Becoming April

Chapter Nine

May won this fight, too. She sat through my automatic shocked "No!" and pointed out it was an ordeal I'd need to face eventually—she said a girl could normally wait until she was twenty or so for her first pelvic exam, but this might be my twenty. And really I should get everything, everything checked out now; while there was no record of Changeling Syndrome changing someone in a bad way, there was no record of a transformation like mine either. Who knew what time bombs might be lurking in my body?

And, making it perfect, her obstetrician and gynecologist was also a primary care physician specializing in female patients and could run every basic test I needed.

They were actually gym buddies (big surprise), and May had called her directly yesterday and told her she'd had a cousin come to town who needed to have an exam STAT. Because, stuff. Apparently Doctor Meredith James knew enough about May's family history to assume I was a cousin up from the country and Something Had Happened that nobody back home could know about.

After laying out her case May went back home to feed Steph, leaving me to stew quietly and talk myself into it. The big problem for me (besides the very idea of it), was I couldn't see how we were going to do it. I wasn't anyone, legally, except David Ross. If David Ross walked into a gynecology exam Doctor Merideth James was going to know exactly what I was—that or think May had gone insane—and if we gave her a fake name, she'd still realize something wasn't right when we couldn't produce my medical history. Unless we could work without it? Could doctors do that? I didn't know.

Finally I decided that May knew; she was one of the most capable people I knew and if she was confident it would work then she knew what she was doing. When the hour was up, I trekked over to meet my doom.

Doom started with a ride in the family van to drop Steph off with one of their Emergency Sitting Circle moms (May'd built the co-op out of her Lamaze class group and church circle; the woman networked like she breathed). Then we drove to her doctor's office, a nice enough office in a renovated Victorian home. Apparently Dr. James kept a select practice; there was only her name on the plaque by the door, and a single office administrator and nurse. Becky, the office admin, handed May a clipboard with papers to fill out, which she did while I sat nervously (knees together), distracting myself with the framed lithographs on the patterned-wallpaper covered walls. May and I were the only two people waiting.

Fifteen minutes later, Becky ushered us into a standard if warmly decorated examination room—standard except for the extra examination chair with worrying leg supports. The thing looked more like streamlined futuristic easy chair, but that didn't reassure me. A minute later, a fitly mature woman with slightly graying hair joined us, saying hello to May. "And you must be April," she said with a smile. "Hello."

I blinked. "I'm—yes. Hello."

Kind eyes studied me as I squirmed. "Why don't we all sit down?"

There were enough comfortable chairs for three and I imagined she might be used to having heart to hearts with couples or mothers and daughters over diagnoses and prognoses. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Meredith," May said and was waved away.

"Mondays are generally easier to reschedule, and it wasn't a problem. So, how shall we begin? You didn't explain much."

"No, I didn't. We should start with this." Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a shiny card and handed it to her.

"A driver's license? Is this the man who . . . I'm not sure I understand."

Driver's license? I froze, going cold. "May—" She put a hand on my arm.

"David Ross isn't April's victimizer. David is April."

"May!"

Dr. James looked at the two of us. "Excuse me, what?"