A short story by Ann Marie Grumm, 2006
At 45 years old, I came home from the doctor and asked my Japanese boyfriend, Yuichi, if he'd like to make a baby.
I was so excited. I just had the most exciting GYN experience !!!
The gyn-guy was young. Early 50s. Late 40s.
Young? You ask. Indeed he was. Compared to all the white-haired docs I've had throughout the years in the states.
He communicated very well in English for a Japanese guy. He tells me he's part Italian. 'Is that so?' I vocalize my wonder. I don't believe him.
There's noone else in the room, just the two of us. He has me sit in this upright, comfy, pink chair. No stir-ups!
A pink curtain is easily pulled in place. It shields me from seeing my lower extremities exposed before the doctor. Yet, I see his head as he is sitting on a pink rolling stool in front of me.
There's another curtain that we can draw in front of my face. It too, is pink. It amuses the doctor. He opens and shuts it. "Which would you prefer?" he asks. He suggests leaving it open.
He explains everything beforehand, so that nothing comes as a surprise. He gently puts those cold metal instruments inside me in order to get a pap.
To check the ovaries, he doesn't go sticking his entire hand up inside me to feel them!! Instead, he places (indeed places!! He doesn't just shove it up there), he places a wand gently inside. It doesn't have to go very far, either.
Together, we see it ALL on the computer monitor. My insides. The baby making apparatus. He explains, pointing here and there on the screen with a stylus. He points out the ovaries, six eggs, the cervix, the wall of the uterus, and the endometrium that's getting ready to shed.
He prints out several pictures and we return to his desk.
He says I have insides like a 21 year old and pauses. Dare I detect a coy smile? He goes on to explain the black and white images that we just viewed on the screen . . . the wall of the cervix, the uterus, and the 6 eggs. 5 eggs are getting ready for next month. There is one big one ready to release any day now. He's happy to tell me that I have the ability to have more babies. "Would you like to have more babies?" He asks. I detect a hint of suggestion.
For a moment I allow myself to daydream. I imagine he has a sleek black sports car parked in the lot. I wonder, "Hmmm, are you willing?" With a slyness in my smile, I say "I'd need a wealthy guy."
He doesn't make any offers. Instead, he sends me home with a set of pics, my future babies. I think of Yuichi. Like a proud momma-to-be, I will show off my sono pictures!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Ode to Dr. Nakajima : A short story by Ann Marie Grumm 6Jun 2006
A bead of wetness trickles down my side toward the pit of my arm. I'm so crazy about this man, my heartbeat intensifies. I feel his arm as it rests across my lower extremities. I squirm when he presses against the sensitive areas of my breasts. "I don't like that feeling," I tell him. "I'm sorry," he replies but he keeps moving his instrument over them.
It was very important to him that I meet with him this day. He had directed me to a private room. I undressed and waited for him on the bed. Soon after he'd entered the room, he shut the light. Reposed in the glow of a computer monitor, my small breasts exposed before him. He was intent.
I've been meeting with this man for over three years. He is so cool. He laughs at my crazy stories. I just love the way he leans back in his chair, his legs fully extended. It's obvious, he is completely comfortable with me. This pleases me.
He's a married man with young children. He's told me he has a boy my son's age and that he lives out in the suburbs. I smile when he tells me these things. Indeed, these are the very things that make him such a wonderful man. It seems we have much in common, I wonder if we are the same age. He could very well be younger than I.
He continues to knead my breast with the wand in his left hand. I'd had cysts in my breasts before. I had one removed not long ago. I tell him this and he is surprised. Together we examine my right areola. The scar is quite indistinguishable.
His attention hastens to the monitor. As he taps the monitor with the stylus in his right hand and directs my attention to the computer screen, explaining in detail each vague image. With notable relief, he assures me several times, as if to convince me, "it's not cancer."
We meet again at his desk, Dr. Nakajima and I. Several nurses are in the room with us this time. Again, the doctor assures me, "It's not cancer." "Please," he urges earnestly, "please have it checked when you get back to the states." However, I am still so quite nonchalant about the matter. He continues to implore. "Please. The Sanno Medical Center reported that it was a tumor."
It was very important to him that I meet with him this day. He had directed me to a private room. I undressed and waited for him on the bed. Soon after he'd entered the room, he shut the light. Reposed in the glow of a computer monitor, my small breasts exposed before him. He was intent.
I've been meeting with this man for over three years. He is so cool. He laughs at my crazy stories. I just love the way he leans back in his chair, his legs fully extended. It's obvious, he is completely comfortable with me. This pleases me.
He's a married man with young children. He's told me he has a boy my son's age and that he lives out in the suburbs. I smile when he tells me these things. Indeed, these are the very things that make him such a wonderful man. It seems we have much in common, I wonder if we are the same age. He could very well be younger than I.
He continues to knead my breast with the wand in his left hand. I'd had cysts in my breasts before. I had one removed not long ago. I tell him this and he is surprised. Together we examine my right areola. The scar is quite indistinguishable.
His attention hastens to the monitor. As he taps the monitor with the stylus in his right hand and directs my attention to the computer screen, explaining in detail each vague image. With notable relief, he assures me several times, as if to convince me, "it's not cancer."
We meet again at his desk, Dr. Nakajima and I. Several nurses are in the room with us this time. Again, the doctor assures me, "It's not cancer." "Please," he urges earnestly, "please have it checked when you get back to the states." However, I am still so quite nonchalant about the matter. He continues to implore. "Please. The Sanno Medical Center reported that it was a tumor."
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