“I like your outfit,” I said, attempting to be friendly. “Did you get it at Belly Scene?”
“No,” she replied, grinning. “I can’t afford to shop there. Way too pricey for me. I usually do my shopping at the mall.”
Naturally, because everyone knew about Belly Scene but me. I watched as her auburn hair blew slightly from the vent overhead while she flipped open her magazine. The sound of trickling water in the background reminded me that I had forgotten to use the restroom before I came.
“Are you pregnant?” she asked, and for a split second I thought that it was rather nosy. I was in an obstetrics clinic, though…
“Yes, barely. This is my first appointment.”
She flipped another page in her magazine without looking at me. “I’ve got about three months left. It’s starting to feel like an eternity.” She paused, turning another page. “Are you seeing Dr. Tillman?”
“No, Dr. McCavin.”
“I haven’t seen him, but I heard he’s good,” she said, not bothering to look up from her magazine.
“Well, I hope so,” I responded, excusing myself to find the restroom, which was in the reception area where I had entered the clinic. I hurriedly did what I needed, straining to hear through the door just in case my name was called, but all I could hear was the delightful Bublé elevator music near the receptionist. They would probably wait on me, anyway – I wasn’t at the DMV, after all.
Returning to the holding area, the magazine woman had disappeared, and the book lady and I were now alone. She looked up as I walked back to my seat.
“I really like your shoes,” she sighed. “I wish I could still wear heels. My feet have gotten bigger, so for now I’m stuck with flat and comfortable. I hope things go back to normal after the baby is born.”
Instantaneous panic seized my heart.
“Your feet have gotten bigger?” I wondered. “I’ve never heard anything about that.”
“Sure. It happens to a lot of women. Sometimes you can’t even wear your old shoes after you have a baby, your feet change so much.”
She went back to the book as though we were just having a casual conversation. Honestly, I would have rather she told me that I would be forever flabby, or covered with stretch marks, or that I would have stringy hair for the next nine months. Nobody ever mentioned their feet growing. I had spent a good deal of time amassing a near-perfect shoe collection, and if I couldn’t wear them again…
No, I can’t bear to think of it.
I was internally weeping, mourning my lost shoe collection, when I caught a glimpse of the book that woman was reading.
“Is that a good book?” I asked mischievously, mentally willing her to turn it around and glance at the back.
“Yeah, it is,” she agreed, smiling at me. “My sister-in-law loaned it to me. I usually don’t like historical fiction, but this one isn’t so stuffy. She went on and on about the author, something about her pen name.” She looked at the front of the book, and then dropped it back to her lap. “Camdyn Taylor.”
“Sounds really good,” I added, wishing I had the nerve to tell her that was my book. My phone started buzzing in my purse, and even though the sign in the lobby said “no cell phones,” I pulled it out quickly. “Hello?”
“Camdyn, is that you, girl? It’s Laurel. I told you that you’d be hearing from me soon.”
“Hi!” I answered quietly. “Wow, it is soon.” Laurel and I had met in Louisville when I was researching for the book my pregnant waiting room neighbor had in her hands, and the last time I saw her was at my wedding. She and Lex, from my publisher’s office, had been discussing marketing strategies – and making me slightly nervous, I might add.
“I don’t have much time, but I had to call and tell you, I was so excited,” she went on, not bothering to wait for my reply. “I got you in, Camdyn – and it’s huge. I thought I would start you with a weekend thing, so you wouldn’t freak out. It’s a three-day conference, with a comedian headlining day one, a motivational speaker headlining day two, and our very own famous writer headlining day three. There will be thousands of women there. After seeing you on TV a couple weeks ago, I know you can handle it. The end of October, but I’ll send you all the details. I have to run, but I simply had to tell you. I’ll be in touch soon.”
She hung up so quickly, I didn’t even have time to react. Obviously I had no desire to headline a conference and be on stage in front of thousands of women – how exactly did I manage to get myself roped into that one? That seemed like something that I shouldn’t have even had to explain. I was a writer, after all – not a public speaker.
“Camdyn Parker,” I heard from across the room, and I dropped my phone in my purse as though I was in a fog.
“Hey, Camdyn, just like the book!” my companion noted with a chuckle.
“Yeah, funny,” I acknowledged, following the nurse into the hallway while looking forlornly at my shiny pink stilettos, any attempt at celebrating my newfound celebrity status dashed to bits. The nurse asked me to step onto a scale around the corner, where I promptly discovered that I had lost four pounds – not altogether surprising, considering the fact that most things I ate didn’t stay with me long anymore. Of course she didn’t act like anything was amiss – leading me into an exam room and closing the door.
The waiting room had been a nice, normal temperature, but the exam room was a walk-in freezer. (What is it with exam rooms, anyway? Maybe they think germs will have a hard time surviving if it’s ten degrees colder than normal?) Shivering as I shifted on the table, crinkling the paper beneath me, I breathed a little sigh of thankfulness that I wasn’t in a backless gown.
