Walking down a hall, the nurse handed her a plastic cup and said, “The bathroom is straight ahead, we'll need a sample.”
Thanks to the bathroom in the waiting room, Diana's bladder was empty. She had already taken at least ten pregnancy tests, why the need for another one? Did they have a better test than what was sold in the stores, and if so, why wasn't it offered to the public?
“Is it alright if I do this at the end? I don't think I can go right now.”
The nurse gave the okay and led her into the examination room. Inside there, the nurse grabbed some instruments off a table and began to run Diana through the gauntlet. She drew blood, measured height and weight, took blood pressure, and performed fifteen other tests in the span of fifteen seconds. It was quick and to the point, exactly how Diana preferred.
Handing over a clipboard and gown, the nurse said, “Slip this on and fill everything out on the form. Dr. Lincoln will be in shortly.”
Alone in the room, Diana proceeded to remove her heels, skirt, leggings, but stopped when it came to her top. There was no reason the doctor would need to see her topless. Doctor's offices are cold enough as it is. Why make yourself even more uncomfortable?
Next, Diana turned her attention to the clipboard. It started out easy enough - name, birth date, ethnicity, days since last period, allergies, health problems, if she ever visited the country Silsonia between 1967 and 1980. Page two was harder – previous surgeries, exposure to airborne pathogens, anyone she knew with hepatitis, partners with STDs. Page three was even harder – a family tree starting with her grandparents and any genetic health problems. Page four was impossible. It was exactly like page three except for Cale's family.
People actually knew this stuff? They knew whether their grandfather was allergic to peanuts or their aunt had a tendency to develop kidney stones?
A short while after Diana finished the questionnaire, Dr. Lincoln came in the room. She was an older woman who would've looked more appropriate at a craft show than a doctor's office. Warmly, she asked, “Ms. Young, how are you doing today?”
Diana reached over, shook her hand, and said, “Fine, thanks. I'm sorry, I couldn't fill out the information for my...boyfriend.12 He was supposed to be here.”
“That's quite alright, we can get the information later. How have you been doing so far?”
Dr. Lincoln was an old school, ‘my-patients-are-my-life’ type of doctor. To hell with billing stats, encounter rates, and procedure codes. She was in it to do no harm.
Glaring down at her watch, Diana said, “The morning sickness has been pretty unenjoyable, but everything else feels the same.”
“Things will change soon enough.” Dr. Lincoln replied with a smile as she wheeled up a chair. “If you don't have any other concerns at the moment, we can go ahead and begin. Go ahead and lie back. I'll be giving you a pap smear and a few other tests.”
Instruments were slid inside Diana that she did her best to ignore. She was poked and prodded, sprayed and scraped, measured and manhandled. Despite those descriptions, it was unenjoyable from start to finish.
As Diana felt another piece of cold steel enter her, Dr. Lincoln said, “Don't forget to see the receptionist before you leave. We'll need monthly visits for the next six months, then twice a month after that.”
Diana grew frustrated at this new obligation and the miserable experience it was bound to contain. She now had to set aside at least three hours every month for what would be labeled as torture in more civilized countries.
There was a knock at the door and Dr. Lincoln answered. The only thing Diana could hear from the whispering was, “Of course he can come in.” A second later, Cale walked in with ragged facial hair and eyes half closed.
“Sorry I'm late, I slept through...” Cale looked over at Diana propped up. His eyes shifted to half open and he announced energetically, “Now I'm really sorry I'm late. I promise both of you, especially you doctor, it'll never happen again.”
Dr. Lincoln took it as a heartfelt apology. “That's alright, dear. You can sit over there next to your girlfriend.”
Diana wasn't as understanding as Dr. Lincoln. She pointed to the clipboard lying on the counter and said the only words she could manage. “Fill out page four.”
