//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: Nurse Tenderheart // Story: A Gift from Celestia // by Admiral Biscuit //------------------------------// A Gift from Celestia Chapter 8: Nurse Tenderheart Admiral Biscuit The pair glided over town, Ditzy for once trailing her father.  She’d wracked her brain the whole flight to think of a way to get out of seeing the doctor, but as they landed in the street, her options dwindled to zero.  She hung her head as her father marched up to the half-timbered house, checked one more time to make sure it had a doctor’s shingle hanging above the entry, and boldly pushed the door open. The harsh smell of ether stung Ditzy’s nose, and she took a step back from the doorway.  Her father glared at her, and she dropped her ears and moved forward. The waiting room was empty.  The two of them stood uncomfortably on the well-worn throw rug, looking around at the outdated benches and wilted plants. Finally, Ditzy spoke.  “I guess the doctor isn’t in,” she said hopefully.  “Maybe we’ll have to come back—” “Sorry about that, folks!”  A cheerful-looking earth pony of about Ditzy’s age stepped around a corner.  She wore a small white cap pinned to her green mane.  “I was just re-stocking the exam rooms.  Did you have an appointment?” “Nay,” Ditzy’s father said.  “But I’d like ta make one for my daughter.  As soon as tha can.  She’s feelin’ off.” “Let me look at the schedule book.”  She trotted over to an overburdened desk and began rummaging through papers.  Triumphantly, she pulled up a blotter with small squares of paper jammed into the corners.  She sorted through them, looked at the calendar on the wall, and smiled at the duo.  Ditzy’s hopes vanished as she spoke.  “Looks like I can get you in right now!”  She stuck out a hoof.  “I’m Nurse Tenderheart.  What’s your name?” “Ditzy Doo.” “And what seems to be the problem, Miss Ditzy?” “I’m fine,” she muttered.  “I just had a cramp on weather patrol, that’s all.” “She’s been vomitin’ every mornin’ for t’past three weeks,” her father said quietly.  “And her appetite’s . . . off.” “I see.  Are—” “We just moved here from Las Pegasus,” Ditzy hastily added.  “So it’s just ‘cause it’s a new place, that’s all.  I’ll get better.” “Tha knows the nurse’ll decide that.” “I’ve seen you around,” Tenderheart said.  “Working with Lightning Bolt.  Well, come on, let’s head to the exam room.”  She looked at Ditzy’s father.  “Will you be joining us?” “Ah.”  He lowered his eyes.  “I’d rather—tha’s a big lass, tha doesn’t need Papa to hold a hoof. . . .” “I’ll be fine, Papa.”  Her reassurance fell flat.  He knows.  The realization wasn’t a relief; instead, a sudden sorrow coursed through her.  “I’ll be fine.” He nodded and sat on one of the benches, staring blankly at the wall.  Numbly, Ditzy followed the nurse down a narrow hallway into a brightly-lit room with an open window facing a large garden.  A clothesline draped with stained, threadbare sheets ran diagonally across the garden;  one look at the examining table in the center of the room gave her a good idea what those sheets were used for. “You can stand, or get up on the table and lie down.  Whatever makes you more comfortable.” “I’ll stay standing for now,” Ditzy said, glancing out the window.  Maybe I can fly out the window, and go around front and tell Papa that the nurse is done. “Okay, let’s start with the basics.”  Tenderheart grabbed a clipboard and tossed it on the table.  She picked up a short stub of pencil with her lips.  “How old are you?” Ditzy told her.   “How recently did you get your cutie mark?” “Last autumn, before we moved here.” Tenderheart nodded.  “Your father says you’re vomiting in the mornings—is that the only time, or are you ill throughout the day?” “Just the morning, and then I feel fine.” “And your eyes—forgive me for asking, but you’ve always had strabismus—that isn’t a new symptom?” Ditzy shook her head, and shifted her weight around.  The athletics doctor had only asked a couple of questions and given a quick exam, and then she’d been done.  This was already shaping up to be an all-morning affair.  Why did the nurse need to know so much stuff? “Mm-hm.  Have you been in estrus recently?” Ditzy gave her a quizzical look.  “No, I don’t think so.” As the nurse continued her inquires, Ditzy began tapping her hoof impatiently.  This barrage of questions was too much like a quiz for her liking, and a few were downright silly.  And what about the ones she didn’t know the answers to?  Would she be graded on those?   After what seemed like an eternity, the scratching of pencil on paper finally stopped.  “Okay, you can get up on the table now.  Lie down on your side and scooch you belly right up against the edge, if you can.  That’s the easiest way for me to look at you.”  Ditzy complied, worming herself to the edge.  