Had Cole been with me, I’m sure I would have felt more comfortable. First of all, I would have had someone to talk to. Second, he would have compensated somehow for the room being cold, even if it meant sitting there with his arms wrapped around me. Third, he would have insisted that I sit in a chair while I waited instead of on that hard table with nothing to lean against, not to mention the fact that my feet couldn’t touch the ground. With no one to distract me, I was left staring at the medical charts on the wall. They were somewhat interesting, but there are some things about the human body that I really prefer to remain left unsaid. It simply isn’t necessary to know how everything works.
Finally, the door opened, but it wasn’t Dr. McCavin. Instead, it was another nurse – one who didn’t seem very pleased to be at work. At least, that was what I hoped, because otherwise she seemed to have a problem with me, and I simply knew that couldn’t have been the case. She was close to my age, brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and she might have been pretty if she bothered to make any effort and would wipe that scowl off her face.
Sitting at the counter, she began writing in my chart and completely ignored the fact that I was sitting there. She didn’t say hello, or acknowledge me, or even check to see if I was the same person as the name on that chart.
“Thanks for filling out all the paperwork,” she finally stated. At first I thought she was being sarcastic, until I realized that I had filled out all the paperwork, so she must have been sincere. Pulling out a little white circle that looked like a piece of cardboard, she asked me about a couple of dates, and then started twisting it around in her hand.
“Sounds like your baby will be due about February 25th,” she informed me.
“February 25th,” I quietly repeated. “Wouldn’t it be cool if the baby came early and was born on Valentine’s Day? It would be like the whole world was celebrating my baby’s birthday.” She didn’t look amused, so I twisted my mouth to the side and told myself to try to bring it down a notch. It would have been nice if she would cheer up, though, because this was kind of exciting to me. “I guess I should just concentrate on February 25th, right?”
“Actually, the chances of delivering on your actual due date are only about ten percent,” she stated, clearly not feeling any contagious excitement spreading in the room. She went back to writing i
n the chart, where she had written at least a couple chapters by that time.
“Do you have any kids?” I asked, trying to peek at my chart.
“No,” she stated bluntly, maneuvering her elbow across the page so I couldn’t read anything, as though glimpsing my own chart would be betraying some sort of state secret. “The father?”
“Oh, he had this situation come up at work, so he couldn’t make it today. I’m sure he’ll be at the next appointment.”
“That’s wonderful,” she muttered. “Who is the father?”
Okay, now she’s treating me like I’m crazy. Who is the father? I already wrote that information on the paperwork, which she thanked me for filling out. Should I thank her for not reading it?
“My husband, of course.”
She began tapping one foot, as though I was completely annoying her. “I’m going to need a name.”
“Cole Parker,” I acknowledged, and she went back to writing in the chart. It occurred to me that she might write as much in that chart as I would include in my next novel, and that thought brought a small smile to my lips. As I wondered what she was scrawling, my mind ran away with the possibilities.
The patient arrived today wearing stylish skinny jeans with a dark gray t-shirt and fabulous pink heels. It is obvious by her style that she is a discerning patient who expects the best, and we must make every attempt to make her comfortable. She should have the best hospital accommodations available for the delivery – the east wing if possible, and the room overlooking the garden. Be certain the room and furniture are immaculate. Valentine’s Day decorations would possibly be in order.
“Now I’m going to read a list of medical conditions. Let me know if you have any of them.”
She’s definitely not recommending posh accommodations – she clearly despises me.
She began to read through the medical complications in complete monotone, which seemed strange to me, because they were pretty bad diseases. The least she could do was put a little inflection in her voice as she went through the chart. If I had one of those diseases, I might have taken offense at the way she nonchalantly breezed through that checklist.
“Well?”
What?
“Oh, no, I don’t have any of those.”
“Any other medical conditions?” she wanted to know, giving me a wary look.
“No.”
Making a noise in her throat, she went back to writing. I began looking around the room and noticed a pink sign on the wall announcing prenatal classes available on Tuesdays at 1:00, 4:00, and 7:00. Instantly I thought that Cole and I might have fun taking those together. I had seen those on television – the pregnant women sitting on the floor learning how to breathe during labor while their husbands sat behind them concentrating on being supportive. Hee-hee-hoo, they usually chimed. I wasn’t sure how those breathing noises could help you deliver a baby, but surely there was something to it. There was something else the husband usually did on those shows, too, but I couldn’t conjure it up in my mind.
“I’m going to read another list now, and I want you to tell me if any of these illnesses are common in your family or your husband’s family.”
Ugh, another list?
Never mind the list, because at that moment I remembered that the husband usually helped her find the focal point. Those women always had something from home – a picture, music, something relaxing. I began pondering what I could use for a focal point, and I instantly thought of the wedding picture I had on my nightstand. That would be an excellent focal point.
“Here comes another contraction. Hee-hee-hoo. Hee-hee-hoo. You’re doing great, Camdyn.”
“Thank you,” I say, as he holds my hand and strokes my forehead.
“Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?”
“Of course not, silly. We’re doing the breathing exercises, and I am completely focused on wedding Cole. He is keeping me calm.”