Cale grabbed the clipboard, removed the pen cap with his teeth, and kept it in his mouth as he furiously wrote. Underneath Diana, Dr. Lincoln's voice resounded from inside the gown. “We'll call you with the results of your blood test in about a week or so.”
Cale asked, “What are you testing for?”
“We use it to check for things like anemia, syphilis, measles, hepatitis, and most importantly, the RH charge.” This was Dr. Lincoln’s favorite part of the job - enlightening husbands, or in this case, boyfriend, on the science, process, and effort of pregnancy.
Diana was barely listening as the doctor continued. “Everyone’s blood cells are either RH+ or RH-. If the mother and father have different charges, then you could miscarry because the mother’s body may produce antibodies to defend it against a foreign substance. It happens in about 15% of pregnancies.”
“We better check that then.” Cale replied. “This is one person who has no problem producing antibodies.”
Diana glared at Cale, noticing the clipboard sitting on his lap. There was a ‘–‘ on every field except for maternal grandfather, where he wrote ‘bald’. On further examination, there wasn’t a '-' on his mother’s section either. There was something hastily scribbled which Diana could not make out.
She wasn’t in the mood for him. Not the mockeries, jokes, or backhanded compliments. She was gearing up to tell him to leave, but was interrupted by the sudden jolt of fingers sliding into her.
“This is a bimanual internal exam,” Dr. Lincoln said. “It’s used to determine the size of your uterus and pelvis.”
Cale stood up and walked around to get a view of what was going on. He announced, “I’m not so sure that’s the correct name for this, Doc. I'd say it's a fifteen year old’s wet dream... just without the latex gloves.”
“Oh, that’s so funny,” The doctor giggled as she removed her fingers from Diana and slipped off the gloves. “You can let down your legs now, Ms. Young. We are almost through with the examination.”
Instead of sitting back up, Diana jumped down from the table and grabbed the plastic cup from the counter. She said to no one inparticular, “I’ll be back,” and left the room.
She was pissed.
There is this restaurant in Denver called Sympathy. There isn’t a single advertisement for it, most people have never heard of it, hell, it doesn't even have a sign to give away its location. The minimum meal costs $250 and patrons never call for reservations, their people do it for them. In order to get into Sympathy, one of three requirements must be met (usually they overlap).
1 Own an AMEX Black.
2 At least three servants and only one of them can be an illegal alien.
3 If you were to walk down any street in Denver, at least three people would recognize you.
Actually, there is a fourth condition that can get you into Sympathy, but only one person meets it. It’s simple, you just have to be Donald Dawkins.
Cale was wearing a suit with a gray tie and sitting across from his father, the type of man whose suave-nicitiy leads people to call his hair silver, not gray. Despite any semblance of fame that belonged to Cale, he wasn't exempt from Sympathy's dress code, or his father's orders. It was a white collar tragedy befalling a gray t-shirt man.
A waitress walked over carrying two gin martinis, which Donald Dawkins received, set them on the table, reached back, and held the waitresses hand like he was getting ready to propose. “Thank you, my dear. You've personally made this a memorable dinner.”
She laughed, but at the same time blushed. He turned back to Cale, raised his glass, and said, “Well sonny boy, it's been twenty-two years. Your mom was an incredible woman, and neither of us will ever again be lucky enough to have a woman like her
in our lives.”
They knocked their drinks back and stared at their glasses in a moment of silence. After a half-minute of quiet, Donald spoke first, “Although... I must say Diana was also quite the woman. It's a shame it didn't work with her. There is nothing better in the world than a confident, powerful woman.”
Another round of martinis came over as Cale said quietly, “We're back together.”
“Excellent! Here's to Diana!” More gin disappeared from their glasses. Setting his drink down and leaning forward, Donald seriously asked. “So... who do you like for the presidency this year?”
This was somewhat of a routine for them. Politics while drinking. Knowing he had to give an answer, Cale announced, “I'm gonna write in my own name.”