She felt a bit silly with her legs hanging over the side; this wasn’t something her sports doctor had ever had her do. Tenderheart tilted her head and stuck an ear against Ditzy’s barrel. “What are you—” “Listening to your heart and lungs.  Ssh.”  The nurse kept her head there for a full minute before pulling it away.  She moved on to Ditzy’s hooves, examing them intently before touching each one with her own.  That brought on an odd tingling sensation that she hadn’t felt in a stranger since her Las Pegasus days.  She suddenly realized that unlike most of her groundbound classmates, the nurse also wasn’t wearing shoes.  “Okay, that feels good.  Go ahead and lie on your belly, or you can stand back on the floor if you’d prefer.” “I don’t mind the table.  Us pegasi are used to heights.”  She slid herself towards the center of the table and rolled onto her stomach, using a wing to aid in the motion.  Meanwhile, Tenderheart was writing on her clipboard again. “Wings out, please.  This is going to feel a little odd, and I’m sorry.”  The nurse gently raked a hoof across her primaries.  Ditzy jerked her wing back in surprise.  “Hold it steady, if you can.” “The pegasus doctor didn’t do that,” Ditzy protested.  “She just ran a crystal over them.” “I’m sorry.  I don’t have one, so I have to do it the old-fashioned way.  Please hold your wings steady.” Ditzy grit her teeth and tried again.  The nurse’s touch sent an electric surge through her sensitive feathers, like a painful tickle.  It was even worse when she reached for the other wing, because Ditzy already knew what to expect.  After a thorough inspection of her feathers and a less-tingly examination of the leading edge of her wings, the nurse finally let her fold them in. “All right, that’s good.  Let’s get your temperature.  Lift your tail, please.” “Did you put that on ice before you stuck it in?”  Ditzy glared at her. “Turn your head towards me.  Ears forward.”  Ignoring Ditzy’s displeasure at the thermometer, the nurse quickly examined her nose, eyes, and ears with an otoscope.  “Can you turn your ears back?  Okay, to the side?  Everything looks good so far.  Open your mouth, please.” “There’s still a thermometer in my butt,” Ditzy reminded her flatly. “Just let me look at your teeth first, then I’ll get the reading.”  She made quick work of the dental exam.  “All your teeth look healthy, with even wear.  Have you considered having your canines filed down?” “No.”  Ditzy looked at her in confusion.  “Why would I want to do that?” “A lot of mares do,” Tenderheart explained.  “They’re not common in earth ponies, and most mares that have them don’t have a full set.” “That’s dumb.” “Well, if you change your mind, I can do it—and I’ve heard they do a nice job at the spa, too.  Tail up.”  The nurse leaned down to read the thermometer, and Ditzy flicked her ears in annoyance as she felt Tenderheart’s breath against her skin.  The thermometer slid uncomfortably out, and she lowered her tail and shifted on the table.  A moment later, she heard a pencil scritching across paper again. “Okay.”  The nurse looked down at the clipboard.  “Well, you’re in good shape for a mare of your age.  I’ve got a couple more tests I need to do, and then we’ll be done.  But I’ve got a few more questions for you first, okay? “Right when we began, I asked you if you were sexually active.  You said ‘no,’ remember?” “I don’t have a coltfriend—or a fillyfriend,” she added at the nurse’s raised eyebrow. “But you have had sex with a colt or stallion before—recently.” Ditzy lowered her head and whispered, “yes.” “And you were in estrus then.”  Not a question, but a statement of fact. “I didn’t know!  It was the first time!  Everypony says you can’t get pregnant the first time!” “Everypony?  Go on, get down from the table.  Let’s go into my office—it’ll be more comfortable to talk there.  Would you like some tea or cocoa?” “No.”  Ditzy jumped off the table, tangling her hooves in the sheet and dragging it off behind her.  “Oops.” She kicked it off and let the nurse lead her through a small bathroom and into a spacious office, which obviously doubled as her sleeping quarters, judging by the unmade bed in the corner.  Rather than lead her over to the desk, the nurse motioned her to a bench under the window. “Look, I’ll be blunt.  You’re pregnant.  You’re not the first mare I’ve seen this year, and you won’t be the last.  I can do a blood test, but I don’t really have to.”  She pointed a hoof to her nose.  “I could smell it.  Do you live in a cloudhome?” Ditzy nodded. “Was the sire a pegasus?”   “What’s a sire?” “The father?  Stallion?” Ditzy shook her head.  “Unicorn,” she muttered “So, we’ll have to do a test to see if the foal’s going to be a pegasus or something else.  Nearly all pegasus couples produce a pegasus foal, but the odds aren’t so good for a mixed pair.  Remind me before we leave—I’ve got a pamphlet on pregnancy I should give to you.  Were you using any kind of contraceptive?  