Long Way Down (Calloway Sisters 4)

No one is leaving me naked in a crowd of people. I won’t let them without my consent. Not anymore.

Dr. Yoshida clears his throat before gesturing to the images. “We’re most concerned with the cyst on your left ovary. It’s larger than the right one.” He points them out, outlining the dark patterns. “They’re located deep within the ovaries, not on top of them, which makes them endometriomas.” He turns to me. “Also known as chocolate cysts.”

I go still, already knowing their nickname. When I first heard it, I thought someone was playing a cruel joke on me. Chocolate cysts. “My favorite kind,” I say lightheartedly.

No one finds my humor amusing right now. Literally there is dead silence. Usually I’m better at easing the tension, but I guess I’m better at it when the topic doesn’t surround me.

Ryke sets a hand on my thigh—a perilous and dangerous place. I begin to smile, liking it all. He asks the doctor, “Are you recommending surgery?” His tone is coarse. I like that too.

Dr. Yoshida clicks a pen. “If the cyst was smaller, I wouldn’t have, but at this point, surgery is the best directive. All cases are different, and I don’t like the look of the ones on her left ovary and tube. They’re only going to worsen.”

It’s what the other doctor advised too.

Rose readjusts her purse on her arm, her collarbones jutting out as she holds in a breath. I feel winded, not able to remember the questions I should be asking.

Ryke nods to the doctor. “Can she still get pregnant if she undergoes surgery?”

That’s an important one. Thank you, Ryke.

“It’s going to be difficult, for a number of reasons, but that doesn’t make it impossible.” He faces me again. “Age decreases your reserve and surgery will have the same effect. During the removal of your left ovary and left tube, I’d like to take out the smaller cyst on the right ovary. If it looks too risky at the time, I won’t touch the cyst. The important thing would be to preserve your right ovary while we can.”

I nod, understanding based on the other doctor’s explanation. Over time, they think my right ovary will match the ugliness of my left one, which will leave me with no option but removal.

“You’re currently on birth control,” he states, reading my file.

“I’m going off birth control today,” I tell him.

Ryke adds, “We want to try to have a fucking kid.” I don’t think he realized he added a fuck in there, and I can’t stop smiling.

Rose and Connor don’t appear surprised by either his fuck or admittance. I think everyone silently knew we were going to try soon. It’s just been a sad topic, so no one really ever brings it up that often.

Dr. Yoshida jots down a note in the folder. “Birth control can sometimes help suppress the development of cysts on ovaries. It’s a reason why getting pregnant with preexisting cysts can be complicated.” He scans the files. “Your irregular periods are most likely due to the endometriomas. Once we go through surgery, your right ovary should take over in two to three months and your periods should become more regular.”

I nod again, feeling a little robotic.

“How has the pain been?”

Everyone looks at me.

“Just bad when I actually have a period and worse when I went off birth control.” That part scares me since I obviously need to be off birth control to have a baby.

He nods like he expected my response. “Most of the pain should subside after surgery.” I hone in on the should—it’s more like a possibility and less like a certainty.

Ryke scratches his jaw and then asks, “How painful will it be for her to have sex?”

Dr. Yoshida flips through my charts. “Does she feel pain during intercourse now?”

I block out Connor who’s hearing this information too, and I tie my hair into a high bun. “I didn’t know that I had cysts, so there might’ve been a couple times where I thought it hurt a little just because he’s big.”

Ryke is rigid.

At the time, I never told him I felt any pain because it lasted maybe a minute or two and then he changed positions anyway. It didn’t seem as big of a deal as it’s become.

His dark eyes flit to me and then back to the doctor. He’s mad. At himself for not catching sight of my pain and at me for not letting him know. He never wants to hurt me. I’d give him more details now—to show that it’s in the past and unmemorable—but I don’t want to paint vivid portraits of our sex life for the doctor, my sister, and Connor.

I touch his hand that’s on my thigh, and instead of distancing himself from me, he threads his fingers with mine. It reminds me of how mature he is, never letting the little things take root.

“If I remove the right cyst, it should help with the pain,” Dr. Yoshida says in thought, making another note.

Connor looks a little peeved by all the note taking and not enough sharing, but he surprisingly stays quiet.

“So I suggest surgery as soon as possible before trying to get pregnant. How does that sound?”

