The day after the little pee-strip brandished two pink lines, I was (understandably) nervous. I have a healthy hatred for hospitals and a mortal fear of Gynecologists. In the last one year I've had plenty occasion to be at the hospital, thanks to dad and dad-in-law taking turns falling sick. This had somewhat dulled my loathing and I had even worked up a grudging respect for the institution. Gynecologist is a whole other matter though. My only interaction with a gynae in India had been after a general physical annual three years ago at Delhi's famous Apollo Hospital. To cut a rather infuriating and long story short, the Gyne there, having found nothing wrong with my insides proceeded to give me a long and insulting lecture on why I should be having babies. To her there was nothing more shameful than a woman married for so long with no babies to show for it! She also promptly gave me a business card for her private clinic in Noida, should I decide to get some sense in my head and pro-assoonaspossible-create. Why I sat and heard the hogwash and got insulted by the B*&^*% is a whole other psychological study in my latent issues with authority figures, but I steered clear of Gynaes since.
My search for a Gynecologist this time meant that I called the nearest big private hospital (the one tried, tested and approved by the dads) and asked for the credentials of doctors. After being told by the receptionist, that they don't know or maintain records of the qualifications of their doctors(!!), I did the next logical thing and asked for the Head of the Department. Fortunately got an appointment for the next day and showed up with M in tow.
After payment and other formalities, I was directed to the Nurse's room next to the Doctor's OPD room. A young nurse from the north-east, busy and officious, grabbed the appointment sheet from my hands and directed me to take off my shoes and stand on the weighing scale. When I am nervous, I smile a lot and become more friendly than I normally am. In other words, when I am feeling vulnerable, I make myself even more vulnerable by seeming more approachable. Warped, I know.
Nurse: How many month you have?
Me (coyly): Dont know. I ..well...er... just found out.
Nurse:(Points to my tond) NOOO NOO you muss have 5-6 month!
Me: No no. This I always have.
Nurse: Ok. Fuss baby?
Me:(coyly) Yes
Nurse: (pointing to tond) No NO.. This - from fuss baby?
Me: No baby.
Nurse: You no pregnant! (big eyes!)
In the months that followed many such funnies struck me in the gut. Same place, where I carried a few extra kilos, just for fun.
