Haley Thistle
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Vampire Boyfriend: Raul (special preview)
🕑 Added 2020-09-14 21:01:00 +0000 UTCAugust, 1986
I had been coming home from working at the bar one evening, or well, morning, when I saw the flyer. It was promoting medical trials for women ages eighteen to sixty who had an issue or complaint about their reproductive organs. It might have been something to be leery of, but I needed the money, not to mention the help it could bring. I took the flyer home with me so I could call the number after I got some sleep.
Once I got home, I could hear my roommate’s boombox still blaring from their bedroom. I stumble over their laundry basket still in the hallway. “This is bunk,” I grumble as I make my way to my room.
I close my door, still able to hear the dull thump of their music. I sit down on the edge of my bed to take off my shoes and I flop back in bed. I could shower when I woke up. Instead, I started cramping. I knew this was going to happen. All night at work I had been getting twinges of pain. I had been comparing this since I was a teenager. Back in high school, it would get so painful sometimes, I would throw up or start crying. My parents thought I was faking it, my doctor accused me of being promiscuous. Even in school, I was asked to ‘stop being dramatic’ by my teachers.
I had learned to cover the pain, but it was still something that caused me great distress on a very regular basis. I feared it meant I could be sick, or worse, dying. But I was afraid to go back to the doctor, I was afraid to talk about it at all in fear of a gamut of reasons.
I decided to go ahead and call that clinic, I could at least leave a message. I sat up in a cold sweat and searched through my purse for the number. I then grabbed my phone, pulling the cord into my hand and twisting it around my finger as I listened to the ring.
“Dr. Vlada Polidori speaking, how may I help you?” I got a real person? At this hour?
“Yes, uhm-” I clear my throat. “I’m calling about the clinical trials you’re offering to women.” I look at the simplistic flyer. “I was hoping I could get on.”
“Oh, wonderful!” The woman has a slight accent, something familiar but strange to me. “Yes, is there a specific reason you want to join the trial? Like, are you having any pain? Any discomfort? Perhaps fertility or irregular periods? And, let me remind you, all of this will be kept completely confidential.”
I once again get that fear of speaking my symptoms. “It’s pain,” I finally squeak out. “Constant, awful pain.”
“I see,” Dr. Polidori whispers. “Is it during your period? Or does it happen more often?”
“More often.” I twist the phone cord tighter and tighter around my fingers. “I swear I’m not lying.”
“I have no reason to believe you are. Would you like to give me your name or would you like to leave a pseudonym?”
“Lucy,” my voice cracks. “Just put down Lucy.”
“Thank you, Lucy,” Dr. Polidori says. “I can schedule a meeting with you as soon as possible, if you’d like.”
“I have Mondays off. So sometime in the afternoon would work.”
“How about six then this coming Monday?”
I nod. “Okay, that will work. Thank you.” I hang up and untangle the phone cord from my fingers.
I ask my friend, Henri, to come along with me that evening. He was the bouncer at the bar I worked at, so if anything weird happened, I knew he could help take care of me.
“You’re buggin’,” he says. “Something like this seems real off.”
“I’m desperate. Besides, the doctor on the phone sounded nice.”