I need to put it in your file.” “Of what?” “Protection?  Birth control?  Any charms or potions to keep you from becoming pregnant?” “What are those?” Tenderheart leaned forward.  “Didn’t you have a class on reproduction?  It’s mandatory for all public schools.” “Yes . . . kind of.  But there was a lot of stuff that I heard we didn’t cover.” “Oh?”  The nurse frowned.  “Like what?” “Well, there was stuff about what all the . . . parts were called, and a little bit about how a foal was made.  But they left a bunch out.  The girls talked about it in the showers a lot.  Raindrops said that some of the parents didn’t want their foals to learn about certain things, ‘cause it would encourage them to . . . you know.  So we didn’t learn about that.  I remember we had books with sections taken out of them.” Tenderheart grimaced.  For something that was a normal part of a pony’s life, so many parents seemed terrified of their foals having the slightest idea about sex, even though they themselves were obviously guilty of it.  She’d always thought that a city-educated pony would have a better grasp on the concept, since the schools were better.  To her surprise, she’d discovered that foals who lived in the country had a better understanding of sex—something she attributed wholly to animal husbandry. “Well.”  Tenderheart tapped her forehooves together.  “I’d like to see you once a month for the rest of your term, just to make sure things are going along well.  You shouldn’t drink alcohol, and should avoid strenuous activity.  Normal flight is okay, and you can keep working on weather patrol until about a month before you’re due.  Vaginal intercourse is out of the question—that can cause the foal to miscarry.  Make sure to eat a healthy, balanced diet.  You can take ginger to help with the nausea, but it should pass in another week or so.”  She walked over and grabbed a pamphlet off her desk.  “I get these out right after Winter Wrap-Up every year.  Read through it and tell me if you have any questions.  But first, I’ve got to draw some blood—unless you need to pee.” Ditzy sighed and stood up.  She tilted her neck towards the nurse, who efficiently swabbed it with an alcohol-soaked cloth.  In no time, Tenderheart had drawn off a sample and spread a  salve across the small puncture. She took the syringe over to her desk and pulled out a small marble dish.  She slowly squirted the contents into the dish, taking care to not splash any out.  Once she’d finished, she reached for a large bottle of blue liquid.  “I keep this handy during the early summer,” she explained.  She dumped a little of it into the dish and stirred it around with a wooden stick. At first, the viscous liquid turned purple, but then it began changing to a mustardy yellow.  “Would you like to know?  Some mares like it to be a surprise.” “It’s already enough of a surprise,” Ditzy mumbled.  “Sure, why not.” “Unicorn filly.” Ditzy moaned.  “A unicorn?  I can’t have a unicorn . . . where’s she gonna live?” Tenderheart sighed.  Every single summer went like this.  “There are options available,” she said quietly.  “Would you like me to discuss them with you now, or with you and your father together?” “No!  You can’t tell him!”  Ditzy looked around the room to make sure that they were alone.  “I . . . he can’t—what’s he going to think?” “I don’t know,” Tenderheart admitted.  “But he’s your father.  He’ll love you no matter what.”  The words felt like a lie as she said them.  She wasn’t foalish enough to believe that all parents loved their children no matter what. “What about my friends?  What will I tell them?  They’ll all hate me!”  Ditzy slid out of her chair and paced across the floor, her wings twitching slightly. Tenderheart shook her head.  “Calm down, Miss Ditzy.  First, your friends will love you no matter what.”  That, at least, rang true. “And my mother—she’ll flay me!  I’ll lose my job!”  Ditzy jumped on the desk, sending papers and medical equipment flying.  “You’re wrong!  It’s not a unicorn—it can’t be a unicorn!  I’m not pregnant, I’m not!” Tenderheart jumped up on her chair, putting her muzzle right against Ditzy’s.  “You are.” Ditzy swung a hoof at her. Tenderheart dodged the wild punch and grabbed Ditzy by the barrel, pulling her off the desk and pinning her to the floor.  “You are pregnant, and don’t take it out on me, you dumb mule.  I’m not the one who got knocked up because I didn’t think to use a contraceptive.  Now just calm down for a minute, would you?  Or should I get your father in here and explain it all to him?  Because I will, if you’re going to continue to be irrational and combative.” She kept her grip as Ditzy struggled, then broke down into soft sobs.  Still Tenderheart held the pegasus, her grip now more comforting than restraining.  Finally, Ditzy took a few hiccoughing breaths and hugged the nurse back. “Would you like a tissue?” Ditzy nodded. • • • While Ditzy was composing herself, the nurse tidied her office.  