“One day you'll see the light and stop mocking politics. What do I always say? The two things that make the world go round are women and government.”
“Boy, the gays are really getting screwed in that deal.”
Donald shot Cale a look of amusement and finished his martini. Licking his lips, he spoke, “I've covered every president since Carter, that micro-brew loving bastard, and I've seen firsthand the type of weight men like that possess. They write history, push technology, influence economy... they're kings of the world. And you think those sculptures are important?”
“Everything is relative.”
Another set of drinks came, followed by more flirting with the waitress. Cale could only look away. He was used to his father's flirting, but felt uncomfortable with it happening on that particular day. Instead of being brutally honest with his feelings, he decided to be, well, brutally honest with his life.
“Dad, Diana is pregnant.”
Gracefully, Donald sent the waitress on her way so he could be alone with his son. He raised his glass one more time, and proclaimed, “With her practicality and your creativity, that kid is going to be one hell of a person. Congratulations, sonny boy. Your mother would be so proud of you right now.”
Cale looked away and downed half of his drink. Outside of the few martinis that were circulating around his bloodstream, there was no cause for why he asked, “Dad, was I planned?”
Donald laughed. “You remember that time Bush number one...”
“No politics.”
“You know, you are making it hard to give advice, but very well. Take Elvis for example. His death wasn't planned, but those familiar with his lifestyle knew it was a possibility. That was what happened with you. We knew there was a potential for your mother to become pregnant, but it’s not like we had a nursery decorated or a name picked out. You should be thankful your mom was crazy about JJ Cale. I wanted to call you Theodore.”
“You just compared my birth to death.”
Donald raised his hands to absolve the blame. “When this kid is born, you'll understand how appropriate that analogy is. So, I take it this pregnancy is a surprise?”
Cale finished his third drink and slid it to the edge of the table. “I was at Diana's drunk and miserable about losing the ability to sculpt.”
Puzzled by what this meant, Donald asked, “You lost the ability?”
“Yeah, I'm completely worthless now, but that can wait for later. So I was telling Diana this, and she started crying about how she missed out on having a family because of how much she works. I knew we both needed to do something dramatic with our lives, and this idea came to me. One night, no contraceptive, and if she gets pregnant, then I'll marry her. If she didn't get pregnant, than we would never see each other again.”
Donald Dawkins loved it. “Well that sounds like a planned pregnancy to me! Don't worry about this, there have been far worse situations resulting in pregnancies. This will be a good thing. I'm sure of it. You'll finally be forced to grow up and be responsible for another living person.”
Another round came, this time brought by two waitresses. They tried to start up a conversion with the father and son, but Cale sent them back to the kitchen.
Getting back to the topic at hand, Cale said, “I don't think responsible will happen. I can't escape who I am. How am I going to handle a child who is 100% dependent on me when I can barely take care of myself? Dad, I’m terrified of failing.”
“That's a common fear. I had it with you, that guy over there in the corner had it, the bartender had it, every man has it when it comes to their first child. You worry if you are going to be as good as your own father… or you worry that you are going be just as bad. But the wonderful thing about a child is that it changes you without you even realizing it. I’m excited for Diana changing as well. You know I love the girl, but she needs to cut back on her time at the office. Those eighty hour work weeks will not cut it with a baby. Now... let me tell you about my life before you were born.”
By the time their fifth drinks arrived, Cale had learned all about the sacrifices his father made, and it made him even more scared. His head was swimming in alcohol and self-doubt, and he knew he would never change, and neither would Diana. They were screwed.
The Young house was packed with family for what was a monthly tradition where Diana’s mother cooked for the entire family followed by someone storming out after a fight. Approximately one hour before the meal was to be served, the locations of each family member were as follows:
•Diana and her father, Benjamin: Solving a crossword puzzle in the living room
•Diana’s mother, Terri: In the kitchen and yelling at her father and brother in the dining room.
•Diana’s grandfather, Popa and Uncle Vick: Yelling back.
