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.
I look over at him, and hiss, “Shhhhh.”
Because before this moment, the couple hadn’t noticed that we were in the waiting room with them. In fact, before this moment, I imagine they thought they were alone. It’s just Josh and me at Joy’s desk, and them.
But now, the tall lady and the ham-armed husband look over at us.
I squeak and shake my head. “Uh, ummm.” Yeah, I’ve got nothing.
The husband takes us in, the unwilling audience.
“You’ve been with your boy toy again,” he says.
Ms. Unitard scowls at him. “He’s not a boy toy. He’s a man.”
She looks back at Josh, and darn it, if there had been one occasion in his entire life not to use the I’m-Josh-Lewenthal-and-I’m-a-suave-lady’s-man smile, this would’ve been it.