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The woman returns in just over the minute allotted and gives my shoes a dirty look but doesn't tell me to take them off. "Good. Let's get your weight and vitals, shall we."
Her tone is less friendly and more officious.
I step onto the scale with a grimace. Although it has been three years since my son's birth, I never lost all the weight I gained when I was pregnant with Neri.
The nurse, as I'm sure that is what she is now, tuts and then instructs me to sit on the exam table. She takes my blood pressure and I wonder, not for the first time, why it has to hurt so much when the cuff tightens.
Maybe I'm just sensitive.
The nurse checks my heart rate and oxygen levels before saying, "The doctor will be with you soon."
Despite how put out she obviously is, I'm sure I won't be kept waiting. I am a Mancini. And this is Vegas.
As expected, a light knock sounds a couple of minutes later.
I roll my eyes. The nurse hadn't knocked once. "Come in."
A tall, thin, grey-haired man wearing a white lab coat and stethoscope enters the room. He looks like a doctor, but I'm shocked that he is a man.
I haven't had a male doctor or nurse treat me since my marriage. Per my husband's requirement. Now, I'm not sure what to think because Raff arranged this exam.
"I am Dr. Hewitt." He puts his hand out to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Mancini."
I shake hands with him. His palm is dry and cool.
"Why am I here?" I ask bluntly.
"We're just going to run some tests and do a basic physical exam. Nothing to be afraid of."
"I am not afraid." But I am still confused. "What kind of tests?"
"Mr. Mancini wants us to determine if there is a physical and/or treatable reason for your infertility."
"Infertility?" I gasp, stunned. "I have a son."
"Whom you gave birth to over three years ago."
"Yes." I do not say:Thank you for stating the obvious. Sarcasm is not considered an attractive trait in an underboss's wife.
But neither do I smile.
"Coupled with the two years it took you to get pregnant initially, Mr. Mancini is understandably concerned about the lack of a second pregnancy since your son's birth."
Is he kidding me? Embers of rage come to life deep inside me. "He made an appointment for me with a fertility specialist because he wants to know why I haven't gotten pregnant?"
I keep my tone even. Just. When what I really want to do is yell so loud it bursts this condescending asshole's eardrums.
"I understand how difficult and embarrassing this might be for you, but you need to understand that whatever the cause of the infertility, it does not make you less of a woman."
This man counsels couples on their inability to have children?This mandoes? Those poor couples. Especially the women.
Embarrassing.Infertility. Neither are words that reflect any level of sensitivity.
What a jerk.
"The ability to have children has absolutely nothing to do with being a woman," I grit out as calmly as possible.
His, "Hmm," could be taken for either agreement or disagreement. "If left untreated, it could impact your marriage."