•Diana’s younger sister, Caitlyn and boyfriend (name unknown): Missing
•Diana’s younger brother, Jack and Cale: Playing video games in Jack’s room.
By far the quietest area was the living room, where Diana and Benjamin Young sat side by side with The Denver Post neatly folded in front of them. It was obvious they were father and daughter, not only from the red hair and slim build, but the way they worked on the puzzle. It was a competition to see who would get the most answers. Only at the very end when they exhausted their own ability would they come together to finish.
“Damn, the Braves!” Diana shouted. “I should've gotten that. Nice one, Daddy.”
It was funny to hear 'daddy' come from such a formal, professional woman, but Diana's father was different than any other man in her life. He was someone who was always smarter, stronger, more patient, and most importantly, held unconditional love for her no matter how bossy she was as a little girl - or a grown woman.
“I'm surprised you didn't get that considering it was a baseball question. How many Rockies games did you go to last year?”
“Only five or six. I was too busy with work. If you want, Daddy, I can get a pair of tickets for us to go next year? It's probably been ten years since the last time we went. Do you remember that time I caught the foul ball?” Diana asked. She may have been an adult woman, but around Benjamin Young, she was always a little girl trying her hardest to impress her dad.
Benjamin gave a laugh only capable by a man wearing a cardigan. A laugh that proves the notion that it takes far fewer muscles to smile than frown. Sure, reading glasses may help with the look, but the cardigan is what seals the deal. “I remember how you talked the entire way home about wanting to play baseball with the boys. You detested the idea of softball.”
“I was a good baseball player too! If the season didn't overlap track, I could've played on the high school team.”
“You made the right decision. Team sports were always hard for you.”
“That's not true!”
“What about the time you started crying when that boy stole the pop up from you and he ended up dropping it? I had to carry you to the van because you wouldn't calm down.”
“I barely remember that. What was I? Like nine years old?” Actually, she remembered it perfectly. She remembered the scene at the game, the destructive aftermath, her fury, and subsequent embarrassment. It was one of those childhood moments that seems monumenta
l and impossible to overcome at that age, but once you reach adulthood, it becomes minuscule. Yet for some reason or another, that traumatic feeling never goes away entirely.13
In her head, the image of her father gently carrying her to their van as she kicked and screamed wouldn’t go away. Would he still try to take care of her after she revealed the pregnancy? With the announcement, she would no longer be his little girl.
“I’ll tell you all this, for the rest of the short time I have left, I will never go North of 26. The place is overrun with Mexicans. I can’t stand the sight of it.” Diana's grandfather, Popa said reinforcing the notion that every white family in America has at least one relative who lived during the cold war and simply replaced the color ‘red’ with ‘brown’ after it was over.
“Oh, Dad, stop that.” Terri Young said in an attempt to keep things civil. “Diana, did you hear that Angie Warwick is pregnant? With twins? Mary is almost beside herself at the thought of grandchildren. She’s so lucky.”
It was Uncle Vick who took it upon himself to bring the conversation back to what he thought mattered. “Stop trying to change the subject, Terri, what dad says is true. Dallas and Phoenix have this deal where they are bussing all their inmates out of overcrowded prisons in exchange for them staying in Denver. I read about it on the internet.”
But Diana was quick to prove how right she was and how wrong they were. “You're reading garbage, Uncle Vick. That's not even legal.”
Uncle Vick shot back, “You think those city commissioners care whether it’s legal or not? If their city gets better, they get reelected. That’s all they care about. Cale, your dad still covers politics, doesn’t he?” Cale nodded. “Then I’m sure he’s told you plenty of times how things work in government.”
Besides his usual indifference to politics, Cale was too busy worrying over the sacrifices his father had listed at their dinner to be involved in the conversation with Diana's family. So he lied, “Dad hates to talk about politics outside of work.”
A Pact For Life Page 8