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No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 12 free porn video
No more Doctor nice Guy Part 12
I did not go home with Zac Smith.
Part way through our pash session I was able to regain some self
control and contain my crazy.
A predictable sentiment rattling around my brain was catalystic enough
to induce cessation.
'What the hell are you doing Alex?' I self scolded. It seemed to be my
standard introspection. At least currently.
I was broken-hearted, afraid and a hormonal mess. It was pretty clear
these were the impetus for my actions. Although bad behaviour was
probably a more precise descriptor.
But I still had to hold myself to account.
Besides, whilst he provided transient distraction from my seemingly
mounting problems he simply wasn't Kevin. It was Kevin I loved. Kevin
I wanted. Isaac, with no intended disrespect, was a poor substitute.
There was also the additional dynamic that Kevin and Isaac were
friends. Through Marty obviously but they'd gotten reasonably close.
Not that he'd remember anything about that. Only I did. Which is why
it still felt like cheating to me. It probably was.
Kevin gone not even a week and I'm turning back into a bad person
already.
I pulled away from him and tried to be as tactful as I could.
"I'm sorry Zac. I just can't do this. I've just come out of a long
term relationship, somewhat unexpectedly, and I'm totally not ready."
"Ready for what Alex? You know this is just wedding sex right?"
"Oh," I say coyly. "I thought this meant we'd be going steady." Does
anyone even say that anymore?
He looks a little concerned till I laugh.
"Of course I know what this is Isaac. But I'm not even ready for that.
I'm fucked up in ways you can't imagine."
"Like 'crazy hot mess'?"
"You'd better believe it."
"Damn. That usually means the sex is really good."
"You'd better believe that too," I purr. It's a joke. I think! "But
not today. I told you to go for Shaan. What are you doing with me
anyway? She's way hotter."
"I'm not so sure that's true. You're both pretty smokin' in my
opinion. And I already knew you. So it was a simpler option."
"So sweet," I say light heartedly. "Nonetheless, go try your charm on
someone else. It really shouldn't be as easy for you as I made it."
"You're sure?" Part of it was clarification. But also permission.
"Absolutely." Not that he needed my blessing. But he had it.
"Ok then." He turns and heads across the courtyard.
I call to him after a few paces and he turns.
"I am sorry. Thanks for being a gentleman about it."
"Don't stress it Alex." He laughs.
"Good luck!"
"Don't need it," he replies. Already walking away.
***
Hannah caught the bouquet, in spite of some attempted engineering by
Kristi that I should. Not that I believed in such superstitions but I
decided to avoid it at all costs. I did not want to give Mr Black any
ideas.
Funnily enough I don't think Hannah catching it was her hoping to
enact the myth that surrounds that particular thing. It was probably
more to do with winning. Shortly after, and even before the bride and
groom had left, I saw her sneaking out a side door with one of Marty's
cousins. And it certainly wasn't with marriage on her mind that she
did so.
I knew I was in absolutely no position to judge given my earlier
antics, but I also knew I'll be the one left explaining and/or
covering for her when we were up to the farewell circle.
I continued to present a cheery disposition for the remainder of the
evening, thankful the nausea stayed at bay after my earlier scare.
But there was one thing I hated.
It was awful grieving in secret. Not that I wanted to make a public
spectacle of it. But when you are mopey and morose and no one feels
you're entitled to be, it's pretty grim.
So I had to literally grin and bear it. All the while seeing such
happiness that is associated and expected at a wedding. Stinging like
a big fat salve of salt to an open wound.
Not that I would change a thing. Kristi deserved nothing but a
wonderful happy life.
After Kristi and Marty departed and the wedding ground to a close,
faced with the reality of going home alone, I actually regretted not
making a bad choice.
I didn't want sex. Well not primarily. I didn't want to be by myself
though.
Yet by myself I would be. With just the thoughts of Kevin, and our
unborn child, to fester on to my heart's discontent.
I was still dealing too with the revelation from Mr Black that I had
rewritten my own sexual orientation. More acutely now after so
willingly playing tonsil hockey with Zac. A man other than Kevin.
Affirming exactly what I was.
I had been so sure that Mr Black's curse had turned me into a
heterosexual woman I made it come true. But he was just responsible
for the woman part. I took care of the rest. Although he must have
factored on it happening; was he just so cunning he knew in advance I
would completely outwit myself?
