The Secrets of Billie Joe Armstrong

I woke up panting, sweat collecting under my armpits and sliding slowly down my forehead. I felt the bed sink, then I saw Mathieu's face near mine. He was fully dressed and obviously ready for work.

"Babe? You okay?" Mathieu said, kissing my neck. "You look so scared."

"I... I was dreaming."

"Okay..." He said, his voice heavy with the romantic sound of a French accent. "You fainted last night while you were cooking dinner. Claire called me after she found you collapsed at the stove. I should probably take you to the doctors. Are you feeling at all sick? Faint? Hot?"

"I fainted? Is Claire okay?"

"Claire's fine cherié. Now do you feel at all sick?"

"No. I feel fine. Every thing's fine."

"Well surely not. You fainted for no reason. I think I should take you to the doctors. Not now though. I have to work. I've called in for you as sick. I'll take you after work, alright?"

"No. Not all right. I can go by myself."

"Okay. Stop being so snappy."

"Sorry, I just..." My mouth tasted the foul taste of vomit as I ran from the bed and into the bathroom. I threw up the toilet seat, ripped my hair from my face, securing it with my left hand and gripping the bowl with my right, I puked.

"Olivia! Baby seriously what's wrong?" Mathieu said loudly from the doorway. I ignored him and flushed away the disgusting mix of food and my stomach. I wiped my face and splashed it with clean water from the tap.

"I don't know. Can you give me the phone so I can make an appointment? Go off to work, I'll call you when I know something."

Mathieu walked off and got me a cordless phone. When he returned to the bathroom I was sitting on the side of the bath, wondering aimlessly what had happened to me, what was wrong with me. I was jolted out of my thoughts by the feeling of a hard object pressing against my unopened hand. It was the phone. I took it from Mathieu's hand and looked up worriedly at him.

"You'll be fine Liv. I love you. Call me if you need anything at all, okay? Claire is leaving for school now. I'm going now too. 'Bye."

"Good bye." I replied, my eyes glossing over with boredom and fear. I could barely feel it when Mathieu leaned down closer to me and kissed my forehead softly. I could barely hear him walk out the front door. Somehow I made my way to my bed and slept for longer.

I woke up with the phone still sitting harshly in my hand, I turned it over to dial the number of my doctor. It must have been at least ten by now. I had an enormous craving for pickles as I waited for the phone to ring.

"Bonjour," the receptionist answered in French. I answered her in French too.

"Bonjour. I am calling to make an appointment with Doctor Bruniké. I was wondering when his next appointment is?"

"I have an opening in twenty five minutes. Can you make it in by then? 11:15am?"

"Sure. I'll be there. My name is Olivia. Thank you."

I hung up the phone and quickly got ready. I walked over to the metro and got it for five stops, feeling queasy when I got off. What was wrong with me? I had been feeling a bit sick for about a month now, but I had dismissed it. Why was it getting so bad all of a sudden?

Doctor Bruniké's practice was a very small, but very busy facility positioned just west of Montmartre. I sat down nervously on a small plastic chair that was sitting around others the exact same.

"Olivia..." The doctor called out. I looked up at him as he spotted me walking towards him. We exchanged smiles and I followed him into a private examination room.

"What seems to be the problem?" He asked in French as we each took a seat in the room.

"I am not too sure. All I can describe is the symptoms."

"Well there's a good start."

"Okay. Last night I was cooking dinner and I just fainted. Just like that. I woke up this morning and immediately threw up. I have been getting so frustrated at my husband and daughter lately, I almost always feel a little queasy, and I have the most peculiar cravings for foods I never eat. It doesn't make any sense."

As the symptoms I was suffering escaped my lips it became deadly clear to me what was wrong. I had felt these exact same feelings twice before.

"Can I ask when was your last menstruation cycle?" Dr Bruniké asked.

"Three months ago." I replied instantly. This could not be happening. I wasn't...

"I believe you're pregnant, Olivia."