WhitneyTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part One
September 22nd 2006 18:07
[They called my name and I followed the nurse to an examination room. My doctor, one of five that delivered babies in the practice, offered his sympathies for my situation and then went about performing the usual prenatal check-up. The baby’s heartbeat was strong. No problem there. The mommy’s blood pressure was normal. No problem there. Let’s do an internal he announced helping me to lie down and placing my feet into the stirrups.
Gynecological exams are not so much fun. No matter how hot the doctor is. So there I was feeling fat and getting fondled by a virtual stranger. I mean I’d been in to see him before, but it’s not like we’d gone for a drink or even shared a first kiss. So I lay back and tried to pretend like some man who I see maybe once or twice a year isn’t rummaging around in my privates. I decided to make lemons into lemonade by thinking of it as having casual sex. Which would therefore make it part of my adventure for the day. Since this straight-laced sexually conservative girl had never done anything that wild and crazy (and no I wasn't a nun in my past life, just a little Jewish girl with a really scary father) before. It sort of counted. It did count. You can’t get much more intimate than what was going on, on that table. The doctor may not have been plowing the field but he was definitely getting to know the lay of the land. He was sort of like Christopher Columbus and my "you know what" was America. And while I won’t lie and get him dismembered from the Medical Association by saying that there was actual intercourse, he was looking at “it” pretty intently and that has to count for something on the sex scale.
Uh oh, he rolled his stool back, snapped off his rubber gloves and came to stand over me, looking very grim. Oh God, had he read my thoughts? Now what? Where was I going to find another OB/GYN? What doctor would want me sitting in his waiting room, scaring away the rest of his business?
“Donna”, he began.
Uh oh, uh oh, I thought I had been thinking that whole sex thing in my head but maybe I was saying it out loud. No, that was crazy. But then why did he look so glum. I had to know. “What doctor, what is it?” I asked folding under the pressure.
He sighed and by the sad look on his face I knew this had nothing to do with the meanderings in my head. “I hate to have to tell you this. You’ve already suffered enough. But you’re fully effaced and one centimeter dilated. I need you to go straight to the hospital. We’re going to have to perform an emergency cervical stitch to seal you shut. I’m sorry.”
So I grabbed my spit pot, my bag and my sister who was so upset I thought she was going to cry and off I went for emergency surgery. As I gathered my belongings to leave the car, my sister wished me good luck. “And… she paused to inhale…I don’t think I can take you to any more doctor appointments It’s been really stressful for me.” You know what? I completely understood.
Gynecological exams are not so much fun. No matter how hot the doctor is. So there I was feeling fat and getting fondled by a virtual stranger. I mean I’d been in to see him before, but it’s not like we’d gone for a drink or even shared a first kiss. So I lay back and tried to pretend like some man who I see maybe once or twice a year isn’t rummaging around in my privates. I decided to make lemons into lemonade by thinking of it as having casual sex. Which would therefore make it part of my adventure for the day. Since this straight-laced sexually conservative girl had never done anything that wild and crazy (and no I wasn't a nun in my past life, just a little Jewish girl with a really scary father) before. It sort of counted. It did count. You can’t get much more intimate than what was going on, on that table. The doctor may not have been plowing the field but he was definitely getting to know the lay of the land. He was sort of like Christopher Columbus and my "you know what" was America. And while I won’t lie and get him dismembered from the Medical Association by saying that there was actual intercourse, he was looking at “it” pretty intently and that has to count for something on the sex scale.
Uh oh, he rolled his stool back, snapped off his rubber gloves and came to stand over me, looking very grim. Oh God, had he read my thoughts? Now what? Where was I going to find another OB/GYN? What doctor would want me sitting in his waiting room, scaring away the rest of his business?
“Donna”, he began.
Uh oh, uh oh, I thought I had been thinking that whole sex thing in my head but maybe I was saying it out loud. No, that was crazy. But then why did he look so glum. I had to know. “What doctor, what is it?” I asked folding under the pressure.
He sighed and by the sad look on his face I knew this had nothing to do with the meanderings in my head. “I hate to have to tell you this. You’ve already suffered enough. But you’re fully effaced and one centimeter dilated. I need you to go straight to the hospital. We’re going to have to perform an emergency cervical stitch to seal you shut. I’m sorry.”
So I grabbed my spit pot, my bag and my sister who was so upset I thought she was going to cry and off I went for emergency surgery. As I gathered my belongings to leave the car, my sister wished me good luck. “And… she paused to inhale…I don’t think I can take you to any more doctor appointments It’s been really stressful for me.” You know what? I completely understood.
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