Reasons for visits to the doctor or small local hospital are topics of gossip. HIPPA doesn’t prevent sharing of this confidential information in a place like Athens. It’s just one of the 4,724 reasons I want to escape this town.
Adrian: What are you doing today?
Me: chores around the house
Adrian: text me when you’re done
Adrian: we’ll plan something
Me: (thumbs up emoji)
I want nothing more than to hang with my friends today. Almost anything is preferred to what I must do. I pray I’m wrong. I hope I miscalculated or the stress of college this fall is the cause. I am not the type of person that can wait and see. I need to know. I must know, and the sooner the better.
I leave a note on the refrigerator, letting Memphis know I am running errands and to text me if she needs anything from town. It’s not a lie. I just didn’t say which town I would be in. I found online that a town west of Athens has a family-owned pharmacy. I plan to make my purchase there, hoping no one from Athens is around or works inside. It’s far enough away they shouldn’t know my mom, so that is good.
I blare my playlist through my car stereo the entire drive. I attempt to let the heavy beats and lyrics rescue my thoughts from my worries. I find that even Slipknot, Nine Inch Nails, Hailstorm, and Seether can’t distract me today.
The outcome of this test will affect so many things. College this fall, my part-time job in Columbia, as well as the plans for the rest of my life. My future may change, but I will not let it affect Hamilton. If it isn’t to affect him, that means I can’t stay in Athens where his family and friends reside. How can so much ride on the outcome of this little test? My favor of Hamilton may change the trajectory of my entire life. I try to remind myself to not jump to any conclusions, but it is hard not to think of the worst possible outcome.
My heart rate speeds up when I park in the tiny parking lot. I take a moment in an attempt to work up the nerve to walk inside. I mentally tell myself to pull up my big girl panties and make my purchase.
Only two other vehicles populate the small lot. When inside, I realize they most likely belong to the pharmacist and the clerk at the register. The neat-as-a-pin pharmacy is void of customers. I am greeted by the clerk, informing me to be sure to ask if I have any questions. Nope. There won’t be any questions. I pick up the major brand pregnancy test in its slim box and quickly approach the register in hopes of completing my transaction before any customers arrive.
“Will this be all for you?” the middle-aged woman at the register inquires. I simply nod, pay with my debit card, then graciously accept the white paper bag concealing the test. “Thank you and come again.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when safely sitting behind the wheel of my car. My next step is a stop at the McDonald’s on the edge of town. My bladder is anxiously awaiting its first visit to the restroom today. I found online that first morning urine is the best to test with early in a pregnancy. I slide the test from its box and slip it into my purse.
Safely tucked in a locked stall, I prepare to perform the test. I’ve never given much thought to peeing on a stick before. Turns out it isn’t an easy task for a woman. Certainly not a graceful task to say the least. I recap the test, wrap it in tissue, and place it in my purse. I avoid looking in the mirror while I wash my hands. With little sleep last night and the fear of my test results, I am sure I look affright.
I set my cell phone alarm for two more minutes, assume the driver’s seat in my car, and begin my journey back towards Athens. At the end of the longest minutes of my life, I peek at the result window. A pink plus sign ensures I am indeed pregnant with Hamilton’s baby. Tears well in my eyes, and my hands tremble on the steering wheel. I swerve dangerously at the last minute onto a gravel road. When I throw my car into park, my chest tightens, and I struggle to pull in a breath. I should have known not to read the test while driving sixty miles per hour down the highway.
I allow myself several minutes to cry, to feel sorry for myself, and to overreact. Then, I wipe away my tears, take several deep breaths, and shake my hands out. I pull out my cell phone and start to plan, making a list.
First, I should contact my college advisor, Odessa, to see what options I still have for the year. Next, I should buy a pregnancy book to ensure I do everything I can to have a healthy baby. I should research towns to relocate to in case I cannot attend college this fall. The last note I type on my digital list is to schedule an obstetrics appointment far away from Athens.
Calmer now with a plan in place and certainty to my status, I continue my drive home. I opt to listen to the local radio station, turned low, as my mind needs no further distractions. Although my thoughts should be one-hundred percent on the road, I realize my summer plans will change now, too. I’ll need to pack meals when I am working away from the house, I’ll need to limit my time in the hot sun, and I should give up caffeine immediately. This seals my duty as the designated driver, not that I ever really drank alcohol.
I wish I had a close friend to share my secret with. Hamilton would be that person, but this is one secret I can’t share with him. He would quit baseball and take over his mother’s farm the very day I told him. He’d abandon his lifelong dream, the dream his father talked so proudly of. It was never assumed he would take over the farm. They hoped he would attend college and play baseball as long as he could. I can’t let the favor I asked of Hamilton change his life and the hopes of his parents.
Still driving, I silently hope I don’t start to show before I leave for college or am able to move from Athens. Perhaps I should attempt to move up my departure.
Back in Athens, I stop at the grocery store to pick up the items I know I need to purchase. I say hi to a few people in the store, my secret weighing heavy in my thoughts.
“You need more cereal,” Savannah’s voice informs as my cart rolls by her stocking the grocery shelves.
“Not that kind of cereal,” I state as she attempts to place two boxes in my cart. We chat for a few minutes before I excuse myself to let her get back to work.
I feel guilty that I can’t share with her or any of my girlfriends. They won’t understand my not wanting Hamilton to give up everything to take care of me. They would fill my thoughts with the idea of moving to Des Moines to be with him. But I know him better than they do. He wouldn’t be able to give one-hundred percent to baseball if we were there, and he wouldn’t be able to give one-hundred percent to me and the baby while playing baseball. That would not sit well with him. He would drop everything and move back to Athens where he knew he would be able to support us easily. One of us may have to give up our dream of escaping Athens, but I won’t allow both of us.