil to numb the pain. Still no good. one more try. I finally get up and stay out of bed. I drink water. My day is qucikly unraveling.... 2 meetings in the morning, back to back, followed by a microscope session all afternoon, not even time for lunch, followed by climbing with friends in the evening. There is no room for a trip to the Doc, and taking some extra pills. My brain does not work well enough for me to deal with this today. But there is no other day. You do what you have to, and sometimes that's all you can do.

I always said I was old enough now, that if something were to happen, I would probably keep the baby. But now, sitting here, staring this in the face, all I can think is Oh God. Not like this. Please no. I can't have it be this way. I don't want it to be like this. The prayers are like a constant mantra in my head.

I miss the first appointment that I had smashed in between the 2 meetings, hoping that I would get out of everything on time. I call back.

"Look, I know I missed my appointment, but Tuesday is too late. I need to see someone today."

"Can you tell me what its for?"

I look around. I'm on the street, there is a guy walking past me. Another man across the street. I take a deep breath and try to direct my voice (my loud-as-hell, forget-about-having-secrets-because- that-voice-of-yours-is-pitched-to-carry voice) away from everyone else and say, "its for emergency contraceptive."

silence for a split second. "I have an emergency appointment in an hour, can you make that?"

My hangover is not better. And somehow the image of college girls drinking and having sex with abandon won't get out of my head. I feel like I have a sign hanging over my head, saying 'slut.' Its not like I do this all the time. The last time I had this kind of drunken sex was years ago. Come on, I haven't even had sober sex in 4 months. I'm not a whoring college girl. But here I am. Hungover as all get out, hoping that the lecture I get won't be more than I can handle. That I won't get another holier-than-thou doc that will want to shove birth control pills down my throat, despite the fact that I'm not comfortable playing with my hormones like that on a regular basis.

"So what can I do for you today?"

"I had a condom breakage last night."

"Is this your regular partner?"

I cringe inside. "No."

I'm lucky. She's helpful, and more or less understanding (She doesn't exactly get why I don't want the pill, but she's willing to help me look at other options, "so this doesn't happen again."). She doesn't preach about my choices, she simply helps me cover all my bases. She even gives me 2 repeats on my perscription, "just in case." I am grateful. And I honestly hope I never have cause to use those repeats... ever.

I go to the pharmacist. This part is almost as bad. Walking up with your prescription... you know that the guy behind the counter knows exactly what you were doing last night... how can he not? He can see you trying to act like you've come for cold medication, but failing. He can see the look in your eyes, as you try to ask the questions you need to ask (will I get sick from this? I don't want to take gravol if I don't have to...) without anyone else hearing what you are there for. This guy is so good... just the tone of his voice makes me feel better. When he hides the box from the girl who suddenly pops up to ask him a question when he motions me over to pickup, I fall in love with him just a little bit. Then I remember what I'm there for, and decide quickly against feeling anything other than extreme gratitude for the way he handled it.

The rest of the day is pretty much hell. The pills make me nauseous, which, when added to the hangover, makes me feel just about like death warmed over. I look like the girl who gets the worst hangovers known to man... at the least its a good cover for having to explain why I feel so terrible. I was never good at the lying and the secrets.

I finally give up and leave work. My buddy M is at her place, nursing her own hangover. We have ice cream. I try not to talk too much about it, but its all I've been able to think about all day. Despite this, we look at pictures from the party, and laugh a lot. I am starting to get some distance from it. We head to the climbing gym to sweat out the booze. I'm not nauseous anymore (thank goodness). I feel physically better, but I'm still kind fo subdued.

I get home and shower. I feel better. The climbing was good for both my body and soul. We worked just hard enough, playing off each other, pushing each other farther, faster. The darkness is starting to lift. I lay down in bed gratefully. Soon it will be tomorrow, and this day from hell will be over.

Now all that's left is the waiting.


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