Page 120 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
And after seeing Rose slide her naked butt down to the edge of an exam tableinchesfrom the gynecologist’s face, then put her feet in stirrups with her knees splayed with only a thin paper sheet to cover her all so the doctor can stick a large metal speculum that actuallycranksinto her vagina so that she cantheninsert a pair of scissor forceps to remove a shifted, and therefore ineffective, birth control device, I’ve learned the only safe place is up.
If I ever complain about my yearly turn-and-cough exam again, I won’t consider myself any kind of man.
“This shouldn’t hurt.” Dr. Barrios rolls her stool over to the side and grabs what looks like a long white dildo attached to a computer on wheels. “But it might be a bit uncomfortable since I just removed the IUD.” The thing is at least twelve inches long with a slightly bulbous head.
I’m vaguely threatened.
Rose must think the same ’cause she snickers.
The dildo, which is some sort of sonogram tool, gets covered with a plastic sleeve and coated in lube.
No joke.
Rose shifts on the paper when the doctor probes her while I hold her hand, which is all I’ve been able to do since we entered the room. I get it why women always joke about men being useless.
Whomp, whomp, whompsounds from the machine.
Rose gasps.
Whomp, whomp, whomp.
I chance a glance at the doctor. “Is that…?”
“The heartbeat?” Dr. Barrios nods with a small grin at our expressions. “Yes, it is.” She holds up her watch arm, probably counting the beats per second.
Pinpricks of light twinkle at the edge of my vision. I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for the verdict.
“One hundred and twelve.” The doctor’s smile grows wider. “Perfect.”
Rose and I both slump forward. I squeeze her hand, sharing a look of relief.
The computer screen divides into four quadrants as the doctor clicks the dildo still inside Rose. “There it is.” Dr. Barrios points with her non-dildo holding hand to the screen.
Rose frowns at the dark circles in each of the four photos. “That blob?” Her disappointment is cute.
“Yes, it’s too early for what you’re probably thinking—the head, arms, and legs aren’t discernible yet.” She pulls her arm back, the sonogram wand sliding out and glistening in the light.
My eyes snap to the ceiling again.
“However”—out of the corner of my eye, I see the doctor point to the white static surrounding the darker shape—"this is the uterus, and that ‘blob’ is in the perfect position to grow into a healthy baby.”
I lower my eyes down to Rose, who’s beaming.
“But then again, not much of a surprise seeing as it would take a real fighter to get past a condomandIUD. Even if the IUD had partially slipped into the cervix.”
I squeeze Rose’s hand, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride at the doctor’s words. Rose must pick up on it because she rolls her eyes at me. But she’s still smiling when she does it.
When Dr. Barrios unsheathes the sonogram wand and puts it back in place by the monitor, I feel more confident about looking directly at the screen. After washing her hands, she pulls herself up to the sonogram machine again. “Let’s get a few measurements, shall we?” A few clicks, this time with a mouse and keyboard, and small white cross hatches surround the smaller circle on the screen. Our baby.
“Twenty-one millimeters puts you at about seven weeks.” With a press of a button, the four pictures print out as if from a large, slightly pornographic, Polaroid camera.
She hands the pictures to Rose, who gazes at them unblinkingly.
Dr. Barrios rolls back and grabs her iPhone off the counter. “So according to my good old pregnancy calculator”—she holds up the phone and wiggles it before tapping on it—"that puts your due date at August eighth.”
August eighth. Fuck.
I try for nonchalance. “How accurate is that?”
