The Doctor's Pregnancy Bombshell

“Sam, I’m going to do a couple of tests on you. One is urinalysis, where I’ll check your urine for infection, blood, and other things that would indicate problems. The second is a vaginal survey. This is where I’ll make three microscope slides. I’ll do a gram stain with one to check for bacteria. Do a saline prep with another slide to check for Trichomonas pallidium, which is a sexually transmitted disease, and I’ll do a KOH slide to check for vaginal candidiasis, better known as a yeast infection.”

Sam’s lower lip trembled. “Will the tests hurt?”

“On the urinalysis, I’ll need you to pee in a cup. For the vaginal survey, you’ll have to have a pelvic exam similar to what it fe

lt like when I did your Pap test,” Melissa explained. She always used a liquid-based prep rather than the traditional Pap smear due to its increased accuracy and flexibility of testing for the human papillomavirus. “It’ll be uncomfortable, but shouldn’t be overly painful.”

Twenty minutes later Melissa’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Sam, the test showed that you have a Trichomonas infection.” Melissa met the girl’s wide eyes. “Like I mentioned earlier, this is a sexually transmitted disease.”

“Oh, my God,” Sam cried, covering her face with her hands. “I have an STD?”

“Yes, but fortunately it’s treatable. Trichomonas is a parasite and will take a special type of anti-infective, but it will completely clear up.” Melissa took a deep breath. “Sam, because you tested positive for this, you’re at high risk of having other sexually transmitted diseases. I recommend you have blood tests for other STDs like genital herpes, hepatitis B, and HIV.”

The crying girl shook her head in denial. “No, I can’t have any of those because I’ve not been with anyone but Bobby. I was his first, too. I must have gotten this from a toilet seat or something.”

“Sam, that isn’t possible.”

“But he doesn’t have any symptoms.”

“Men often don’t show signs of sexually transmitted diseases.” Which was unfortunate, but true.

“How could I have gotten this?”

Here came the whammie. “That’s something you need to discuss with Bobby, but the logical answer would be that he’s had sex with another person and infected you.”

“No,” came the sharp denial. “He loves me and wouldn’t do that.”

Melissa didn’t say anything. Way too often she was the bearer of such bad tidings. Most women suspected something, but occasionally, and particularly with young girls, the news that their significant other had been unfaithful came as a total shock.

Was that why she’d leapt to conclusions so quickly in regard to James and Dr Weaver? Because she didn’t want to be thought of as naïve? Not once prior to him telling her he was moving out had she questioned the nights he’d spent away from home. In her heart, she knew James hadn’t cheated, wouldn’t cheat on a woman he was involved with.

As long as he lived with her she stood a chance of changing his mind about her and their baby.

Thirty minutes and several blood tests later, Melissa walked into her office and dropped Sam’s chart onto her desk.

Debbie quickly followed.

“I missed my appointment with Peggy.”

Debbie gave an I’ve-got-your-back grin. “I told her you were hung up with a patient. She said not to worry about it and come when you could. She’ll work you in.”

Melissa glanced at her watch. If she hurried, she’d still have time to get the works and make it home by six. Without finishing her charting, she hurried out the door.

“Thanks, Debbie,” she called over her shoulder to her friend. “Wish me luck.”

“Wow. Dr James is gonna be one happy man when he gets a load of you,” Peggy praised her handiwork.

Melissa had to admit that it had been months since she’d looked so good. Not that the makeup completely hid the circles beneath her eyes, but almost.

Until she’d glanced in the mirror and seen the difference in how she looked compared to when she’d entered the salon, she hadn’t realized how much she’d let herself go. Looks didn’t matter that much when you were dealing with people’s lives.

“I’ve got a dress in my shop that would look divine on you,” Rhonda Peterson informed her from where another stylist was putting the finishing touches to her short curls. Rhonda ran a thrift store off Sawtooth’s town square. “I picked it up on a shopping trip to Nashville. Still has the original tags and everything.”

Which meant it had come from an upscale yard sale or another thrift shop. Rhonda was the queen of finding good deals.

“Oh, are you talking about that creamy number you got last week?” Gloria Stevens perked up from where she was reading a magazine, dozens of perm rollers tightly pinned to her head beneath a plastic cover.