Staged between a withering elderly lady, who was wearing cotton slip slippers and clicking her dentures in and out of her mouth, and a most-likely-to-be-obese eleven year old boy, who was drooling over a handheld videogame, I waited patiently for my name to be chosen. For how long I waited, squashed between a past generation and a future generation, I do not know. It seem like months had passed before someone behind the prim wooden desk called my name. Here we go. My knees wobbled as I stood up, automatically flattening my skirt down and tugging at my blouse. Of course, envious of my escape from the waiting room, all eyes were furiously trained on me, hoping I would not occupy the doctor for too long. I did not care if I made them sit there for eternity, this was my turn and it was a matter not to be rushed.

Ah, shit. Shit, shit, blasphemous shit. Honestly, I bite my tongue before I swear, but inside my head it’s free game. And shit, shit, shit was all I could think about as I sluggishly left the building, huffing and puffing on the inside. Alright, so I was pregnant. No big deal, right? Right!

Ah, shit. Who am I trying to fool? It was a big deal. Sorry, it is a big deal. I am pregnant for Christ sake.

I felt my heart shaking and my lungs tightening, my body about to combust. Barely down the front steps of the building, the ground gave way and my knees met with the pavement. I hiccoughed and sobbed then, my shoulders heaving tiredly. I was aware of the ignorant and worried looks of people coming in and going out of the building, but I really did not care. I mentally cursed them, because I did not have the bravado or the energy to say it aloud. Fuck them, fuck this, and fuck him.

I almost felt ashamed for not immediately thinking about him the moment I found out. As much as I fretted over the idea of my life being reared in another direction, this was as much apart of his life as it was mine. What would he say? What would he do? How am I going to tell him?