Turns out, Lauren didn't need to have X-rays, MRIs, or any of the junk the doctor had rattled off at first. One trip to the bathroom was enough.
Or at least, that's what everyone thought.
"Great news," little Miss Muffet said as she came back in the room. "You're pregnant. Quite far along at that."
"That's impossible," Lauren said. "I haven't missed a period."
"Well, the doctor will be in shortly," the nurse replied. "I just came in to give you a heads up."
She put down the clipboard and whisked out of the room. Lauren mopped her forehead and looked at me in disbelief.
"It's impossible," she repeated.
I didn't know what to say. There were so many possible reactions. I mean, I could hug her and ramble on about how it was going to be okay, even fun, blah blah blah. Or I could agree with her and feed into the improbability. The last option, the one I chose, was to sit there in stone silence and think the worst.
Doctor Tornado whirled into the room about ten minutes after the nurse left. Nurse Mini Wheats was rolling in a monitor behind him.
"Let's see what we have here Lauren," the doctor said. Out came a tube, out came a wand, on went the screen, up went her shirt--all in the course of seconds. I felt like a dunce, sitting there, clutching my hands together in one giant ball, barely able to conceal the scream that was bubbling up. Lauren looked at me, almost pleadingly, and yet I just stared at the equipment. Could it qualm my fear?
It didn't qualm my fear. I couldn't decipher the results of the poor image that lit up the screen, but I turned my attention to the doctor's face. The wand seemed to slow, his face grew ashen.
"What?" I whispered.
"I think," the doctor said slowly, way more slowly than he had addressed us since we walked in. "That I'm going to refer you to a specialist."
"Why?" Lauren demanded.
"You have multiples."
"Multiples?"
It was kind of like one of those hidden picture scenes. As soon as the doctor pointed, I was able to make out what we were supposed to have been seeing. His finger drifted over four distinct shapes.
Four. A...a...litter.
"This is impossible," Lauren said a little louder when the word 'quadruplets' was uttered. "I haven't even been late."
"You're about ten weeks."
Lauren shook her head. "Impossible." She turned to me. "Nick?"
Her voice was beseeching.
"Your temperature is...odd. You need to see a specialist. Today," the doctor stressed.
I exhaled. "Can we have a referral?"
"You're about fourteen weeks along."
"The doctor this morning said she was ten weeks," I argued.
I didn't add that this morning, Lauren's stomach had been uneasily bloated. By the afternoon, it had enlarged even more. She really did look pregnant. Even so, she was holding on steadfast to her denial.
"No, gestational size for multiples indicates fourteen weeks," the doctor explained. He looked down at Lauren. "Hadn't you noticed any weight gain?"
"Not until last night," Lauren said. "And this morning. It all happened this morning."
The doctor looked doubtful. I, on the other hand, believed every word Lauren was saying. As my only feeble means of support, I squeezed her fingers.
"Your papers from the ER list your temperature as 108," the OB/GYN said with an ironic smirk. "Bad equipment, huh?"
Again, I didn't think so. Lauren's hair was saturated in dampness. Another round of vomiting before our appointment had produced the same animalistic smell I had recognized earlier.
"Let's have you sit up and we'll take it again."
I helped Lauren into a sitting position. Her shoulders slumped as she opened her mouth reluctantly.
Two mintues later, the thermometer registered a 109.
"Impossible," the doctor muttered. She shook her head.
Impossible was the word of the day, or so it seemed.
"I'm going to double-check your blood tests," she said. "I'll probably be drawing more. You're automatically high-risk."
Neither of us said a word until the doctor had left the room. Lauren turned to me.
"Nick, I'm scared."
"I know," I said. I couldn't look into her eyes. "So was I."
"Was?"
"When it happened to me."
"What are you talking about?"
I had no choice. I stared into her greyish face. "When I turned last month. Into...into the werewolf."
Lauren grew angry. "Nick, I don't need to hear your ridiculous story. Not today. Of all days. Nick, I'm carrying four fucking babies."
"Lauren, what if when I attacked you I made you a werewolf too?" I said, ignoring her tirade. "Doesn't it make sense? Wolves have litters. You're sweating just like I was and--"
The sting of her hand across my face rendered me speechless. I touched my burning cheek; she began to cry.
"Nick, I can't believe you. I need support. Besides, I told you I never want to talk about that night again."
Her chest heaved. She swiped at her neck, her fingers emerging wet.
"Lauren, I'm worried for you. I'm just trying to help."
"Then, don't."
I lapsed back into silence. Only Lauren's cries broke up the monotony. After another eternity, the doctor came back. A plethora of extra blood tests were requested. The visit wrapped up with with no more answers than when we came in.
Lauren continued the iciness as we drove home. Once back, she went up to our room, curled up in bed, and went to sleep. When I was sure it was safe - that I wouldn't get slapped or yelled at - I crawled in beside her with my laptop. For awhile I just watched her.
Then I powered the laptop on. Google was my target. Werewolves was my subject. I went through pages that looked legit, only to realize they were stories. Other pages were too horrific for me to read all the way to the end. The last page I hit upon was a schedule of all the full moons for the year.
The last full moon had been the day of my transformation. The next full moon?
Two weeks away. Time would tell if my suspicions were right.
For Lauren's sake, I hoped I was wrong.
