by Dale, Lindy
“Don’t be silly. It’s a tummy bug.” I leant against the basin, trying to hold it together without passing out. I couldn’t be pregnant. I couldn’t.
“But it’s been going on for weeks.”
“I told you, I’m fine. It’s not constant.”
“Neither is morning sickness, you moron. For heavens sake, buy a pregnancy test and put us all out of our misery.”
I looked down at my stomach; still trying it’s best to ruin my evening. It gurgled rudely and I felt faint again. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve seen the signs, including Ben. I don’t need to jog your memory, do I? The poor guy is probably dying.”
I stared into the reflection of the mirror. Prue was looking back at me, her face deadly serious. “Do you think he wants to go through that again?” she said.
“Even if I am pregnant, it won’t be like that. Ben and I love each other.” I sniffed.
But he doesn’t want children.
***
Three days later, I was sitting on the toilet, a white packet in my hand, thinking about what Prue had said. If I were pregnant, my relationship with Ben would be inexplicably altered. He’d already told me he wasn’t ready to be a father and I knew I wasn’t a candidate for Mother of the Year. I’d only just learnt how to make pasta without stuffing it up. The worst thing that could happen would be if I told Ben and he only stayed with me out of some twisted sense of loyalty. If I were pregnant, I had to be sure that he was with me for the right reasons. I stared at the white tiles that ran across the floor and up the wall. Fuck!
Why did this have to happen to me, to Ben, to us? Why did it have to happen now? A tear dripped down my cheek and plopped off the end of my nose and onto my leg. It wasn’t fair. Every time I thought my life was sorting itself out another drama happened. I tried to think rationally. There was no point in jumping the gun and getting all worked up over nothing. I wasn’t even pregnant, I told myself. Ben and I had used precautions. Then again, that little voice inside me said, you never could be one hundred percent sure. And that strange tummy bug was lingering on day after day.
A knock at the door broke my train of thought. A loud knock, Ben’s knock. Pulling up my jeans, I picked up the box and stowed it in the back of the medicine cabinet. There was plenty of time to do the test later. Knowing or not knowing wasn’t going to make the problem disappear.
“Why didn’t you use your key?” I asked, smiling as I opened the door to let him in.
“You didn’t give me one.”
I froze. It was those eyes, those hooded black eyes.
“Hi Blondie, long time no see.”
“Mark.”
I didn’t know what to say. He looked exactly the same, devastatingly sexy. His dreadlocks still hung over the heavy set of his eyes, which were glinting at me.
“Can I come in?”
“Do you think that’s wise? I’d still like to cut off your balls you know.”
It’d taken a long time before the thought of inflicting grievous bodily harm on that gorgeous torso had receded into the back of my mind. Seeing him standing in my doorway rekindled it all over again. My face twisted.
He stepped past me and went into the lounge. “New furniture,” he remarked, looking around. “Sweet. Looks like my little Blondie’s moved up in the world.”
My heart was pounding furiously but I ignored it. “I’m surprised you can remember my furniture. You were always stoned when you were here.”
Mark sat down and looked up at me with not so much as a flinch of guilt. “Still have that razor like tongue, eh?”
“What do you want Mark? You made it perfectly clear how you felt about me that last time I saw you.”
“I didn’t come here to cause trouble.”
“Ha. That’s a joke. Everywhere you go there’s trouble. Why’re you here? It’s been nearly three years.”
I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine from the fridge, pouring a glass. If Mark was here, there was some important reason and it would mean I’d need a lot of wine to digest it. His revelations had often had that effect on me. They needed anaesthetic to soften the blow.
“Beer?” I called.
“No thanks. I don’t drink anymore.”
The bottle in my hand fell to the floor with a resounding crash but didn’t break and I looked at him in disbelief. How could this be? Mark and alcohol were best friends. He’d cut off his leg sooner than give up a bottle of Captain Morgan and the possibility of him not drinking any more was about as remote as me going on a Himalayan trekking holiday.
Shaking my head, I picked the bottle up and put it back in the fridge. “Did you come here to tell me that or have you got some other little bombshell to drop?”
I took my own glass and sat in the chair opposite him, preparing myself for his next revelation. “Why are you here?”
“I came to tell you that you need to be tested for HIV and Hep B. I was sick a while back and after some tests I came up positive.”
I drained my glass and sat it on the coffee table. Mark never delivered a simple blow. It always had to be a complex series of jabs and hooks.
“You have AIDS?”
“No, I have HIV and Hep B. Have for some time, apparently, and there’s a possibility that I’ve infected you.”
“How? We never shared needles; I never even used a needle.”
“It’s transferred through bodily fluids and Hep B is a hundred times more contagious than HIV. If you think back, you can’t honestly say we were careful about our sexual practises. You were quite a dirty little girl back then.”
I could have punched him.
“You bastard. How dare you! I let you into my life and you got me hooked on speed. Now you tell me that you’ve given me a life threatening disease because I was a dirty little girl. You piece of slime.”
