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Shit. I’m such an awful person.
Opening the door to the doctor’s office, I make my way up to the reception desk as I nervously fidget with the hem of my shirt. I’m so freaking anxious. It’s been eight weeks since that night with Carter, and this is my first OBGYN appointment. Well, technically it’s my second. I went for an appointment a few days ago and the doctor gave me weird vibes before asking me to drop my pants in a less than professional way. I’ve never run away faster in my life. So here I am, meeting with a nice lady doctor, and hopefully, I’m going to love her.
After giving the receptionist my name, I’m lumped with a stack of paperwork and invited to take a seat in the waiting room. There are a few people in line ahead of me, and I carefully select my spot, not wanting to intrude on anyone’s personal space. After taking my seat, I get busy filling out the paperwork, only faltering when it starts asking about the father.
I keep it vague, and before I know it, I hear my name called across the waiting room. Grabbing my bag, I scurry after the doctor, not wanting to keep her waiting. The doctor ushers me into her office, and I quickly take a look around, taking in the clinical, clean space and the subtle hues of pastel purple and yellow decorating the walls. I instantly feel at ease.
The doctor offers me a seat, and I get comfortable before giving her a nervous smile, having no idea what to expect from this appointment. “Welcome, Brianna. I’m Doctor Thompson. I understand you’re newly pregnant?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
She glances down at the paperwork on her desk, her red-rimmed glasses low on her nose. “And is this your first pregnancy?”
I nod my head, despite her averted gaze. “Yes, it is.”
“Alright, I’m assuming that must mean you have plenty of questions and are possibly feeling a little anxious about everything that’s going to happen during your pregnancy. However, you are in good hands, and I’ll do my best to make this journey as carefree and enjoyable as possible. But let’s be real, pregnancy isn’t designed to be easy.”
Dr. Thompson gives me a comforting smile, and I think she can see the nervousness wafting off of me. “First up, I am assuming you completed all the necessary blood work prior to your appointment?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod. “I was assured you would have the results ready to go.”
“Wonderful,” she murmurs, her gaze shifting to her computer. She starts clicking buttons and soon enough, she finds what she’s looking for. “Uh-huh,” she declares. “Here they are.”
She takes her time scanning through my test results, and as she does, she asks me questions about my last menstrual cycle and when I believe this baby was conceived. We chat for a minute, and after confirming my HCG levels are a little more elevated than expected, she stands and waves me into her procedure room. “Come on through, Brianna,” she says. “We’re going to do an internal ultrasound to determine how far along you are and see if we can get a reading on a heartbeat yet.”
Excitement drums through my veins at getting to see my baby for the first time, plus also the possibility of hearing his little heartbeat, and as I get to my feet to follow her, I pause, my brows furrowed. Did she say internal ultrasound? As in something getting shoved up in my coochie?
Ahh shit. What do I have to lose? After all, shoving something up my coochie is how I got in this mess to start with.
Following Dr. Thompson into her procedure room, I take a quick glance around. There’s a small patient bed with stirrups attached and a table set up with a big machine connected to a little remote TV, not to mention an industrial-sized bottle of what looks like lube.
The doctor pulls a curtain for privacy and asks me to undress from the waist down and lay on the bed with a blanket covering my bottom half. I quickly do as I’m asked, more than ready to get this over and done with. I mean, women do this every day. Surely it couldn’t be that bad, right?
Dr. Thompson gets comfortable on a rolling stool and flicks some switches on what I’m assuming is the ultrasound machine. She pulls out a long wand and explains exactly where it’s going as I look at it in fear, my eyes wide as my heart starts to race.
“Don’t they usually do ultrasounds from the outside?” I question.
“Usually, yes,” she says as she starts putting a lubricant on the end of the wand. “But as you are still so early in your pregnancy, we’ll get a clearer view of the fetus with an internal wand. Plus, we have a much higher chance of hearing the heartbeat this way, assuming we can hear one at all, that is. It’s still a little early.”