“Good,” I tell him. I remember what Ryke and I already discussed and agreed upon during our long talk. He said that I needed to fix the endometrioma before I considered kids. That my health trumps pregnancy. Ryke’s words: Babies take the fucking backseat, sweetheart.

I replied: Literally. They will be sitting in the backseat if we drive our babies around.

He threw me over his shoulder for that.

“There’s always a chance that you could be infertile,” the doctor says, “regardless of surgery. In that case, I’d recommend in vitro fertilization. There’s no guarantee IVF will work, and there’s a high risk of rupturing the cyst during egg retrieval. But…with your medical history, it’s likely that pregnancy may be difficult on your body regardless.”

He explains more, outlining pros and cons and listing giant words that cloud my head. The risks for pregnancy with endometriomas are terrifying: pre-eclampsia, pre-term birth, antepartum hemorrhage, miscarriage, stillbirth.

He finishes with, “So you need to decide whether to try on your own or go straight to IVF or surrogacy.”

The pros for surrogacy: my body is spared all the hardships of a high-risk pregnancy. No possibilities of pain, miscarriages, or hemorrhaging.

“So,” I start, trying to wrap my head around this, “if I don’t go with IVF or surrogacy, then the risk will be possible infertility and maybe some pain?”

“Since you obviously need to have sex during ovulation—and that time has been painful for you in the past—it will be unavoidable when you’re trying to conceive.” He adds, “Like I mentioned, surgery should help.” Should. “There are other methods to get more comfortable. Missionary position can be painful for some, so you can try doggy style and side-to-side. The penis enters at a better angle.”

Do not look at Connor Cobalt.

Everyone is quiet, mulling over these options. I want to make a joke about sex, but I’m finding it hard to speak.

Dr. Yoshida retrieves the ultrasound images and shuts the folders. “I’d like to schedule your surgery, and in the meantime, you can think about your options to conceive.” His gaze bounces between Ryke and me. “When you’ve decided on the route you want, we can go from there. I need to stress that your pregnancy will be high-risk if you choose to carry the baby. To avoid most of the complications, surrogacy is a great alternative.”

I nod once, and he pats my shoulder before leaving us alone to discuss. My gut says to try by myself first. No IVF, no surrogacy. We haven’t even seen if I’m entirely infertile yet. The surgery may help with that. I know it’s the riskiest option—but when have I ever shied from a little danger?

Even thinking it, I’m certain that this will be one of the biggest risks of my life. And I’m not even racing down a road or diving off a cli

ff.

I’m toying with my body’s capabilities, and it may not be fit to carry life into this world. Rose has told me that it doesn’t make me less of a woman. I cried when she said it—because I’ve felt odd lately. Maybe that was why.

I keep trying to navigate these feelings, and I think time will be the biggest help in climbing over them. Time to cope. Time to accept the experience I may miss out on. Time to realize that I’m as much of a woman as every woman out there.

Before I close this chapter and settle with my fate, I want to follow what’s in my heart. No playing it safe. I want to try. I want to run headfirst at a hundred-and-fifty miles per hour without braking.

I want to take this risk.

Even if it kills me.

The door shuts, and Connor speaks first, as though bursting from holding back for so long. “You need to think about the possibility of miscarrying and what that means for your mental health.” He’s more stern and brotherly than he has ever been with me.

I look at Ryke—no clue where his head is at, but the way he searches my eyes, I see that he recognizes what I’m leaning towards. I wear an expression full of mischief and excitement, my lips quirked up, which usually appears in the face of danger.

If this process didn’t concern my health, I’d say that he’d be standing confidently on my side. However, he cares about what will happen to me. I tend to forget about myself and focus on grander things.

“You think I’m not mentally stable enough?” I ask Ryke.

“I don’t fucking know,” he admits.

I try to cheer him up, grabbing onto his waist while I’m still seated. “Frederick told me I was his best patient the other day.” I wag my brows at him. “I beat Connor Cobalt. Therefore I should be fit for anything.” We share the same therapist but for different reasons. I’ve been diagnosed with depression and PTSD, so it’s safe to assume that I’d be mentally affected by a miscarriage.

Connor isn’t amused. “I sincerely doubt those were Rick’s exact words.” He takes out his phone, probably to text Frederick.