My Daddy Lactates Too novel · Chapter 3 of 12
Chapter 3: A Pill
On Monday, Ramón took me to the doctor.
He didn’t ask me.
He waited for me outside the apartment at seven in the morning, the keys to his pickup in his hand, and said:
"Let’s go."
We drove in his old Toyota double cab, which smelled like gasoline and artificial pine.
Neither of us said a word during the fifteen-minute drive.
I watched the corner stores, the motorcycles, and the campaign flags stuck to the poles pass by outside the window.
He drove with one hand.
The other rested between us on the seat.
I hesitated for a second.
Then I laid mine over his.
He laced his fingers through mine without looking at me.
The endocrinologist was a woman around fifty, with a calm voice and blue glasses hanging from her chest.
She asked me questions.
She ordered blood work and an MRI.
She examined me with a patience that disarmed me, without making a single face.
"This is called galactorrhea," she said at the end, showing me the report.
"It’s not unusual."
"It’s caused by a hormone called prolactin, which sometimes rises because of a tiny tumor in the pituitary gland."
I froze.
"A tumor?"
"An adenoma. Benign. Ten millimeters. It’s called a prolactinoma."
"Am I going to die?"
The doctor smiled.
"Honey, nobody dies from this."
"You treat it with one pill twice a week."
"In four to six months, the milk production goes down, and within a year, it usually disappears."
"Completely?"
"Almost always. Sometimes a little remains, especially with stimulation."
My ears burned.
The doctor looked at me over her glasses for a second.
"The body isn’t ashamed of what it does, Yadira. We’re the ones who put shame on it."
I left the office with a prescription, an MRI order, and tears filling my eyes.
Ramón was waiting for me in the hallway.
He lifted my chin with one finger and read my expression.
"What did she say?"
"It’s nothing. Just a pill."
He closed his eyes.
He ran a hand over his face and let out a breath like a man who’d been holding it for a week.
"Thank God," he said.
I had no idea how much I loved him in that moment.
We went to the Malecón, I don’t know why, to look at the sea.
Ramón parked the pickup beneath a palm tree, facing the waves, the windows down and the Santo Domingo breeze coming in from every direction.
There weren’t many people out at that hour.
A coconut vendor, two fishermen, an elderly couple arm in arm.
I stared at the water.
"I feel like crying," I said.
"Cry."
"And laughing."
"Laugh."
I started laughing, then crying, then doing both at once.
He held me against his chest, one hand on the back of my neck.
When I calmed down, I lifted my face.
We looked at each other.
We kissed.
It was different from the kiss in the kitchen.
This one wasn’t urgent.
It was slow and long, tasting of the coffee he’d had, with the sea in the background.
I grabbed his shirt in my fists.
My hand slid over his chest, down his stomach, to his belt.
"Not here," he whispered.
"Why not?"
"Because we’re out in public."
"There’s a palm tree."
"Mija..."
"Cover the windows, daddy."
He laughed.
He rolled up the windows, one by one, until we were inside a hot little capsule, the sea roaring outside.
He leaned me back against the passenger door and opened my blouse.
The buttons popped off.
My tits were swollen and warm, my nipples already beaded.
He looked at them the way you look at two sacred things.
He sucked one slowly, and with his free hand slid down my stomach, beneath my skirt.
He found my panties and pushed them aside with two fingers.
I was soaking wet.
"Oh, my God," he whispered, his mouth full.
He pushed his fingers all the way inside me.
I moaned against the window.
He sucked my breast and moved his hand inside me, his thumb on my clit, in a rhythm that unraveled me.
"Tell me it’s not a disease," I panted.
"It’s not a disease," he repeated, pulling his mouth away. "It’s a gift."
"It’s the most beautiful thing that’s happened to me since my wife died."
That broke me.
I came with a cry, squeezing his hand, tears running down my cheeks.
Ramón held me tight, kissed my hair, and wiped my face with his thumb.
A little while later, when I went to pull my neckline back up, I saw something on the windshield.
A cell phone.
It was pointed at us from the sidewalk, behind a palm tree.
And a young man’s hand holding it.
Before I could scream, the flash went off, and the kid ran away.
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