I couldn’t help but grin at my little mental picture, but I knew it wasn’t accurate. Having witnessed Trina giving birth, I knew that no amount of fancy breathing was going to make things any better. In fact, thinking of it at that moment was putting me very close to panic mode. Remembering Trina’s loud groans and the tears coursing down her face, my mind launched into a new possible scenario.
“Hee-hee-hoo. You’re doing great, Cam,” Cole says.
“Hee-hee-hoo. You sound like a giggly hoot owl. I wish you would just shut up.” I groan as he reaches for my hand. “Don’t touch me. Don’t even think about it, buddy.”
“Is the pain very bad?”
“Is the pain very bad??? Do you know what it’s like to be in labor, Cole? Of course not, because all you have to do is stand there being supportive, practice-breathing your little hoot owl call. What about me? I’m sprawled on this table being ripped apart from the inside out, and all you can do is say hee-hee-hoo.”
“It will be okay. Just find your focal point.”
Ah, yes, the focal point – wedding Cole, staring at me with that enticing grin on his face. Is this what you expected, wedding Cole? What do you have to say for yourself now?
So, maybe another focal point was in order.
“Camdyn?!”
“Huh?”
She was tapping her pen on the chart now, looking slightly annoyed. “Any of those illnesses run in your family?”
“No,” I muttered, feeling guilty for not paying attention. “You know, it’s very cold in here – to the point of being distracting.” Pathetic excuse – I know, but I didn’t want to admit that she was boring me to death with her monotone presentation. Wondering how to pep her up a bit, I suddenly had an idea. “How do I sign up for the prenatal classes?”
“You don’t,” she blurted. “Not now, anyway. Those are only for women in their third trimester. When you get to that point, someone will tell you about the classes.”
Bummer.
“Do you use any illegal drugs?” she continued.
Honestly, do I look like a junkie? I’m the discerning patient with the stylish tastes, remember?
“No,” I breathed, and she scribbled in the chart again.
“How about your eating habits? Would you say you eat healthy foods?”
“Oh, yeah, really healthy. Well, most of the time, anyway. I had pizza last night, and a fast-food burger for lunch today, but I couldn’t hold it down, so what difference does it make, really?” My attempt at being humorous fell on deaf ears, because she sort of glared at me from the corner of her eye.
“Getting proper nutrition is essential for the baby. You’ll want to make sure you’re getting plenty of calcium. Also, you should begin taking prenatal vitamins. The doctor can give you a prescription for those, although the brands you find over the counter are just as effective.”
“Is there any specific name I should be looking for?” I questioned, hoping to finally engage her in a meaningful conversation and shake off the sense that she disliked me. It was honestly driving me a little nuts.
“Yes. Pre-na-tal vi-ta-mins. They usually have a picture of a baby on the bottle.”
Well, I can see we are determined to set out on the wrong foot!
Taking a deep breath, I tried to look on the bright side – maybe she was only a temporary nurse and took care of the first appointments. We would have this one awkward encounter, and then the permanent nurse would step in.
“Will you be my nurse through the whole pregnancy?” I asked cautiously.
“Yes.”
Ugh.
“Do you think you could use the restroom?” she questioned.
What, am I five years old? If I needed to use the restroom, I could take care of that problem without your assistance.
“No, thank you,” I replied, straining to be polite. “I used the one in the waiting area.”
“In the future, when you come in for your appointments, make sure you have a full bladder so we can get a urine specimen.”
Eww.
“What is the purp
ose of the specimen?” I wondered, trying to be proper and fighting to keep her attitude from affecting my mood.
“We check for protein, make certain you don’t have any infections…”
“When do I get to find out the gender of the baby?” This routine medical information was starting to get on my nerves – I wanted to get right to the point. It seemed like an obstetrics nurse should have that information in proper order – this nurse must have been new.
“We don’t do sonograms strictly to determine gender,” she explained. “The doctor will order a sonogram about halfway through the pregnancy to check on the general well-being of the baby and to verify that there are no medical complications. If the baby is in the proper position and the technician can determine the gender, you will find out at that time.”
That didn’t sound very promising.
“The doctor will want you to come back in about a month,” she continued. “At your next appointment, he’ll listen to your baby’s heartbeat by using a device called a Fetal Doppler.”
Finally, some good news from that Debbie Downer!
“So, do I get to see the doctor now?” I wanted to know. She just shook her head as she wrote away in the chart again.
“Today we just do the background medical information.”
“That’s it?” I was bitterly disappointed – that was totally not what I envisioned for my first appointment.
“The only thing left to do is go to the lab and have your blood drawn.”
“Blood?” I squeaked. Obviously she was enjoying my discomfort, because that finally broke the ice, and she chuckled a bit.
“The lab is on the second floor. You’ll go to the elevator you came up in and take a left. Give them this piece of paper, and they’ll give you a consent form for some standard obstetrical tests we perform routinely on all our patients.”
Ugh, the lab. Enjoy, Bride of Frankenstein.
My countenance must have changed, because I believe she sensed my hesitance, and I’m pretty sure she smirked at me.
For No Reason (The Camdyn Series Book 4) Page 6
