We woke up at 7:30am. Melissa was awake before I was, and was already bathing by the time I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. For some reason, I feel more comfortable sitting down (even if it’s just #1) when I first wake up. I think it’s because my legs aren’t used to all that activity just yet.

When Melissa finished bathing, I assumed her spot while she got dressed. She started blow-drying her hair as I stood up to get out of the tub, and a blast of hot air from the hair-dryer hit me in the face. I immediately flashed back to my childhood: My mom drying her hair in the bathroom, me brushing my teeth or getting ready for school, and I always liked feeling the hot-air from the blow-dryer, especially in the cold mornings. I think I just like being warm.

Still groggy, I barely remember pulling on yesterday’s pants, unearthing a shirt and boxers from the freshly folded laundry, leaving a note for the contractors, and grabbing my cellphone from the wall-charger. I made a peanut-butter sandwich on wheat bread because I wasn’t entirely sure I would get to eat anything else today until after work. Satisfied that we had everything ready, we were ready to go.
“Can you drive?” she asked me. I responded, half-mumbling, that it would probably be better to drive separately, since I only had 1 hour of comp-time and a 1 hour lunch. She said ok, and we started our respective cars and drove across town.

I parked in my building parking lot, which was catty-corner from the Wayne County Health Clinic. She advanced to the next block and parked in their lot. I quickly walked over, thinking that I didn’t want her to think I was chickening out. She had asked me before we left if I was sure I wanted to go, and I said yes. We met inside the clinic and she checked in. I looked around at the reading material. Finding nothing worthwhile, I resigned to sitting down on one of the chairs and gazing at the almighty color television.

We didn’t have to wait too long, one of the nurses brought us back to a checkup room. She proceeded to ask Melissa a bunch of questions about her history — generally about genetic diseases, health-risks, and other such questions pertinent to our genetics. There were a few questions I got to answer in the same line of questioning. Melissa signed off on a consent form for the blood-work as well as the pelvic exam, and we were escorted over to the testing-center, right down the hall, where she was to provide a urine sample.
I remembered being a kid and the nurse asking me for a urine sample. The cup probably held about 6 oz. I wasn’t sure how much they needed so I filled it to the brim and gingerly carried it back, with a somewhat sheepish grin. The nurse’s eyebrows raised, and then she laughed.

We were sitting there, waiting. She needed to give them some blood for testing. There was a young mother sitting off to our right, about 8 feet away. We had seen her out in the waiting room. She had two children with her that I presumed to be her children. They shared some likeness. They were a little rowdy, but generally well-behaved. One of the children, the older one (Bradley, as I later overheard), was playing a hand-held video game (a Nintendo DS, I think), and the younger one was sitting on his Mother’s lap while they read out of a book.

After about 5 minutes of sitting there, waiting and watching people, Bradley and his Mom and brother walked towards the door immediately to my left and walked into the testing lab. I think Bradley was aware that he was going to give blood, but I’m not sure if he knew what was involved because he didn’t seem outwardly nervous. It wasn’t long, maybe 2 or 3 minutes, before I heard the sobbing and crying start. He was deathly afraid of giving blood, as most kids are. They brought in another nurse, but from how it sounded, he wouldn’t sit still enough for the phlebotomist to take his blood safely. I heard them all stand up, and the Phlebotomist, Bradley’s mother and brother, and Bradley, his eyes red and swollen from crying, was in tow. They took him into an examination room and two other nurses followed. Even through the 2″ thick wooden doors it was easy to hear his cries of anguish.
I’m sitting in an emergency room, only 4 years old, and my Mother is sitting next to me. My head is still oozing blood out of my forehead from where it had hit the granite sink in the bathroom. My cookie monster towel is nearby. I don’t remember if it was wrapped around me still, or if my mom had it, but it was very messy and covered with my blood. The doctor informs my mother that I need stitches, which immediately alarms me. I’ve never had them before, but my mom sews and I know what a stitch is! The doctor and his assistants approach me with a hypodermic needle, presumably an anesthetic, and are trying to stick it in my wound. I thrash about so much that they back off.
The nurse leaves my sight but comes back carrying a blue piece of fabric. It had a cartoon picture of a native-american child in the middle of it. With my attention momentarily distracted, they forcibly hold me down while they put this blue restraint jacket on me and strap me down. I don’t remember much else from that night other than staring off into space at a spot in the wall while they violated my forehead with medical tools.

It was our turn. Melissa went into the room, I saw that she got seated OK, then I kind of shuffled back around the wall. I was sitting 2 feet away from her, through the wall anyways, but I just couldn’t bear the site of those needles. I heard her make a couple noises — not quite a whimper, but not angry either. More of a “this is uncomfortable and inconvenient and I would rather be doing something else, like eating bacon” sound. They had taken FOUR UNITS of blood out! She felt a little dizzy afterwards, and when the nurse was done I came into the room and stood next to her. The nurse gave her a cup of water, which she drank. I helped her stand up and walked with her down to the examination room.

The examination room was typical for a clinic. It had 2 chairs, which I sat on, and the exam table, which was a hybrid between a pad-top table and a dentist’s chair. There were plastic drawers along the side of it, and a long black tube that ran the length of the chair. It was covered in plastic. Melissa began to disrobe and put on the paper-towel-clothing. I remember thinking I found it somewhat odd they didn’t give you any blankets or anything else to keep warm in while you’re sitting there completely naked in the 77 degree room. I figured it was because of germs or something. Doctors have this weird thing about germs.

The Physician’s assistant, a young woman who appeared to be of some extra-American ethnicity (East Asian? Indian? Mexican? I couldn’t tell exactly) came in and talked to Melissa. It would be a typical pelvic exam. I had never personally witnessed one before, but I more or less knew what went on with them.
I thought it was interesting how the Physician’s assistant would announce everything she was doing right before she would do it, presumably to ease the stress on Melissa. What I’ve read about stress before, in psychological texts, is that surprise and things unknown are both big amplifiers of stressors — so the P.A. announcing she would be “placing a hand on your thigh” or that “this will feel cold” was probably for that reason.

When the exam was done, the P.A. brought out a small device. It had a microphone-looking piece on one end attached by a cord to a small box with a speaker in it. She lubed up the microphone “mouthpiece” and had Melissa expose a small part of her tummy, just below her belly button. I thought it was really neat how you could hear the insides. I glanced at the speaker, it said “Dop-something” on it. I made the assumption that “Dop” stood for “Doppler”, which would mean they were using doppler-effect technology. I made a mental note to look that up later, it sounded neat.

All of a sudden, the P.A. says “there we go!” and we could hear a small rapidly pulsing “swoosh” sound. Our baby’s heartbeat. Ziggy-the-zygote’s little heart pulsing. I looked over at Melissa, in amazement. It was amazing. I felt myself immediately beginning to connect and identify with my role in this. This whole affair became much more real to me. We glanced at each other, and I could see the corners of her eyes beginning to moisten, as we listened to the pulsing of the baby’s heart. As the P.A. took away the mic, Melissa began to tear up and started to cry. I leaned down and hugged and kissed her. I know I probably sound like just about every expecting parent out there, but that experience was so amazing. I never thought anything could be that cool or exciting. I think hearing the heartbeat made it a lot more real for Melissa too. Our little zygote.

Categories: This New House, Writing Pieces, Ziggy aka Sullivan