Bad Girl House 14

Soon after settling into our apartment I found another obstetrician. John demanded that the doctor be female, and that I inform the secretary when making my appointment that I did not want to have a pelvic exam or undress to put on a gown. John made sure that he attended all of my appointments to ensure nothing happened that he didn’t approve of. After all, I had disobeyed while seeing my previous doctor. My first appointment began as expected. I answered basic questions, and updated the nurse about how I was feeling. She innocently pulled a gown from the cabinet, and placed it on the exam table. John’s eyes widened. I could see the muscles of his jaw tighten. I sheepishly told the nurse that I didn’t want to have any physical exams done. She looked at me strangely. She left the room to consult the doctor about what was normally done at this stage of my pregnancy. The door closed behind her.

“I thought you already told them about all of that! You are not having anyone touch you until you are actually in labor.” It didn’t help that on top of the table beside us were tools used for examinations. They reminded John of the appointment that fueled his rage.

The doctor entered my room, and questioned me about why I didn’t want to have checkups that were considered to be quite routine. I had no real explanation. Having John in the room with me made it difficult to openly talk to her. My excuse never got better than just not wanting to. She stressed that the exams were how she made sure that the baby and were healthy. She looked back and forth at John and me. For the time being she gave in to my request. I must have had an ultrasound sound shortly after that, because we know that we were going to have a boy.

Towards the end of my pregnancy, my doctor wasn’t sure how far past the due date my son was. When that date came and went she scheduled an induction. It was convenient that we lived across the street from the hospital where this was to happen. Not having to wait for labor to start on its own took some of the uncertainty from the end of the pregnancy. On the afternoon of the induction, I nervously laid in my hospital bed. The sun shone through the window making a familiar yellow glow blanket the room. The sun’s natural light was considerably more relaxing than the hospital room’s bright ceiling lights. It helped me not deal of the fact that within a few hours I was going to add another person into my stressful situation.

The medication flowing into my arm had only caused mild contractions. For the baby’s safety, the doctor decided that I was dilated enough break the membrane. That would help to start active labor. I remembered from having my daughter that the breaking of the membrane felt like a punch to the stomach. I steadied myself to prepare for the sudden increase of intensity. The doctor counted to three. My stomach muscles immediately contracted around the baby, and I felt a familiar pain. John sat down in the chair beside me, and took my hand in his. She assumed that things would continue to progress slowly, so she said that she would be back to check on me in a few hours. If I needed her before that, one of the nurses could call her back in.

The door quietly closed. I began to focus on my breathing. There was already a tremendous pressure in my lower back, and the contractions weren’t letting up. Catching my breath, I whispered to John that I already needed the doctor to come back. He stood up and told the nurse to call for the doctor. When she returned, she laughed about having just left. I was right in what my body was telling me. In a matter of minutes my son was born, and was placed arms.