But I did not cry.
Ten
Bella
If there was anything lucky about my debacle, it was that hockey season was not yet in full swing. It would be hard for a girl to hide in her room when weekends meant back-to-back away games.
On Saturday, while sulking after brunch, I got a call from Student Health Services. And when I answered, it was Ms. Ogden on the line.
Thank God.
“Bella? Do you have a minute to talk?”
“Of course. I didn’t know you worked Saturdays, though.”
“I work whenever the vaginas need me,” she said, which made me burst out laughing. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
I hesitated. “Sure. Is it that bad?”
“No!” she said. “Not at all. I just want to see your face. We’re not supposed to have favorite patients, but…”
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”
She laughed. “Meet me at Java Tree in ten?”
I bought myself a cup of peppermint tea, and went to sit down across from Ms. Ogden. She’d nabbed a very private table in back. “Hi,” I said, feeling calmer than I had in days. There was something about her level gaze that banished panicky thoughts.
She reached across the table to give my hand a quick squeeze. “Bella, dear. I’m sorry I wasn’t around when you came in last week.”
“Please tell me that you were someplace wonderful. Because Dr. Peterson is an evil troll.”
She grinned. “My wife and I went to Bermuda.”
“Nice.”
“And I know he’s a grouch. But he’s also a very sharp clinician. Unfortunately, you don’t have to be a nice person to get a medical degree.”
“I noticed.”
“It helps to remember that he’s saved lives.”
“Pish,” I said with a wave of my hand, and she smiled again.
“I have some lab results here.” She passed me a sealed envelope. “But I just wanted to make sure — are you doing okay? I’m sorry you got difficult news.”
“I’m okay,” I lied. Actually, I’m hiding in my room most of the time. Is that normal?
“Are your symptoms subsiding?”
“They are, thanks.” But not my shame.
“Well, I have a small bit of good news,” Dr. Ogden said, dropping her voice. “Your test came back positive only for chlamydia, which will easily be killed off by one course of antibiotics.”
Well, yippee. It isn’t every day you find out you’ve got the good kind of STD. “That’s… something.” I tried not to sound too grim.
She tilted her head, studying me. “Bella, would you be feeling the same way if you’d caught the flu from a partner?”
“God no,” I answered immediately.
“Generally, my role is to beat the drum for safer sex. But I want to say something else to you.” Her warm eyes studied me. “This isn’t a message from God. There’s no reason to panic or feel any shame. You’re still the same beautiful girl you were the last time I saw you.”
Hearing her say that made my throat burn. I took a gulp of tea to hide my reaction.
“Oh, sweetie,” she whispered. “You’re going to be fine.”
I knew that was technically true, but I didn’t feel anything like fine. “It’s hard,” I said, my voice cracking. “There’s a difficult conversation I need to have, and I haven’t done it yet.” I’d taken a close look at my calendar. Luckily, only my lackluster night at the Beta Rho house with Whittaker fell within the transmission window.
Just looking at my calendar to figure it out had made me feel physically ill. There had been times during the past two years when my number of partners would have been higher than one. That made me cringe — as if the people who judged me for my sex life had pulled off a secret victory.
Ms. Ogden stirred her drink with a straw. “Now, it’s not easy to tell someone that he gave you a disease. He may not believe you, because over half the people who carry it don’t have any symptoms.”
“None?”
She shook her head. “But I can make the conversation a little easier.”
“How?”
Ms. Ogden took a card out of her pocket. “Give him my number. If he calls me, I’ll ask him a couple of screening questions — to make sure he’s not allergic to the antibiotics — and then I’ll prescribe over the phone. He doesn’t even have to be tested.”