Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Cover me. I'm going in.

It’s never like you think it is, and I blame Hollywood for that. Movies like Look Who’s Talking completely mislead a man into thinking the whole baby process is done and over with in 121 minutes plus credits. We spent longer than that sitting in the waiting room today waiting for Dr. Birthday to return from an “unexpected delivery.” If she was nine months pregnant and seeing him regularly, I should think it wasn’t quite the surprise they’re making it out to be. But maybe that’s just the narrow, little view from where I’m sitting...which was right in the fucking lobby for the last 2 hours.

Most of the women in the lobby were pregnant, as far as I could tell. I was doing my best to be discreet while I looked them all over, noting their varying sizes. Directly across from us was another couple. I was relieved to see I was not the only awkward man sitting in the waiting room for an OB/GYN. It’s like getting caught with your pants down, literally, and facing the principal. “So you put your pecker in her pocket, have you, son?”

I braced myself for dirty looks from the nurse and tsking by the doctor once they found out what I’d done. Irresponsible prick. Jasmine had been staring at the same chair for nearly an hour since filling out a three inch stack of paperwork, just off in a zone. I didn’t want to talk because it was so quiet everyone could overhear anybody’s conversation. Particularly the cranky as all hell executive on her cell phone who obviously had far better things to do than check the health of her unborn child. I didn’t blame her. I told myself if this shit took any longer I’d ask her if she wanted to grab a beer downstairs. Surely the cafeteria serves liquor with what goes on at level 3 up above.

Finally, a nurse walked out and called Jasmine by her last name. She stood up and walked a few steps before both she and the nurse turned to stare at my parked ass still sitting in the chair. Fuck. If that doctor even thinks of looking at me sideways I’m out of here.

They weighed Jazz, then took her blood pressure, checked her temperature, looked at her teeth and checked for lice. Or whatever the fuck. Then the nurse brought her to the exam room and told her to strip. Now we’re talking! Once the nurse left and Jazz went behind the little corner curtain I thought I saw a perfect opportunity. “Hey, honey, you think we have time to-”

“Jay, shutup.”

Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to get her pregnant or anything. Just trying to make the best of an awkward situation, ya know? I parked my can in the only chair in the room and waited for her to step out from behind the curtain. She had been so quiet all morning. And when she did speak it was to snap at me. If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one shimmying my panties down over my hips in an all-fired hurry to hook it up. And yet, Big Jay seems to be taking the blame for all this. Poor fella. It’s not his fault. He’s real sorry for all the trouble he’s caused. He didn’t mean it.

Nonetheless, Big Jay and I have both been banned from the pooty until further notice.

Another fifteen minutes of zero conversation elapsed before Dr. Birthday finally arrived. “Hello, Mssssss. Jasmine.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I swear he glanced at me when he did it.

He sat on his rolling stool and asked Jasmine and me both a list of questions about all the shit she filled out to begin with. A bit more conversation followed and he had her lie back on the table. That’s when he felt her up. He was on those boobs like white on rice. For a minute I thought I was gonna have to stand up and puff out my chest in my most menacing manner.

Jasmine looked at me. “Breast exam,” she whispered.

That’s not where the baby is. Unless, of course, it actually worked that one time… Nevermind.

A nurse stood in the corner taking notes, probably so she could blog about it tonight when she gets home. When the doctor did the breast exam, Stupid Boyfriend #6 nearly jumped out of his chair. Ignorant people crack me up.

Then shit got for real. He pulled these medieval gadgets out of nowhere and placed Jazz’s heels in them. Are those stirrups? Now that’s a useful gadget to have around the house. Look at the distance between those knees, damn! She had a sheet on her knees which protected her nether regions…until Dr. Birthday went below. I swear he made eye contact with me, then it happened.

An interesting thing, sitting in an exam room while your girlfriend is in stirrups. Logically, you understand another man is about to examine her. But emotionally, you're never prepared for it. Particularly at the site of his body leaning further and further in as his arm smugly disappears into the discovery zone at depths the...ahem, average man can only dream about.

And then he went under. What the fuck…! Did he jump in? Jasmine grunted and I nearly came unglued. Get the fuck out of there! I was open-jawed and speechless. I expected an exam, but there ain’t shit left but the son of a bitch’s legs hanging out back there. Good god, man, she’s not a dairy cow! You don’t have to go in up to the shoulder!

Jasmine says, “Ouch” in this soft, sweet voice that impressed me tremendously. No way could that be just an ‘ouch.’ I would have been kicking with both legs and struggling to muster a fart in order to gas him out of there. That’s when he said, “Can you feel that?”

Oh, hell no. I’m going to pass out. I started looking all around the room for anything else to focus on. That’s when it hit me. We were all four in this room because of me. Because I got my nut. And now Jazz is lying on the table with Dr. Feelgood eyeballing the interior of her uterus while the nurse jots it all down with a smile thinking about all of the great comments she’ll get on the Stupid Boyfriend #6 post I was inspiring.

The doctor finally surfaced and started pressing on top of her belly while still engulfed up to the elbow. Jasmine’s face was twisted and clenched. I held her hand, wishing like hell this could somehow not be my fault but I don’t care what anybody says, it’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Everyone in the room heard, but at least they knew better than to acknowledge it. Jasmine smiled at me and actually chuckled. “Honey, please. This is no worse than a well-woman.”

Whatever the fuck that means.

“Ms. Jasmine, when did you say your last period was?”

“October 19th,” she replied. “It was light, but I didn’t think anything of it until November’s didn’t show up at all.”

He finally removed his appendages from my girlfriend’s vagina and snapped a very bloody glove down low where Jazz couldn’t see. My heart stopped. “I think you might be further along than you think.” He turned to the nurse. “Let’s get her in with Neesha this afternoon for an ultrasound.”

The nurse walked out and Dr. Birthday gave Jazz a hand to help her sit up. That’s when the disturbing news came. “Ms. Jasmine, you have a considerable amount of pooled blood around your cervix. More than I’d like, maybe a tablespoon.”

He went on to tell us it likely meant nothing, but it explained the spotting she’s been having this week. He said some doctors tell a woman to stay off her feet and take it easy, but in all honesty, if the baby is not meant to survive…it won’t. As it stands, with the level of bleeding she's having, he thinks she's got a 50/50 chance of miscarriage.

Frankly, we had no idea we were going to get news like that on our very first visit. Talk about a buzz kill. She mentioned some light pain and bleeding but told me it was normal. She’s the woman, she should know. That’s what I thought, at least.

Her ultrasound is scheduled for 5pm today. She took a personal day so I came back to work and will head out at 4:30 to meet her back up there. They were in a hurry to get her in. I wasn’t about to voice my thoughts, especially since I’m a naïve idiot who would surely say something incredibly insensitive and ignorant like, “So do they think it died?” even though that’s what I’m really wondering.

Only eight months to go? Amazing how time flies when you're having fun.