How had it happened? How on Earth had I done this?
I had a theory; which of course, I would.
Once upon a time I was an expert at behaviour modification and thought
redirection. Part and parcel of good psychotherapy. I had
inadvertently used my own 'powers' against myself.
And I had been devastatingly effective.
The quandary I now faced was could I undo what I'd done to myself. And
if I could, was there any point in doing so.
For starters it shouldn't have been possible.
Generations of misguided psychiatrists before me had attempted, and
failed to 'correct' an individual's sexuality, or 'cure' them of a
paraphilia.
It never worked. Save to cause unimaginable emotional trauma to the
'patient' and have them kill themselves in droves.
It was awful to think about now, how harmfully wrong my forebears
could be. I knew who I blamed. A certain bearded Austrian.
I had considered that Alex Turner's hatred for Freud was possibly
transference (oh the irony) as a result of the deep wounds inflicted
by the Freudian girl. Back when I was him that is. But it was more
than just Freud's psychoanalytic and developmental theories that I had
issue with.
Freud had used his fame and influence to debunk and disgrace John
Little's (correct) theory that cerebral palsy was caused by perinatal
hypoxia.
In English, Little believed that oxygen deprivation before, during or
after birth caused damage to the baby's brain.
Seems common sense now. But not so back then.
Freud actually set back effective treatment of premature newborns by a
good 50 years. Causing untold preventable deaths.
But no one remembers him for that.
Still Alex Turner's grudges were possibly of no concern to me. I just
wanted an explanation for my changes.
Since Kevin's disappearance and with no one to go home to I'd spent a
bit of time in the library after my night shifts in this last week.
When Kristi hadn't needed me in the wedding lead up, naturally. Which
turned out incidentally, to be quite a lot.
Still I was motivated by my search for answers, so I found the time.
I'm not even sure the former me knew the hospital had a library, such
was his disregard towards continuing professional development.
It was different to how I remembered medical libraries from my student
days. Every journal was online nowadays but you still had to pay to
subscribe. The library did that so we didn't have to.
I had enjoyed the study required for my nursing critical care
certificate. In some ways I'd definitely had an advantage with some
retention of knowledge from my medical student former life. It was
impressive what I'd forgotten in 5 or 6 years though.
Whilst, as Alex Moore/Ward I may have had a love of learning re-
instilled, currently this was about finding out why what happened to
me had.
The only research I could find with any substance that resonated close
to my predicament were studies with unavoidably limited power (there
just weren't enough willing participants) on transgender people both
before and after affirmation surgery.
A significant proportion reported that as they approached or attained
their target gender they experienced anything from subtle to dramatic
changes in their sexual orientation.
For the majority there was no discernible change, but the rest could
not be ignored, especially when it served my purposes.
Of that not small minority, for most all of them this consisted of a
development of a degree of attraction to their former, now opposite,
gender.
There were three postulated explanations.
Were these desires that lay suppressed and latent but there all the
time? Finally having a plausible outlet.
Or had the lack of a definitive gender identity in their pre
-transition life stopped them from fully developing a sexual identity?
Once the former was sorted, the latter could complete and reveal
itself.
It probably was that the explanations were as individual as the people
themselves, but they weren't really relevant to me.
The third theory was the only one that I could possibly apply to
myself. The dramatic hormonal induced changes in neurotransmitter
chemistry and synaptic pathways made these former (biological at
least) men (and vice versa) think and act so much like women that in
many a degree of heterosexuality followed.
Surely that's what happened to me.
Whilst he didn't force me to fall in love with Kevin he made me a
woman in every way possible. In thoughts, behaviour and even desire.
Far more effectively than ingested hormones and surgery would have.
And he did meddle.
He changed my personality from aggressive, confident and aloof to
docile, insecure and suggestible.
So he lead me down an unavoidable path really.
I knew what I was doing with all my theories though.
I was trying to absolve myself.
Enough Alex Turner remained that he needed to assert that he hadn't
given up on his maleness, and his macho hetero sexuality. He'd had no
choice.
It was true. I did feel guilt with regard to what I'd become and that
I'd become it so readily.
Even after all this time.
I think especially because Kevin had disappeared and I was going to
spend the rest of my days as a single woman and mother. I may find
myself seeking comfort, which I'd clearly shown my intent to do
already. So I had to come to terms with it.
Relieving myself of all responsibility for my actions was the only
way I could really make peace with my choices.
