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It looks like this battle will rage on indefinitely until footsteps ring out in the hall beyond the open door.
“I heard your voices down the hall. Is there a problem?” Samuele strides into the room, casting a sharp look my way before turning to the doctor.
“I merely tried to explain to your son that the examination must be conducted in private. For the sake of the patient.”
“I'm not leaving her alone,” Christian grumbles at his father.
Samuele barely stops short of rolling his eyes. “Christian, allow the doctor to perform the service she came here to perform. The sooner we confirm your fiancee's worthiness, the better.”
The word worthiness sets my teeth on edge. The way he looks straight at me as he says it tells me he knows how it’ll make me feel. This is not a man who speaks without thinking. He knew what he was saying.
Christian’s jaw works, sharp breaths making his nostrils flare. I wish I believed he was this angry because of how his father insulted me, but I know him too well by now to make that kind of a mistake.
“Please, by all means, do your work.” Samuele nearly pulls Christian out of the room, leaving me alone with the doctor once the door is closed.
She turns to me, wearing an exasperated look. “Men. Always thinking they know everything.”
“You have no idea.” If I didn't know anything I said would get back to Samuele, I would give her an earful. I might even ask for help.
“Undress, please. I will be performing a full examination.” She hands me a folded paper gown. I turn my back, undressing as quickly as possible before inserting my arms through the gown's sleeves. After leaving my clothes folded on a chair, I turn around.
“On the bed. Move forward as far as possible and put your feet in the stirrups.” She pulls on a pair of surgical gloves, her voice gentle but professional. “At what age did you begin menstruating?”
“Uh, ten? No, eleven.” She drapes a towel over my knees.
“Were you sexually active from a young age?”
That's a strange question. Usually, a doctor will ask at what age sexual activity started, but then again, English probably isn't her first language. Her phrasing is probably off. The fact that there are still male voices coming from the other side of the door makes my face warm with added embarrassment. “No. I mean, I wasn’t young.”
“Have you had many partners?”
Now this is getting uncomfortable, and she hasn't yet begun the exam. “Excuse me, but is there a reason you're asking? What does that have to do with anything?”
“I assume the answer is yes, then?”
“No, it isn't, but I'd still like to know.”
She settles herself between my open knees. “You are American, yes?”
“Yes.” It's easier than going through the whole story.
“I see. There is, how do you say it, a cultural barrier. I suppose doctors in the States go about this differently.”
That makes sense. “Sorry. This is very sudden, so I'm still trying to catch up.”
“Not to worry.” She turns her head slightly like she's listening for something beyond the door. I wait, holding my breath. How much weirder is this going to get?
“You are very tense.” She lifts an eyebrow. “Would you like me to give you something to help you relax? If your muscles are too tight, I'm afraid the examination will be quite uncomfortable, and it will take me longer.”
“No, I don't think so. I'll try to relax.” I look up at the ceiling, breathing slowly. It's not easy to tell my muscles to loosen, but I'm sure the doctor is right. The more nervous I am, the more uncomfortable this will be, which I'm sure will only make things worse when the exam takes longer than it needs to.
“Normally, I have a little time to mentally prepare for an examination like this.”
“Yes, I'm sure that would help.” She hasn't put a hand on me yet, and I can't see her now because of the towel. “Perhaps if I performed a breast exam first, it would give you time to relax.”
“Sure, I guess so.”
“Remove your left arm from the gown to expose your breast. I promise this won't take long.” She offers a warm, almost maternal smile as she joins me beside the bed. “Raise your arm over your head.”
I do as she asks, then try not to flinch when her gloved fingers press against my breast. It's easier to look away from her while she's doing it, so I turn my head in the opposite direction. “I have to tell you, I don't know if there's any history of cancer in my family.”
When she doesn't answer right away, I look at her again and find her looking at the closed door. Considering she's supposed to be examining me, I don't think confusion’s out of the question. “Excuse me, but is everything all right?”