“Sorry, Bella. Drugs make you do weird shit, and you know it.” His face, for the first time ever, looked genuinely sad and I wanted to hug him, to make it better for him. It was the kind of face that would have brought tears to my eyes, a face I had never seen when we were together, a face that made me want to love him. That is, assuming I hadn’t known the type of person he really was.
“If this is meant to be some sort of cleansing apology thing like they do at Alcoholics Anonymous it’s backfired. I don’t want your apologies. I trusted you and you spat all over me.” I held the door open. “Get out.”
Mark stood in the doorway. “It was how we were. You were partly to blame. I didn’t do it by myself. You liked that kinky shit. Anyway, all I’m saying is, you should be tested. You could have Hep B and not even know you’ve got it.”
I calmed down. “I s’pose so. Thanks. I hope it goes okay for you.”
“You too.”
Chapter 25
ALREADY ONE
‘Cause we’re already one
Already one
Now only time can come between us
Neil Young
How had this happened? How could I have been so stupid? Those crusty old nuns at school had warned me. Sex makes you pregnant. You must stay celibate until marriage. Drugs and alcohol are bad and can kill you. You must abstain. If you sleep around you will be branded a slut. You will pay. But I hadn’t listened. I was too busy having fun. It was time to pay up. Pay up and grow up. The devil had knocked at my door, looking dark and sexy, and handed me the bill for all the fun I’d had. My body had turned into a walking time bomb and I had no way of knowing how to rid myself of the explosives without blowing myself, and everyone around me, to smithereens. Reality, which I’d been blissfully ignoring since my teens, was alive and well and boy was she antsy with me.
I looked at Dr Carter. Hopefully, he had the answer. He snuffled over the paper and coughed into his hand asthmatically. “As the saying goes, there’s some good news and some bad news.”
Let me have it, I thought. Stop it with the bedside manner and give me the worst. I can take it. I gripped the sides of th
e office chair and swallowed, “Give me the bad news.”
“The tests are positive. On both counts.” He waited, pausing for me comprehend the full weight of his statement. What did that mean? Was I going to die or not?
I breathed deeply and swallowed again.
“So what are the implications?” I might as well know now if I was going to die. I’d have to start planning the funeral so that Mum wouldn’t fill the church with hymns from the fifties.
My funeral was to be a celebration of my life not a regurgitation of all the God songs I’d hated at school.
Come on, old guy, I thought. Hit me, see if I fall.
“Firstly, you’ve contracted Hepatitis B, so your friend was right to suggest at test.”
“He’s not my friend anymore.”
And if I never see him again, it will be too soon.
“Ahem, right.” He cleared his throat and shuffled the papers around his desk. “Secondly, I’d say you’ve had it for quite a while and the symptoms you’ve experienced lately-nausea, fatigue, itchiness, loss of appetite-are what we would call a ‘flare up’. It can happen occasionally and last for differing periods of time. Have you experienced severe flu like symptoms in the past?”
I looked at the wall, thinking. How was I supposed to remember that? Most of my brain cells had drowned in alcohol way back in 1983.
“I had a bad flu about three years ago, when I was at Uni. The symptoms were the same and it took me months to get over it.” I didn’t add, that at the time I’d thought it a side effect of the drugs I was doing. Add to the mix, the fact that I didn’t eat for months and had survived on a cocktail of alcohol and menthol cigarettes and it was a wonder that I was actually alive to tell the tale. Being the popular life-of-the-party girl that I had moulded myself into meant that illness was out of the question, I had simply taken more ‘speed’ to counteract the effects.
“And you never sought a medical opinion?”
“I thought it was the flu, you know.”
And going to the family doctor to get something for your drug addiction wasn’t an option, especially since he’d known me since he’d slapped my bottom at birth.
He nodded. “My guess is that it was the onset of the virus. It takes some weeks after exposure before symptoms appear. Sometimes they never do. That’s why we call it the ‘silent killer’. Would this have been about the time you were friendly with the person who asked you to be tested?”
“Yes.”
The bastard. I wished I had a kitchen knife right about then. Mark’s head was looking good on a plate next to his balls.
“Right.” He scribbled something in my file in that hieroglyphic scratching only doctors can understand.
At last, he turned back to face me again. “The pregnancy test is also positive.”
Oh, sweet Jesus! I burst into tears, sobbing with my hands over my eyes, the likes of which I was sure he would never have experienced before. A life threatening illness I could cope with but a baby? There was no way on this earth I was ready for a baby.
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“Y…Yes please,” I blubbered, blowing my nose. He rose to the door and went out, reappearing seconds later with a plastic cup half filled with filtered water. He handed it to me and I took a sip.
“Better?”
“Thank you. What does all this mean?” There had to be some good in all this. My life couldn’t just be one big pile of crap.
“Right.” He shuffled his papers again. “The good news is that hepatitis B is treatable. Your case is what we term ‘Chronic Persistent’, which means that you have one of two options. You can let it run it’s natural course and hope that it goes away of it’s own accord but you will be contagious and you may experience flare ups like the one you’re having now. It may also be that you never have another flare up again. However, you’re a carrier and will need to inform all previous and future sexual partners of this to prevent spreading of the virus. You’ll need to alter your diet and lifestyle. Alcohol and cigarettes are out, because in the worst case scenario you may have suffered liver damage or even contract liver cancer somewhere down the track. Now that we know about the virus, we can monitor your situation and test for any damage. You could also undergo a course of treatment, which lasts between four and six months. It won’t cure the virus but may help reduce the symptoms and could change the status of your infection.”
