Right Now

46. When we're apart

I'd arrived home from Amsterdam on the Sunday night, full of resolve to organise my life so that I could find the time to join Harry on tour. But first there was another important issue to sort out.

On Monday morning, instead of going to uni, I went to a nearby sexual health clinic, and spoke to one of the doctors there about my period problems. She was young, female, and instantly sympathetic when I explained what I was going through.

"Running your pills together could definitely help with some of the pain you experience, although you should stop that every now and then so you still have periods occasionally, say once every six months," she said. "Let's try putting you on another type of pill that doesn't tend to cause breakthrough bleeding and see how that goes."

As she typed up my prescription she added, "To be honest, there's a good chance you may have endometriosis, but you'll need to see a specialist and have a laparoscopy to get a definitive diagnosis. I could refer you to someone, if you like?"

"Yes please," I said. It would be good to know exactly what was causing my pain, and hopefully be able to do something about it.

I left the clinic feeling a lot lighter, and after collecting my prescription from the chemist, I went home and spent the afternoon compiling a detailed list of all the revision I needed to do before my exams started in a couple of weeks. Added to the couple of assignments I still had to finish, it was daunting, but once we were on study leave I would have much more time to throw myself into it. I could do this.

The next morning, I met up with Kate in the library before our first lecture. I told her my period had been really bad this month (true) and I'd spent the weekend in bed (also true). I neglected to mention it had been with Harry, in Amsterdam.

"You need to sort this shit out," she said as she emailed me the notes from the classes I had missed.

"I went to a new doctor yesterday, not my stupid old fossil of a GP," I told her. "Hopefully skipping periods altogether will help."

"I hope so, because I hope you don't mind me saying this Emma, but you seem a bit... a bit off. It's like you're really distracted by something all the time. Is it the pain?"

Shit.

No, it's this thing I'm having with Harry Styles.

"It has been pretty bad," I replied.

That was true, but I hated lying about what was really distracting me. Kate was staring at me as if she was waiting for me to elaborate further, and I squirmed uncomfortably in my chair. I glanced at my laptop, suddenly absorbed in checking my inbox to see if the notes she'd sent had come through but actually trying to get away from her piercing gaze, and noticed I had a new email from my creative writing lecturer Maxine.

"If you're free later today, between noon and 2pm, would you be able to pop into my office to see me?" she had written.

Oh no, that sounded ominous. I wracked my brain, wondering what it could be about. I didn't have my results back yet from the last assignment I'd done in that class; what if I'd failed and that's why she wanted to see me?

"Would 12.30pm be ok?" I typed in reply. That would give me time to grab a bite to eat before meeting her.

Her reply came back instantly. "Fab. See you then."

"Maxine wants to see me," I told Kate. "I have no idea what it's about. I'm nervous."

"Maybe it's something to do with that summer writing workshop you applied for," said Kate. "I bet you've been selected."

I'd forgotten all about the workshop. Twenty students were going to get to spend a week honing their writing skills with authors like Zadie Smith and Chris Cleave. I knew over 70 people had applied; to be chosen would be incredible.