She shrugs. “First come, first serve. You know, most practices book ultrasounds in the morning, but for some reason this amazing place books at night. Super fun times,” she says sarcastically.
The nurse holding open the door to the back taps her foot. “Doctor’s waiting,” she calls.
“We could race,” Josh says to me. “I bet we’re faster.”
This is ridiculous.
The woman in gold has gathered up her purse. Her husband is in workout clothes and has arms that are veiny and almost as big as my mom’s annual Christmas ham. I’m not sure we could beat them.
Plus, I think the woman has the same reaction to the hormones as Brook. It’s entirely possible she has a fork in her purse and she’s waiting for an excuse to stab someone.
“Nah. Let them go, we’ll go next. Besides, you have to pick your battles. Some just aren’t worth fighting.”
Josh and I sit back down, this time closer to the door to the back. I stare at the Georgia O’Keeffe painting and tap my foot. My stomach growls.
“Hungry?”
“No.” Because if I ignore the hunger, maybe it’ll go away.
My stomach growls again.
Josh snorts, then he digs through his pocket and pulls out a bar of chocolate. “Here. I saw it earlier today and thought of you.”
I take the bar, it’s dark chocolate with lime zest. My eyes widen and my mouth starts to water. How have I never heard of this? “Josh Lewenthal. You are my hero.”
He chuckles and leans back in his seat. “That’s what they all say.”
I’d roll my eyes at him, but I’m too busy stuffing my face with the most delicious chocolate bar I’ve ever eaten. Between mouthfuls, I manage to say, “Who needs vibrating phones when you have lime-flavored chocolate?”
Josh chokes back a laugh as the door to the back opens and the nurse calls for the next patient in line.
Dr. Ingraham hurries into the room and starts the ultrasound with no preamble. His round bald head is cherry red and a little sweaty, he looks harried, probably from the end-of-day ultrasound free-for-all.
By now, I know what to expect, and there aren’t any surprises. As Dr. Ingraham studies my follicles I look over at Josh.
“How you doing?” Josh whispers.
I give him a grateful smile. “Good. You still feeling inadequate compared to you know what?” I nod in the ultrasound’s direction.
He raises his eyebrows, then, “Nah. Now that I’ve got phones and chocolate in my arsenal I’m unbeatable.”
I snort and shake my head. Then I look back at the ultrasound machine. I can see some blurred images on the monitor, but I can’t really make out what I’m looking at. Dr. Ingraham clicks around and makes a few satisfied noises as he studies the image.
I press my feet into the stirrups, smooth down the paper gown and try not to shiver from the chill of the cold room air.
Finally, Dr. Ingraham clears his throat. “Well, good news, Gemma.”
“Yes?” I perk up, then smile over at Josh.
Dr. Ingraham nods. “Very good news. Your ultrasound looks like a kid’s Easter basket.”
“Uh, what?” I ask, completely confused.
“So many eggs.”
“Wow.” Josh coughs into his hand and says, “Wow. That’s egg-cellent, doc.”
Dr. Ingraham chuckles. “Good man. I’ve always wanted to use that joke.”
I look at Josh and mouth, “Are you kidding?”
He grins at me, completely unrepentant.
“How many eggs are there?” I ask.
Dr. Ingraham frowns. “Well, I’d count them, but I’d rather wait until they hatch.”
Josh snorts and then covers it with a cough.
“Have you considered stand-up?” Josh asks.
Unbelievable.
“No. No. I find humor breaks the tension of medical procedures. Don’t you agree?”
“Not really,” I say, but then I feel sort of bad, because Dr. Ingraham looks like a sad French bulldog that I just beat with a rolled-up newspaper. “I mean, yeah, it totally does. Egg-ceptionally so.”
I send Josh a pleading look, so he puts on his serious expression and turns to Dr. Ingraham. “Right. As much as we love humor, could you give us a little more info?”
Dr. Ingraham starts to shut down the ultrasound. He clears his throat and transforms back into his serious medical persona. “Well, Gemma, it looks like your follicles are growing nicely. At this stage, if left unchecked your follicles will ovulate, so we need to start the antagonist today. This medication blocks ovulation but also may slow down the growth of the follicles so you should increase your dose of the hMG to compensate for that. Alright?”
I nod. Then I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the exam table. Dr. Ingraham has finished the ultrasound, and I’m ready to get dressed and go get a real dinner. And possibly another lime chocolate bar.
I’m at Joy’s desk in the reception area, waiting for my patient instruction print outs, when I hear a shriek of outrage. I turn around and see the tall women in the gold unitard.
“You…you…” Her face twists from shock to anger and back to shock. She holds up her cell phone. On the display there are a series of medical test results. “You gave me an STD!”
My mouth drops open. I glance over at Josh. He shakes his head and nods for me to back closer to Joy’s desk.
“You turdy little rat, what does this say? What does my phone say? This says you dipped your prick somewhere nasty and gave me a disease. I’ll kill you. I will kill you,” she shrieks. I’m really glad I didn’t stand up to her before, because when she’s mad, she’s scary.
“I didn’t, I didn’t do it—” Her husband holds up his hands.
The lady yanks off a high heel and chucks it at him. He ducks and it hits the wall, punching a hole in the plaster.
“Oof, that hurts,” Josh says.
The lady pulls off her other shoe and slings it at her husband. “You think you can reach into any old cookie jar?” The shoe flies through the air and hits her husband in the gut. He lets out a yelp and bends down.
“I didn’t do it,” he yells.
“Oh yeah? Yeah? Prove it,” the woman snaps. She lifts her handbag, and I’m assuming she’s about to thwack him with it.
“’Cause I don’t have an STD,” he shouts.
The woman stops. Her purse is suspended in midair.
“Well, that does prove it,” Josh says.