Meghan wasn't sure what the hell was going on with her. She didn't usually get sick. She'd been feeling horrible for awhile now, but she'd tried to shrug it off. It was the bloody World Cup and she wasn't going to let a little nausea stop her.
Granted, she was worried about Ollie, too, after that fall, but she tried to put that out of her head so she could do her job. It worked for awhile, but then another wave of nausea hit her and while she managed to keep on her broom, the flying vomit didn't exactly help her stay on task.
Now that it was all over, she was a little embarrassed. Vomiting during a match? What the hell was going on with her? They'd given her a potion that was helping, at least, but she wasn't any happier about it.
"I don't think suspension is nearly what they deserve," she grumbled as the healer examined her. The witch was "hmmming" a lot, her face thoughtful, and it made Meghan worry, but not nearly so much as when the woman actually spoke.
"You'll be perfectly fine, Miss McCormack," she murmured with a slight smile, "in about nine months." Meghan could only stare at her, her mouth working soundlessly for a moment.