A Storm Is Brewing

Sickness

As Leah and I waited for the doctor to call her in, her knees bounced up and down as she rhythmically hit her feet against the floor. Seeing Leah nervous wasn't unnatural; as a professional footballer, nerves were a part of her weekly routine. These nerves, though, were for something entirely different. We had spoken of the possibility of today not ending how she wanted it to, with it not being something they could diagnose and treat. Today was a buildup of 11 years of symptoms—symptoms that she had been told at first were normal—to be prescribed the pill, painkillers, and a hot water bottle by doctors who were reluctant to investigate.

When we first met, Leah didn't tell me about the suffering she went through once a month. She would tell me she had her period, and that was all I thought it was. As time moved on, she realised that she couldn't hide it from me any longer, waiting until we were relaxing on the sofa to bring up the conversation. She explained that she made excuses for us not to stay together for the week that her period lasted, afraid that she would have a flare-up and that I wouldn't understand. Of course, I reassured her that I would understand, but how could she believe me when I had no idea what it was like?

Flashback

Just three months into our relationship, Leah had come to visit me in Ireland. It was a weekend that was meant to be filled with fun activities and plenty of quality time, but on the first night she arrived, she was absolutely exhausted. It didn't bother me; I was just happy to have her there, even if it was just to listen to her breathing as she slept in bed beside me. I fell asleep not long after her, tired from a week of working.

Just after 3 a.m., I woke up thirsty and went to get a glass of water. As I made my way back into bed, I noticed blood on the bedsheets, panicking that Leah had somehow hurt herself during the night before I realised how stupid I had been, she had clearly just gotten her period. I thought for a minute before I woke her, knowing that it wasn't a situation she ever wanted to be in while we were sharing a bed and knowing that it would be made worse by the fact we were in my bed, in my house, not somewhere she felt completely safe. I reached my hand up to stroke her hair gently, keeping the lights off until I had woken her and told her what was going on. The feeling of my hand brushing across her head was enough to wake her slightly, with a smile forming on her face with her eyes still closed. I wish she could see into my brain right now to know I'm not grossed out or bothered by what I'm about to tell her.

"Le, wake up, babe." I whispered.
"Mhmm, I'm awake."
"Babe, you've come on during the night. I'm going to go get you a change of clothes and stuff, okay? You stay here."

With each word I said, I could almost feel the heat radiating from Leah's face, which I knew would be red with embarrassment. She pulled the duvet over her face, whispering every word that followed.

"I'm so sorry, Soph. I'm not even due; I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it's fine. It happens. Let me just get you some new clothes, okay?" I rubbed her arm through the duvet.
"I actually can't believe this." She whispered, and I could hear the break in her voice.
"Can I turn the light on so I can look in the wardrobe, Le?"

Silence.

"I won't look, I promise."

Silence.

"You know what, I'll just use my phone torch." I said softly, letting her know I understood.
"It's okay, put it on." She whispered.

I reached for the light, being careful not to look in Leah's direction or in the direction of the bed at all. Rummaging through the wardrobe until I found some spare pyjamas, I headed to the bathroom and left out whatever she might need, turning on the shower for her and setting her towel over the towel heater.