Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
“Per month? That’s over thirty thousand a year! That might be chump change to you, but I didn’t even earn that much last year.”
I don’t earn a third of that now, but I will save that embarrassment for a day when my legs aren’t minutes from being encased in stirrups.
“A hysterectomy won’t be any cheaper. You’ll require a stay in the hospital, then a similar hormone replacement therapy to slowly ease you into menopause.”
“Menopause?” My voice replicates someone who has been repeatedly punched in the stomach. “I’m twenty-seven. I should be swinging from the rafters while having the best sex of my life. I’m not meant to let my vagina wither away like an overcooked clam.”
“Vaginal dryness can be corrected with creams.”
“Please don’t,” I beg.
Dr. Hemway was there for me more than anyone else when hormones switched me from a chubby-faced child with piggy-tails to a raging lunatic who flew off the handle as often as she cried herself to sleep, cradling a hot water bottle. I can’t discuss this with him, however.
He will never be a man who can take a hint. “With the right preparation, sex shouldn’t be painful. If you’re experiencing pain during intercourse—”
“I’m not,” I assure him, my cheeks inflaming. “Well, I assume I won’t.”
I don’t need to look at him to know he’s giving me his please explain face.
I hold out for almost thirty seconds before the wish for a father figure has me blubbering out a confession I haven’t even shared with my best friend. “I haven’t had sex in a long time.”
“Why?” If his voice were any higher, it would reach the moon.
“Because you said it would be painful, and I’m in enough pain. I don’t need more added to the over-stacked pile. Especially not for a guy with a peanut for a cock. Why bother?”
“I said sex could be painful. It was merely a warning, not an advisory to give up sexual activities as a whole.” He hits the nail on the head when he unearths the real reason for my unexpected sabbatical from an activity I should crave more than my next meal. “Despite your mother’s beliefs, your fertility challenges do not make you less desirable, Zoya.” An unexpected parcel of laughter rumbles up my chest when he murmurs, “To some men, you are all the more enticing.”
“Spoken like a true forty-six-year-old bachelor.”
I call myself a selfish cow when he replies, “Forty-seven.” He nudges me with his elbow before moving for his famous wall of pamphlets. “Don’t feel guilty. My last two laps around the sun seemed to have taken twice as long as the previous forty-five.” He plucks a brochure about living with endometriosis out of the stack before spinning to face me. “I guess that’s a consequence of having more people cherishing each day instead of the standard one.”
My heart does a weird flippy thing when I spot his loved-up expression. “You found your Achilles’ heel.”
I sigh like a simp when he jerks up his chin like I asked a question. “She’s smart, beautiful, and strong.”
“She’d have to be to put up with you looking at vaginas all day.”
That gets a laugh out of him. For as long as I’ve been sexually active, I’ve riled him about being single because no woman would be strong enough to endure the profession he chose to specialize in.
As the years passed, his status never changed, so I wondered if I was more on the money than my teenage self realized.
“I think you’d like Kiara.” Fondness glistens in his eyes when he adds, “She reminds me a lot of you.” I realize he means more on paper than personality when he hands me a brochure on the best sex positions for people with endometriosis. “So if you won’t take my word that sex doesn’t necessarily mean pain for endometriosis sufferers, perhaps you will take Kiara’s word for it.”
He sits behind his desk that’s butted up to the chair concealing my underwear to jot down some notes in my medical file. He refuses to use electronic devices for anything. It is paper all the way or no records at all.
“She swears by pages seventeen and thirty-three.”
My cheeks inflame for an entirely different reason when I flick to the pages stated. The people who put together this brochure left nothing to the imagination. It has some of the best not-suitable-for-work art I’ve ever seen, and I read graphic romance novels like a gym junkie devours protein.
Dr. Hemway rips a handwritten prescription off a pad most doctors stopped using years ago before spinning to face me. “This is a cheaper alternative to the hormone therapy treatment you require.” Before I can snatch the paper out of his hand, he tugs it away. “But you need to be aware that this trial hormone therapy is still under provisional testing. It has not yet been endorsed by the drug administration company. It may not work.” Honesty echoes in his tone when he says, “But anything is better than the nothing approach you’ve been using for the past two years.” He writes out another prescription. “Continue taking oral contraception for the first few months to ensure adequate protection is maintained while your menstrual cycle is suppressed.”