“I’m not going to die?”
He smiled at that. “No and you can still lead a normal healthy life, provided you take the necessary steps and precautions and because of the pregnancy you’ll need to be even more vigilant.”
“What do you mean?”
He swung around on his chair and took some pamphlets from a file on the corner of his desk. “You should know that there is a very high risk that your baby will be born with Hepatitis, due to the blood and fluids naturally involved in the birth itself. Take these home and read them. They should give you some perspective into the type of problems you may encounter and the lifestyle changes required.”
I began to cry again. I was having Ben’s baby.
“It’s a lot to think about,” he said. “Why don’t you go home, read up, and try to let it all sink in. Then you can come and see me in a couple of weeks and we can discuss your options. There’s plenty of time, rest and relax. I’ll write you a certificate for the remainder of the week, until you get back on your feet again.”
He scribbled on his medical pad and tore the sheet off, handing it to me. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
I dragged myself home. A weight had descended on my shoulders, I felt exhausted and ill, even more so than I had before the visit to the doctor. Until then, I’d been prepared to soldier on but not any more. All I wanted to do was to curl up in a little ball and sleep for a very long time. It was as if Dr Carter had placed a huge sandstone block on my back and said “here, you’re a strong girl; carry this around for a while, will you” and I didn’t know if I could carry the weight alone, but I had to try. For a while at least.
***
Getting past Mum’s maternal radar was a hurdle but I didn’t want her to know. Not until I’d decided how I wanted to approach the whole thing. I didn’t want anyone to know. Above all, Ben.
“I thought I might go up to the cottage if that’s okay? Can I swing by and get the keys?” I said, trying to sound light and breezy. “I’m a bit under the weather and the doctor has given me a week off work.”
On the other end of the phone, I heard her tongue clicking, ready to launch into one of those speeches. “I told you that high powered job would be the death of you. Your health is very important.”
She never changed; she was like a well-read book. Even though you knew the ending, you still kept on reading. I sighed.
“Yes, I know, Mum.”
“What’re you going to do up there all alone? You know there’s no TV or telephone.” She went silent, obviously contriving scenarios of all the possible mischief I could get up to on my own. “You’re not taking drugs again, are you?”
“No Mum. I’m going to rest and read. I have my portable stereo. I won’t be lonely.”
“Hmm. As long as there’s nothing wrong.” I could hear from those clipped ladylike tones that she remained skeptical. I could imagine her on the other end of the line with a dust cloth in her hand, polishing the handset of the phone as she spoke, like the stereotypical woman from old editions of Home Beautiful.
“Can I have the keys?”
“Of course, you can. But do make sure to go into the Bay and phone regularly, you know your father and I worry. And be careful driving up that coast road. It’s very dangerous this time of year.”
“Yes, Mum.”
***
On my first Sunday away from home, more out of guilt than anything, I rode one of the old bicycles into town and called Mum. It was a peace keeping measure as such, for I knew that if I didn’t she’d be up the coast after me like a shot, bringing
me home and chastising me all the way for thoughtless behaviour. My mother in one of her rampages could silence warring factions in the Middle East and her stare, when slighted, was arctic at best.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, concerned.
“I feel much better. I’ve been sleeping a lot but I’m starting to unwind, now.” I wasn’t going to tell her that sleep was my ostrich technique. I couldn’t face the thought of telling Ben and having him reject me.
“That’s good, darling. Are you eating well?”
“Yes. I brought food with me. I had a look at the General Store in the Bay but the trash they sell is still overpriced and looks like it’s breaking a number of health codes. I think I’ll come back down to stock up tomorrow. Trudy said I could take some holiday time, so I might stay a while longer. I’ve given up smoking,” I added. I thought she’d be pleased at this. Smoking had always been on the unsuitable list in ‘Mum’s Book of Ladylike Behaviours’ but she made no comment. Instead, she was silent.
“Are you sure everything’s alright?”
“Yes Mum.”
“Ben’s rung every day this week. He wants to know where you are.” The tone of her voice didn’t waver. It was merely another avenue of conversation. An image of years past, after the disastrous Melbourne trip, came to mind. The way she had run the gauntlet for me was nothing short of amazing. I hoped she’d done the same again.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
“Of course not. I’m not completely out of touch, no matter what you might think.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
She sighed. “I know. But I thought if you wanted him to know where you are you’d have told him. Have you had another fight?”
“No. I need some time to think. I can’t concentrate when he’s around. He makes my mind fuzzy.”
I heard the soft tinkle of her laugh. “Your father used to do that to me. He swept me off my feet.”
I was astounded. Mum never spoke about her relationship with Dad. I didn’t know anything about how they’d met or married. It was like some personal thing, no emotion, never to be spoken about.