ZERO BEDSIDE MANNER

Last Thursday I had an ultrasound (and I know I already said this) it was totally incredible. For the duration of the procedure we were completely spellbound. When it was over we were made to sit in a little room and wait for the doctor to arrive. Thirty plus minutes later she came in and sat down and said in this I've-had-a-long-day-tone-of-voice: Blah blah blah blah blah and your baby might had a heart defect.

What? I mean, What!?

Our mouths dropped open. How can you tell us this thing, that looked so perfect just moments ago, be damaged? How can you deliver this news with such careless nonchalance? I couldn't speak without stuttering. She asked us if we had any questions. I stared at my hands in my lap tried my damnedest not to erupt in sobs and mumbled something incoherent about having millions of questions.

The doctor, at this points I thought, a possible cyborg, sensed our anxiety. She tried to reassure us by telling us about another patient, almost full term, who has a baby with the same heart deformation and the baby's cardiologists aren't even planning to be present during the delivery. Like that was supposed to cheer us up. Oh, so you're saying our child might not have to endure heart surgery right after it's born? That's fucking great news! That's the best fucking news I've heard all fucking day! Isn't that great news, honey? What I wanted to say was: I don't want my newborn to have a cardiologist!

Of course, I didn't say any of those things. But the words must have been etched on my face because her next question was, "Are you going to be okay?"

Hmmh? Who me? Oh, I'm going to be fine. I returned to school because I had to teach one more math class. I delivered the world's most manic and irate lectured about cylinders and then I told them to hush up and do their homework. And for Christ sakes, don't bug me.

That was last Thursday. And then on Saturday we were involved in the car accident. Bad luck, it seemed, was raining down all around us.

And so. After many nail biting minutes spent on the telephone earlier this week, I was able to arrange a level two ultrasound at a nearby hospital, as their ultrasound equipment is far more sophisticated than the shit at my clinic. They checked everything. And? The baby's heart is perfectly normal. The child is perfectly normal. And I am the Happiest Person on the planet.