She motioned for Ditzy to sit on the bed, and then sat next to her. “Ok, let’s pretend that little dust-up didn’t happen and start again.”  Tenderheart brushed a lock of hair out of Ditzy’s eyes.  “First, you’re pregnant.  Your daughter is a unicorn, which means you can’t raise her in a cloudhouse without making suitable modifications.  I don’t know anything about that, but I know it can be done.  I’ll be honest, though, it’s not fair to the foal in the long-term.  When she’s old enough to socialize, she should be with other ponies with whom she can interact, not stuck up in a cloudhome all alone. “At this point, you have a few options.  You can carry your foal to term, and then you can either keep her, or give her up for adoption.  A lot of earth pony families will keep their daughters’, um, unexpected foals, even if the mother doesn’t live on the farm anymore.  I don’t know what pegasus families usually do.”  Tenderheart took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “The final option is to terminate the pregnancy.”   “Terminate?  Doesn’t that mean ‘end’?” “Yes, it does.  There are spells . . . the doctor at the Ponyville hospital could do it.” “And that’s it?”  Ditzy looked at the nurse hopefully.  “No foal?” Tenderheart gritted her teeth.  “Yes, essentially, that’s it.” Ditzy smiled brightly.  “That sounds simple enough.  Is it expensive?” “About a hundred bits, but if you can’t afford it, the Crown will help.”  Tenderheart lowered her head.  She had to do this every year, too.  She hated it with all her heart.  Intellectually, she knew that sometimes it really was the best option, but whenever she went to market, she saw mothers with their foals . . . and some young mares who just had a vacant space around them. Woodenly, she trudged across the room and riffled through the stack of papers on her desk until she found the form.  She began copying all the pertinent information from Ditzy’s file. “Does it hurt?” Ditzy asked quietly. Tenderheart almost bit the pencil in half.  “Physically, no.  Not much.”   When she was finished, she handed the form to Ditzy.  “Here you go.  I set you an appointment for a week from today, okay?” Ditzy frowned.  “How come I can’t do it now?” “Because the Crown requires a one-week waiting period, that’s why.  If next week isn’t convenient for you, you can reschedule the appointment for later.” “But, why?” Tenderheart sighed.  Another one of . . . these.  Why can’t they just cover this in sex ed?  “Because it’s a big decision.  You need to consider your options carefully before just—”  She paused to give her brain time to catch up with her mouth.  “Look, I can’t tell you what to do.  I’m sorry, but I can’t.  This isn’t a medical decision, it’s a personal decision.” “Are you mad at me?” “No.  I’m mad at a bunch of stupid unicorns up in Canterlot who make these ridiculous laws and leave us to deal with the consequences. How do they expect you to make an informed decision when nopony tells you in school?  Do they believe that everypony’s family talks about these things beforehoof?  You need to talk it over with your family, and with your friends.  Most importantly, you need to honestly think it over yourself, and then do what your heart says is right.”  Tenderheart thumped her on the chest.  “Got it?  Follow your heart. “Please, for the love of Celestia, take these pamphlets and read them.”  The nurse held up a stack of booklets, as well as the form that was Ditzy’s get-out-of-jail-free card.  Ditzy looked at them, and then at her lack of saddlebags. “I can’t just carry them out of here in my mouth,” she protested.  “Papa . . . he’ll see them.” Tenderheart rolled her eyes.  “I’ll keep them here, then.  But make sure you come by in the next day or two and get them.” “What will I tell Papa?  He’ll want to know what’s wrong with me . . . you can’t tell him I’m pregnant.  Can you lie to him?  It’ll only be for a week, and then I’ll have the procedure and then everything will be okay again.” “No.”   Derpy’s shoulders slumped.  “But . . . what good is leaving the pamphlets behind if you tell him?” Tenderheart sighed.  “How long have you had morning sickness?” “A . . . couple of weeks.” “If you promise to come back here tomorrow morning and sit in the waiting room, read through all the pamphlets I gave you, then take them home to read again.  I’ll tell him that you have a common affliction for this time of year, that it is not life-threatening or contagious, and that the vomiting will pass in a week or two.  I will tell him that you should take ginger root for the nausea.”  She tapped the stack of papers with her hoof.  “If you do not come back here tomorrow morning, I’ll tear up the form, go find your father, and tell him exactly what affliction you have, and let you deal with the consequences.  Got it?” Ditzy nodded eagerly. Tenderheart held out a hoof.  “Shake on it.”