The waiting room is very nice. It has the best doctor’s office magazines that I have ever read. I find that this is very weird because it is the OB/GYN’s office. I would expect more magazines on babies and flower arrangements, but they have a nice assortment of Newsweek and Time. I even found a Sports Illustrated there once. It’s either because the doctor is a male and understands how uncomfortable this is for me or it was left by the last set of perverts that were there.
Because that is what we all feel like. You are sitting there, waiting for your wife to show up, and in walks a lady that looks like your Grandma. You know that she is there to get some work done under the hood. How can you not feel like a pervert, the sick disgusting person that you are. You don’t mean to think this, but you do, thus you should be in prison. Even when the thought immediately leaves your head and you gag a little bit, you still thought it. The only men that may feel comfortable is the actual doctor but have you ever noticed that he doesn’t come out into the waiting room? My money is that he feels creepy to.
I’m sitting there waiting for my wife and the cold sweats are whipping me. There are several ladies there as well of various ages. I see one other guy and we make silent eye contact followed by the head nod. There will be no talking as we both are embarrassed that we have been witnessed here. His eyes seem to beg to let me know that he is there because his wife is pregnant and not because this is how he gets his rocks off. I acknowledge this and send this message back.
I bury my head in a copy of Newsweek. This is a subtle signal to the other people there that I am intelligent and not Mr. Quick Peek. The other women steal the occasional glace at me and I’m sure they are disgusted or amused at the level of my uncomfort. Finally my wife shows up and a massive amount of relief pours over me. This validates my reason for being there. I have an intense fear that she is going to stiff me there one day so I wait for 2 hours and then leave alone. The cops will probably be waiting for me outside.
She knows that I am uncomfortable here and finds it very funny. If I can make my wife laugh through pregnancy, then I’ve done my job. We sit and wait and the nurse finally calls my wife. I do my duty and carry her purse, a true sign that I am in total submission and just wanting people to tell me what to do.
The first stop is the urine test. The nurse handed the cup and I asked her if she wanted mine too. You see, when I get nervous in situations I crack very bad jokes. But how the hell do I know that she doesn’t want mine? Maybe there is some DNA test, I have no idea. The nurse looks at me with understanding. She is my savior and has dealt with many uncomfortable husbands.
She asks me to go to the second door down and wait in the room. I turn in at the first door to see a very pregnant lady on the table. I can’t think straight, I have tunnel vision. What the hell do I say to the lady on the table. How do I convince her that I am legit and there is no need to scream? Welcome Mr. Jokey. “You’re not my wife” I say and smile, hoping that she will let me leave in peace. She gives a half hearted laugh that I hear as I tail it to the right room.
These places are so odd. There are only two places to sit. A gimp stool for the doctor and the table. Where the hell does dad go? I never know what to do in this place and wish they just had a big sign saying “Dad sit here”. That would make life a lot easier. My wife shows up from the sample drive and sits on the table.
I do what any husband does in these situations. I start playing with all the machines and gadgets in the office. I pay for it, I should get the test drive. The most interesting piece is the massive koochie flashlight. It’s about knee high and has this snake like flashlight on it. At first I don’t know what the hell this is for but am thinking it would come in very handy in the garage. I ask my wife and she looks at me and starts laughing. That’s when it dawns on me that this thing has seen more tweeter than Mick Jagger. I immediately stop playing with it. There was a shadow puppet show that I was doing that suddenly had it’s last curtain call.
The rooms feels extremely small, almost claustrophobic. I’m a decent size dude and normally bump into a ton of things. I always have a random bruise but never much cared. Now it’s going to backfire.
I’m backing away from the vagina probe when I bump into the machine behind me. I move quickly and my arm scraps something gooey and very cold. I have no idea what this is but I’m pretty sure that it’s going to end badly. I turn around and there is this refridgerator sized thing with one large like finger. Oddly, this finger is glistening in something. What the hell is this? It looks like it was made on Planet Omacron.
My wife starts laughing so hard I think that she is going to give birth right now. I have no idea what is so funny but am running around looking for a paper towel. Through spurts of laughter, my wife tells me that it is the vaginal sonogram machine, the reason we are here today. OH. DEAR. LORD. I have just excited the VS and now I have goop on me.
I have never wanted to get out of a place so fast in my life. There is not a prison worse in the world than the small alien probing station at the OB/GYN office. This makes Thailand look like a resort spa. I can’t find any paper towels. This is a doctor’s office, there should be paper towels! I grab a handful of cotton balls to get the embarrassment juice off me. I am now a marked man. I am wearing the scarlet letter of the OB/GYN’s office. My wife can’t stop laughing, I can’t blame her. Apparently, they lube this thing up before probing my wife, very considerate I think. They just don’t tell Mr. Awkward husband.
That’s it, I’m done. No more jokes, no more nothing. I decide to stand right where I am at in military attention. Until I get the at ease sign, I’m not taking another step in this chamber of horror. I have no idea how my wife does this. I have no idea how so many people and things poke her and she doesn’t slug someone. It’s then that I realize how easy I have it. Cleaning, no problem, I’ll get on that, just don’t stick anything up my intestines.
The nurse comes in and I can’t take it anymore. “Where do I go?” I gasp in desperation. She points to a spot in the corner by the window. And that’s were I stay for the remainder of the trip. I’m not moving. The doctor comes in and starts making small talk with his head between my wife’s legs. Cut the chit-chat brother and let’s just lock it up. I don’t want to talk to anyone in that position.
The visit is over and we are free to leave as parole has been granted. I’m feeling great as I just got the first look at what would become my daughter. I know that I am to go through this again in March. I swear to god I will not touch anything and retreat to my happy place in the corner, by the nice window with the nice view.