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“Why is it always so cold in doctor’s offices?”
At this point, I noticed she was shivering, so I rolled the stool over to the wall and adjusted the thermostat to hopefully warm the room up a little bit.
“Because patients rarely ask us to turn up the heat,” I said. “It says in my files that you’re 32, is that correct?”
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“Not at all. It’s a good age with a very low risk of complications. Are you partnered?”
“Would I be here if I was?” she asked me.
I glared at her. It was a stupid question. “Many different people need fertility treatments. Lesbian couples, for instance, or heterosexual couples where the male partner is infertile for one reason or another.”
“Oh,” she said, appropriately embarrassed. “No, I’m not partnered.”
I nodded. “That’s fine, but I want to be clear that pregnancy isn’t necessarily like it seems in TV or movies. It helps to have someone around for support, even if it’s just a friend. Do you have a roommate or family close by?”
“I have a sister who recently moved out.”
“How recently?”
She blushed. “I guess it’d be six months by now.”
“So you live alone?”
“Yes.”
I wrote that down, taking my time with it so as to avoid eye contact. Frankly, it was cases like these that caused me concern. It was entirely possible that she would get pregnant and things would go smoothly, but that was almost never the case. Pregnancy takes its toll and often results in all sorts of complications, ranging from hypertension to diabetes to… well, in extreme cases, death. It’s not as bad as it would have been a few hundred years ago, but every pregnancy comes with severe risks and many parents are not as aware of these risks as perhaps they should be. They get so fixated on babies that they don’t realize that the process is putting their body through a nine month endurance test. Between the human being kicking inside of them, the hormonal adjustments, and physical changes, pregnancy can be a kind of hell if someone’s not properly prepared for it.
“Because this is a planned pregnancy,” I said, “I’d strongly recommend having a few emergency contacts who can check on you every day or two, especially as we enter the second and third trimesters.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said with an air of confidence suggesting that she didn’t know what she was in for. “I’m very independent. Have been all my life.”
At any rate, it didn’t matter what I was going to say, she’d already made up her mind. Part of being a good doctor was not necessarily getting the patient to do the right thing, but knowing to pick your battles and encourage good behaviors whenever possible. She had committed to having this pregnancy alone, and I’d be wasting my breath and my time to suggest she do otherwise. Soon enough, she’d realize what she’d gotten herself into. Assuming the treatment worked this time around.
I ran through several questions about family medical history as well as a few more about mental health and financial stability.
“Now,” I said, grabbing a pair of gloves and putting them on, “I need to do a physical examination. Is that okay?”
“Absolutely!” Her face turned bright red. “I mean, do whatever you need to do, Doctor.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said. “Lie flat on the table, please.”
The nurse had taken her vitals already — pulse and blood pressure — but this was a more thorough and invasive examination. I put my hands on her stomach and pressed down slightly, checking for abnormalities. This was the part of the job that people often asked me about. Was it uncomfortable or awkward to put your hands on your patients’ more personal areas?
The answer was a definitive no. From my perspective, I thought of my patients in much the same way that a mechanic might consider a car he was working on. They were just complicated machines, and I was just checking to ensure that everything was in complete working order.
The patients often understood this, but sometimes I wasn’t so sure.
“Just breathe normally, Ms. Saunders,” I told her, but I felt her heart rate quicken and could feel the effect I was having on her.
“And now I need to examine your vaginal canal,” I said. “Do I have your permission?”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Examine away!”
Again, embarrassment. I was used to it. Patients had all sorts of reactions. Some ignored me completely, and some were visibly uncomfortable. And some, Mila included, seemed to be getting a secret thrill out of it. Seeing her react to my touch, there was an inkling of excitement inside of me, too, though I’d refuse to admit it to anyone but myself, and of course, I did the necessary to remain professional.
But I couldn’t hide my surprise when I encountered something unexpected.