And it seemed I definitely needed to do that.
****
So, returning to life beyond the distracting focus that was the
wedding, I suffered in silence.
Firstly with the morning sickness, which at times became severe enough
to earn the fancy mantle of hyperemesis gravidarum. I had to keep my
pregnancy secret for the requisite time. So I couldn't complain or let
anyone catch me chucking up.
Feeling nauseated 24/7 was not helped at all by the many noxious
smells I encountered in my average day as a nurse in an Emergency
department. I didn't think it was Mr Black's doing but I sometimes
wondered if God or Mother Nature felt it a great opportunity to punish
a former male with the full force of pregnancy complications. Just for
sport.
But this was not my only silent suffering. I also mourned my great
loss. It wasn't like it was getting any easier day by day. If anything
it was harder. Maybe the fixating fantasy I began to indulge in didn't
help that. But that seemed something beyond my control.
The two weeks Kristi was away on honeymoon seemed to drag forever. I
leaned on Jenna and Shaan a fair bit, but it wasn't quite the same.
Especially when there was a faint shadow of awkwardness cast on me
with one of those two other close friends.
I still hadn't got around to telling Shaan I had snogged Zac before
she did. I didn't think it mattered given she's the one he left with.
But given there had been follow up dates I was getting worried. If
they became a thing this could be an unfortunate revelation down the
track. Add to that the emergence of a baby with an unknown father and
my simple kiss could lead to the inadvertent undoing of a
relationship.
I can still fuck things up without even trying it seems.
I will have to choose my moment to clear the air, just to be safe. I
didn't imagine Isaac would take responsibility for his actions. He
would happily leave that up to me. But I decided that was a future
problem; I'll just stay mum on it for now.
But with regard to my aforementioned pathological fantasy:
Reflecting further on my current plight, I decided I was probably more
Hester Prynne now than Miss Havisham.
In either case I didn't particularly cherish the idea of my life
following a similar plot line. I hoped that it would follow a
different, though altogether far more fanciful, sequence.
I began to wish, unhealthily I suppose, that Kevin would come back for
me. In her new (old) form, I guess. That as the weeks went on she
would miss me terribly, and realize that no man would ever love her
the way I did. And admit to herself that she had loved me too, even
though she could never say it. And it didn't matter that we were now
both heterosexual women. We could overlook that; work around that,
because our souls were entwined and that was more important. We could
raise the baby together as a family. Even get married given that it
was finally legal in our country. She could continue on as the
breadwinner, being a high flying lawyer and all. I could be stay at
home mum for a while, but I would love to return to nursing when the
baby was weaned, even it was just the odd weekend shift.
It became an obsession, I had to concede.
At work, if a corporate looking woman arrived, usually just to visit a
relative, before they would announce their intent I would wonder to
myself. 'Is this her? Is she here for me?'
But it never was.
As the weeks ticked by my rational self realized it was never
happening. She was never coming back for me. But my emotional self
would not let go of the ideal. It entered my dreams. I had a visual
representation of the woman I imagined she'd be. An attractive
distinguished woman. And our life together with the baby. So vivid.
So perfect. So joyous. But it just meant waking to a world without
her every morning would be another fresh crushing blow, splitting me
open again and again.
I had to keep myself busy to distract myself from it, not that it
really worked.
Nursing was all I had in my life now I was lead to conclude. I took up
some overtime shifts, working when I could. I needed to save as much
money as I was able, to live off when the baby came. My savings
weren't great to start with. Mr Black hadn't really given me much to
work up from, and time was limited. I was frugal. It was not really
like I had anyone to go out with, given my husband was vaporized and
my best friend away. And now a newly wed at that, who has other things
to do. Even so, my financial trajectory did not look promising.
After a couple of weeks Kristi came back from Fiji tanned and relaxed.
Not unexpectedly she was also completely starry eyed for all the
world to see. She intimated strongly that given I had set a bit of a
bench mark it had certainly given them some encouragement to get going
and she hoped it wouldn't be too long before she and Marty started a
family too. Her tune seemed to have changed a little since the day I'd
told her I was pregnant. I hoped she wasn't rushing into something for
my sake.
Still, it was a comforting thought to speculate that our children may
grow up together.
