“Mom, listen to me. I have spent my whole life believing you could survive anything. But that doesn’t mean you have to survive everything alone.”
I looked at him.
For one brief moment, I was tempted to tell him everything.
Then the old shame returned.
I took his hand.
“All right,” I whispered. “Take me to the doctor.”
Neither of us knew that before the week was over, a secret from his father’s past would force our family to confront a truth we had avoided for fourteen years.
The doctor who examined me was a woman named Dr. Harris.
She listened while I described the swelling, the feeling of fullness after eating, and the occasional pain.
“Have you experienced any vomiting, fever, or changes in your bowel habits?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Any unexplained bleeding?”
“No.”
She asked about my medical history, my medications, and the date of my last gynecological examination.
