Lynsey gapes at me. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means, there are not many studies to tell us exactly what the effects are.” My voice is flat, and for the first time, I actually hate that I can’t turn that part of myself off and comfort her.
“So, I could have hurt my baby?”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“But we don’t know for sure?”
“Not really, no.”
“Why isn’t there more information?” she exclaims, her voice reaching a shrill level that sends me over the edge.
“Because, Lynsey, there aren’t many pregnant women willing to put their fetuses at risk by testing EpiPens for the sake of clinical studies.”
Lynsey instantly starts crying, covering her face with her hands. I wince at the tone I just took with her.
The tech lowers her gaze. “Anything else, Dr. Richardson?”
I shake my head. “Just the full report, please.”
The tech cleans up her stuff, but before she leaves, she puts a hand on Lynsey’s shoulder and hands over a photo. “The baby looks healthy. Great heart rate, great movement. That’s all that matters. Okay, honey?”
Lynsey nods, clutching the photo while her chin trembles.
“Thank you,” she croaks as she watches the woman leave the room.
I fold over, covering my face with my hands and mumbling against my palms, “How…how did this happen? We used a condom.”
“I know,” Lynsey says, her voice trembling. “Did it look okay when you took it off?”
“The condom?” I ask, and she nods. “It looked like a condom full of jizz, what the fuck do you mean?”
“Were there leaks?” she asks, her eyes red.
“I didn’t inspect it with a microscope.” I pin her with a glower. “What brand was it anyway? Where does your friend get her ridiculous book condoms made? Some back-alley shop in Tijuana?”
“How should I know?” Lynsey snaps, wincing as she jostles her photo. “Why don’t you go call Kate in from the waiting room so we can launch a full investigation! She’s the author who gave us the condom, after all.”
I pause, trying to calm down because it doesn’t matter where the condom came from. I’m an adult and it was a choice I made to use it. Lynsey tucks the photo under her hip and clutches her injured hand to her chest. Shit. I still need to stitch her finger.
“Let me treat your hand.”
The nurse has all the items I need set up on a sterile tray in the corner.
Lynsey’s breath quivers as she closes her eyes, and more tears leak out. “All I can think about is treating what’s going on in my belly.”
I roll around to the other side of her bed, bringing the tray along with me. I put on a pair of blue rubber gloves and set about irrigating and cleaning the wound. Then I inject lidocaine around the cut.
“Can that stuff hurt the baby?” Lynsey asks, her voice scratchy.
“No.” I pause to look her in the eyes. They’re wide and watery, and her entire demeanor is completely terrified.
God, I’m an ass. “And neither will the EpiPen. I’m sorry for scaring you earlier.”
The corner of her mouth turns down. “If I had known I was pregnant, I wouldn’t have—”
“Yes, you would have.” I pin her with a serious look. “If you die, the baby dies. You had no choice, Lynsey.”
Her chin trembles as she absorbs my words. I run the stitches through her delicate skin, doing the best I can to keep them as small and neat as possible.
“I can’t even feel anything you’re doing to my hand because my mind is racing. How is your mind not going a mile a minute?” her gaze heavy on me.
“I’m good at compartmentalizing.” I’m too good actually.
She licks her lips thoughtfully. “I keep thinking about what I’ve been doing these past few months. I’ve drank alcohol a few times—though not that much since I’ve been so stressed out.”
“Don’t worry about the alcohol.” I pause my work to look at her. “Why have you been stressed?”
She pulls her lower lip into her mouth. “Well, I graduated back in December, and I still haven’t found a job. My lease is up on my townhouse in a few days. Since I don’t have enough money to renew, I’m in the process of looking for people in need of a roommate. It’s a struggle, though, because there are some major creeps on Craigslist.”
“Surely, you’re not actually looking for roommates on Craigslist,” I snap, my tone harsh but necessary.
She shakes her head. “Not really, I just looked as a joke. I am in search of a roommate, though. But since no long-term options have come up, I’m going to join my fellow millennials and move in with my parents.” Her face suddenly pales. “I can’t even think about how they’ll react to this situation. They’re super conservative Catholics, so I’m sure my mother will call the priest right over to see if my soul can be saved.”
“Shit,” I murmur, digesting her words as I continue my work.
“Yeah,” she grunts. “Some catch I am. No wonder my Tinder date abandoned me.”
A tear slips down her cheek.
I frown and ask the only question I can emotionally handle right now. “Why can’t you find a job? Didn’t you just get your master’s degree in psychology?”
“Yes,” she croaks, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “I’ve been too picky, I guess. I want to work with kids, and Boulder doesn’t have anything for me right now, so I’m expanding my search to Denver. There are some promising options there.”
My brow furrows. “Would you move there?”
She shrugs. “If I could afford it.”
“I see.” I tie a knot on the last stitch and smear antiseptic cream over the wound before wrapping gauze around it and fastening it with a hook. “All done.”
Turning away, I yank my gloves off and toss them on the tray, my mind imploding on itself over all the elements in play right now. It’s too much. It’s too much for me to digest at the moment. I have other patients to see, so this problem can just wait until I have time to think.
I stand and run a hand through my hair. “We obviously have some things to discuss.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Ya think?”
I pull my phone from my pocket, my jaw muscle ticking. “I’m working now, so why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll call you to set up a meeting once I’ve thought things over.”
“A meeting?” she asks, taking my phone and typing in her number.
“Yes, a meeting. A meetup. Whatever you call this.”
She hesitantly hands it to me. “Josh, you do believe me when I tell you there’s been no one else, right?”
I watch her face for a moment, taking in her blotchy skin, her watery brown eyes, and wild chestnut hair. There are many things this woman is, but a liar isn’t one of them. “I believe you.”
A wobbly smile lifts her expression. “Okay. But you should know that I don’t expect—”
“I’m going to pass your chart off to the nurse. She’ll get you set up with an obstetrician and give you discharge instructions,” I interrupt, not ready to even begin to unpack the baggage we have. “I’ll…call you.”