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Most of my weight was on my shoulders and my head as my torso angled up towards the sky. My arms acted as a kind of brace below me as I stretched to keep my feet flat on the table.
“Hold the position,” the narrator told me as the comforting cheesy music repeated endlessly in the background.
This isn’t so bad at all, I thought. I could have been at work, suffering through another meeting with my tech team, but instead I got to lean back and relax in this examination room, away from any noises or distractions of office life.
There were three quick raps on the door as the doctor entered and I froze.
He was handsome, to put it mildly. Drop dead sexy handsome, like a model or a soap opera star. Though he didn’t look much like George Clooney, he had similar features and gave off that same kind of effortlessly cool vibe. His well-defined jaw alone caused an immediate and animalistic reaction in my head, a result of millions of years of evolutionary reproductive success.
In fact, he was so good looking that I’d forgotten that I was lying on his examination table with my legs spread eagle and my vagina basically saying hello right up there in his face.
I was absolutely mortified.
CHAPTER2
***LEO***
I'd seen plenty of patients in my years as an obstetrician. But I couldn’t recall a single other patient who had been sitting like Mila was when I first came in. With her shoulders holding up her body weight and her feet flat to the surface, her spread legs and thrusting hips left nothing to my imagination. I could have conducted a fairly thorough gynecological examination all the way from the doorway, though out of respect for her decency, my first instinct was to jump inside the office and close the door behind me.
Right away, I knew this patient would be, if nothing else, interesting.
The whole experience was made only stranger by the New Age music and British narration. "And hold," the slightly muffled British man said, in his calm, unaffected voice as pan flutes played behind him over a soft and slow synthesized strings section.
Almost instantly, I regretted accepting another patient. I was doing it as a favor for a friend. Well, more like a friend of a friend, but at least we would be even now. I was already overbooked, but I managed to squeeze Mila into my schedule by cutting my lunch fifteen minutes short.
"Umm, Ms. Saunders?” I asked, hiding my eyes in her file to give her a chance to make herself slightly more presentable.
"Oh my God!" She shot up from the position she was in and immediately covered herself, kicking her legs over the side of the table and pulling the gown down below her knees. This was my first chance to see her face. And it was covered in a pale redness, as though she'd been at the beach too long without sunscreen.
It wasn't a sunburn, of course, though. It was pure embarrassment.
Still, even with the red tint to it, I could tell that she was a knockout. One of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life, and that was under the harsh lighting of my office with no visible make-up. Between her long lashes, piercing gray eyes, and long strawberry blonde hair, she had features that many women would kill for. And that was to say nothing of those long, dangling legs that I would have been staring at were it not for my commitment to professionalism.
"Do you need a minute?" I asked. We didn’t have a minute, but I’d been told more than a few times that I needed to work on my bedside manner. As if my efficiency was the thing keeping women from getting pregnant.
"No," she said. "I'm fine. I was just doing my..."
"...and exhale," the British voice said.
Mila immediately reached for her phone, knocking it over the edge of the table onto the floor. I leaned down to get it just as she did and she knocked her head into mine.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
I rubbed my forehead as she jumped onto the floor and grabbed her phone. She pressed several buttons and climbed back onto the examination table. The music went away and she sat there awkwardly smiling, still very embarrassed.
“I was doing some stretching exercises,” she said.
“I could see that,” I said, curtly, hoping my response was good enough to meet her standard of good bedside manner. In all the surveys my office had received, nobody questioned my medical knowledge — nor could they — but I didn’t say please and thank you enough, and apparently, that was driving the patients away.
“I’m Dr. Maxwell,” I said, offering her a fist bump — the interaction that had replaced handshakes in the medical community as it reduced the spread of germs. “I understand you're here for a fertility treatment?”
"Nice to meet you, doctor," she said, returning the fist bump. "Yes, I’m going to have a baby."
I took a look at her file.
“You see, I’ve always wanted a baby, even when I was a baby,” she began. “I played with dolls as a little girl and in high school, when they made us carry the egg around everywhere as part of our life skills class—”
I didn’t have time for this bullshit. Bedside manner be damned, I was powering forward.