Even though I thought she may have less time for me now newly married,
nothing really changed. She was a great support and helped me work my
way through the rough first trimester, accompanying me to the twelve
week scan and nuchal translucency test. I couldn't afford to have the
baby privately so I would be at the mercy of the public system, which
meant my own hospital where I worked. I did not foresee this being a
major problem. I would be dealt with by the maternity ward, where I
didn't really know anyone, but they tended to be kind to all
Blackbrook Hospital staff for collegiate reasons.
At my initial antenatal appointment I had my first ever pelvic exam
and pap smear. Of course history probably had it documented that
Alexandra Ward had been having them second yearly since 18, but in
terms of physically, for me, it was a brand new and slightly awful
experience.
I didn't know the young resident performing the procedure, which was
probably a blessing. I was annoyed it wasn't a woman though. Funny
that I thought that. I suppose to me I considered a female Doctor
would be a little more sympathetic. Even though I had frequently seen
that proven to the contrary. Was I exhibiting gender bias?
More like common sense I thought. If you had your own vajajay you'd
know what hurts and what doesn't and take a bit of extra care. A
similar theory to the way I felt about breast exams.
What I didn't like was how cold (not the speculum, it was plastic) and
clinical it was. Legs up and spread-eagled, you really had to leave
your dignity at the door for such things. Physically it was
uncomfortable but bearable; the powerless vulnerability I felt was far
worse.
I guess it's a good precursor to actual birth when there may well be a
crowd staring at your vagina as it's torn to shreds whilst something
the size of a watermelon forces its way out, with or without your
help, or consent. There will be nothing bearable about that.
***
Once the results of the scans were back and I passed the thirteen week
mark it was time to tell people. Not that there were many to tell.
Marty already knew. I told my Nurse Unit Manager just so she could
plan for my replacement when I began maternity leave. It was a sad
thought when she asked me when I thought I'd be back and I had to say
I didn't know. Because it may well be never.
Aside from that, the word spread at work once I'd told select people.
Even in this day and age it was still seen as a little atypical that
there was no father on the scene. I heard via Jenna that Stanley had
been saying uncharitable things about how loose I was and it was no
shock I was preggers.
I decided to take the high road for now. I suppose I still reserved
the right to fall off it at a random moment.
It was mostly unspoken, but people felt I was unwise to embark on this
journey alone. I must say I agreed with them totally, but here I was.
At 12 weeks your uterus can be felt above your pubic symphysis, just
beyond the pelvic rim. By 20 weeks it reaches your belly button. I
was currently somewhere in the middle. So I wasn't exactly showing yet
but I felt the full extent of the physiological changes of something
growing inside me. I was exhausted all the time. A blood test showed
me as iron deficient. Very common in pregnancy. I remembered how Kevin
had predicted this very early in our relationship. Even though he was
mad with me at the time it seemed any memory was a good memory to me.
I had taken some precautions though, before the blood test result, so
I was a little disappointed to be anaemic in spite of my best effort
to prevent it. After work the day following Kevin's disappearance I
had swung by a pharmacy and started on Elevit pregnancy multivitamins
which contained both iron and folate supplements. Folate being the
most important. I was worried I hadn't been on it already as the
neural tube deficits of spina bifida occur very early in the
pregnancy. Folic acid is the primary preventer of this condition. They
say it should be started when you are planning to get pregnant, before
you actually are. It's great that some people have that foresight, I
certainly didn't. This pregnancy truly was the archetype of unplanned.
Still, everything appeared fine on the scan, I had nothing to worry
about.
Kristi made good on her promise and told me in secret as soon as she
found out. She was pregnant too. She was only 7 weeks behind me. It
seemed like reasonable staggering. She could help me get through my
birth and those early weeks, and I would be well and truly into the
swing of things when she went through it all, and I could help her.
I loved my best friend so much. It filled me with such optimism to
think that we could be there for each other. A great sort of
symbiosis. No matter what was to come I felt heartened by that
thought. With Kristi to help me I felt I could survive most anything.
It would turn out I was wrong about that.
Even with Kristi's love and support, some things are simply
unsurvivable.
***
I was 16 weeks and 3 days.
It's not like you obsessively count every day, you just naturally mark
them off one at a time. At least that's what I did.
I was in charge on an early shift, whilst Kristi was the High acuity/
resuscitation lead nurse. When we were on together, which was now just
occasional rather than religiously enforced like it was in the early
days, we'd take it in turns at being the boss.
As two of the more experienced nurses we were separated mostly for
skill mix purposes, but we still rigged it that we were together at
least once a fortnight, if not weekly.
My extra shifts also helped us double up more too.
It was a busy shift but nothing especially remarkable; we'd passed
noon and the afternoon shift would soon be arriving.
I was standing in the central write up area waiting as Kristi
sauntered to me from the other end of the department.
It was a moment so sudden, precipitous, and catastrophic, without even
the faintest inkling of a warning.
A severe stabbing cramping pain in my groin. So intense I felt I may
pass out from it, then a huge rush of fluid from within me. If you
could imagine the bad flooding you sometimes get when you first get up
in the morning whilst you have your period; this was scores of
magnitude worse.
My navy scrub bottoms turned black from the out pouring of blood, and
then it emerged from the legs of my pants and onto the floor. Pools
of the thick red fluid forming beneath me, and I really could no
longer stay upright.
I fell heavily to the linoleum floor, still conscious enough to hear
Kristi scream my name and run towards me.
As I blacked out I heard her yell again. "Get Meg now!"
****
I groggily emerged to sentience enough to realize I was on the
resuscitation trolley in Bay 2. I was surrounded by people I knew
well. There was just an inordinate amount of them.
"She looks like a ghost," Emily, a new intern, commented on my pallor.
I vaguely looked towards her and she covered her mouth in dismay when
she realized I'd heard her.
The cold on my legs told me I was pantless, and just like for my pap
smear I felt the hard pull of something inside me.
I couldn't see who for I was weak and only semi conscious but someone
was between my legs and poking aggressively with instrumentation down
there.
"She's awake Meg." It was Tracey's voice from behind my head.
I turned my head slightly towards her but I couldn't see her. Well not
all of her. I could see her arm, and her hand vice like, around a
unit of O negative packed red cells, squeezing hard. It took a lot of
effort for me to process the meaning of that. She was crushing that
bag of blood, with all her might, to force it into me.
"Okay," a voice grunted affirmation from right out between my thighs.
It was clearly Meg who had her face all up in my bits. "Can you hear
me Alex?"
I vocalized that I could.
"Alright! Alex!" She began by repeating my name. Her voice somber and
cold. Even though I knew the gist of what she was going to say, I
still didn't want to hear it. "You're having a miscarriage. You've got
clot and fetus stuck in your os and you're absolutely hosing out." She
pauses a moment, before screaming violently. "This fucking suction!!"
Which wasn't directed at me.
"You're in cervical shock!" She blurts out, before stopping speaking
as she clearly tried to do something inside me which required her full
concentration.
Typical Meg, I thought to myself, absolutely butchering the delivery
of bad news.
"And unless I can clear that and stop the haemorrhage you're gonna
bleed out right now," she started speaking again. I'm not sure I
wanted her to say any more.
I knew that whatever she was doing down there should have been
hurting. I should have been in a lot of pain. Maybe the fact that I
couldn't feel much was a mercy. But it was actually a pretty bad sign
truth be told.
Things became hazy after that and it felt like Meg was still speaking
but I couldn't understand her.
Lucidity came in fleeting moments from then on.
Someone said "Emergency hysterectomy" but Meg said it was too late for
that.
Someone else yelled "She's bradying down." Which meant my heart was
slowing to a stop.
That would be the cervical shock, as distinct from the haemorrhagic
shock. I was in the unique position to be dying from both. Tissue
caught in and wedging my cervix open would mean the bleeding wouldn't
stop, hence the bleeding to death bit. But my body would also respond
to the insult to the cervix by grinding my heart to a halt. A reaction
by the autonomic nervous system.
I was doomed either way really. I knew it. And Meg certainly knew it.
"Give her a milligram of atropine," Meg ordered.
"I just can't see." She agonized in frustration. "I just have to get
it out."
My baby was dead.
And I knew I would be too. Very very soon.
I didn't have long but I knew what I wanted to say.
"Kristi!" I muster my best effort to yell, but it's more of a squeak.
"I'm here Hun." Her face appears above mine, lined with anxiety and
pain.
"It's okay," I tell her. Trying to be reassuring. "It's all over now."
I suppose I meant the curse. But I guess I mean everything.
"Just let me die," I force out in near mumble. And everything becomes
dark.
I don't hear the voices anymore.
I don't feel the pain anymore.
I don't feel.... Anything.
TBC?
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