I hurried north to the medical offices on West 57th Street in Midtown for my last two tests - the pregnancy test and dreaded pap smear. The receptionist gave me new patient paperwork to fill out. I quickly completed it but skipped some details that didn’t seem relevant for a one-time exam.
While I waited, I called Amber. “You will be happy to hear I’m getting all the tests done today. The results should be ready today or tomorrow.” But I was still annoyed and hoped it came through. “Is it possible to switch my last port from Hong Kong? Or get off at a port before Hong Kong?”
“You can ask the captain when you board. But your return flight will be booked via Hong Kong. You’ll have to get there eventually.”
I sighed and hung up. At least I could tell Robert and Chee I tried.
I was about to call Jackson when my phone rang. Charlie called from London to confirm our plans for Saturday.
“Sorry. I can’t go. The travel agency found a cruise. I’m leaving on Friday.”
“Already on Friday? How long will you be gone?”
“About two months. I’ll be back after New Year’s.”
“What? You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“No, I’m serious.” I grinned. Serves Charlie right. “It’s on an old sailing ship, so it takes a while for to get to Asia from Denmark.”
“I’d say. Excuse me a sec, Kat.”
He was talking to someone and shouted. “This is an important call. That can wait.”
“Sorry, Kat. One of our deals got snagged up. Things are crazy here.”
He cleared his throat. “But I won’t get to see you for two long months.”
“I know, but this is a great opportunity and perfect timing for me. I can’t pass it up. We’ll go out when I get back.” While I’m gone, he could finalize his divorce and possibly learn how to be a nicer person.
“Yeah. Well, I’ve got to go. Sorry. I’ll call you later.”
Charlie hung up not waiting for me to say goodbye. What is it with people not exchanging a polite goodbye before hanging up? But I was relieved. He wasn’t the right guy, so better to end it now.
“Nip it in the bud,” as Darlene would say. I wasn’t a client, or a deal Charlie needed to chase and close.
Matteo poked his head into the waiting room and gave me a quick air kiss on both cheeks. “Not much longer.”
I dialed Jackson’s phone number when a nurse asked me to follow her, so I hung up. She escorted me to a bathroom and handed me a small test tube with my name on it. Plastic cups were available for the fun task of pouring my urine sample into a test tube. I’d done this before but not for a pregnancy test. Such a waste of time but at least painless.
When I left the bathroom, she showed me the examination room across the hall and handed me a paper gown to put on. “Everything off, opening to the front, and the doctor should be with you in a moment.”
I was in the typical exam room with the chair-bed and stirrups and wondered if she would do the examination. I preferred a female gynecologist but wasn’t going to quibble. This exam had to be done today.
I undressed and put on the flimsy paper gown. But I knew about those ‘moments’ in a doctor’s office. Nothing ever was a moment except for undressing and re-dressing. Last time, I waited about an hour in a room like this, so I might as well be productive.
I took out my phone again and called Jackson. We exchanged pleasantries for about five seconds. He was busy but said he was glad to hear from me. When I mentioned being in Hong Kong in January for few days, his tone changed from friendly to guarded.
“Kat, I’m not comfortable talking over a phone. Can we meet at the usual place? And if I’m not carrying my usual, stay away. Say around 10:30 tomorrow morning?”
Matteo knocked and opened the door. I felt odd being naked under the paper gown but raised my index finger, the universal sign to wait a second.
I told Jackson I’d be there, disconnected, and wrote a reminder: 10:30, Union Square, pizza box. Jackson wouldn’t want me to write this down, but with all the stuff going on, I was afraid I’d forget it.
I apologized to Matteo. “Sorry. More logistics. This trip better be worth it.”
“No problem Kat. Going away for two months. Better to be sure.”
He must think it’s all about the medical stuff. He had no idea. He wore a white doctor jacket and held a clipboard. Not at all like Zorro, this was a serious, official-looking Matteo. He surprised me by shutting the door and sitting down.
“When’s the doctor coming? The gynecologist.”
“That’s me.”
“You? But you aren’t a GYN. You’re doing research into addiction.”
“I’m a trained doctor. All the other doctors are busy. If you want this done today, I need to do it.”
This was so unexpected. I took a deep breath and couldn’t help exhaling loudly in surprise.
“Kat, is this a problem?”
“Well, it’s a bit weird. Don’t you think?” Not wanting to admit it, but I kissed him romantically Sunday night. And here he was about to do a very personal exam. About as personal as it gets for a woman.
“No, it’s the human body, and I’ve examined hundreds.”
“I guess you’re right. Okay, I’m ready.” I wasn’t going to let this test snag my trip.
Matteo had my paperwork and went over a series of questions. He asked about things I’d not bothered to fill out. If he continued being so thorough, he’d never finish this exam or for that matter his research.
He reminded me of how sometimes internal auditors got overwhelmed planning an audit. They spent days, sometimes weeks, doing research. Then the time budget was used on planning, so the actual audit testing and fieldwork were rushed. Problems weren’t found, and the review was shoddy.
Matteo asked me about my last period, and I tried to remember approximately when that was. “About a month ago, I think. I’m 47. Starting menopause.”
He stopped to look at me. “That would be early. Typically, at fifty menstruation ends, and then a year later it’s official.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s fine with me.” Not having children was deliberate. Being pregnant would hurt my back and create serious issues with sciatica. Axel and I agreed on no kids from the beginning. I still didn’t regret it, even with him gone. I would be an awful mother since I just wasn’t interested and didn’t have the time.
“Did you stop using birth control? You didn’t mention anything here.”
How much does he need to know? But I should appease him. “I stopped about ten years ago when my husband had a vasectomy. We’d heard about the side effects from the pill, and we didn’t want kids.”
“Oh, I see.”
But he didn’t. He wore an impassive doctor mask. He was the macho type who would never have a vasectomy. He probably wants a big family or has some kids. I knew so little about him, and his life back in Italy.
I’d had unprotected sex with Greg last night. He didn’t have a condom or couldn’t find one. I hadn’t worried about it, and he didn’t climax, so I couldn’t get pregnant. Since Dr. Matteo wasn’t shy about asking me all these personal questions, why not ask the professional?
“Do you think I need to take birth control?” I hadn’t needed it before. I was a wife who never strayed, despite having some uncomfortable offers. At work, women were outnumbered, and some of the men wanted to prove themselves. But after last night and if I started dating more, maybe I should.
“At your age, the odds you could get pregnant are slight. You have fewer eggs now, and they often contain chromosomal abnormalities.”
Abnormalities? As in Abby Normal in the film Young Frankenstein? I grinned remembering one of Axel’s favorites movies. “But what about the women you hear about in their fifties, even sixties, who are pregnant?”
“Are you worried about getting pregnant?”
“Not really, but you hear about it.”
“Like I said, your chances are insignificant and less than one percent. Pregnancies over forty were from donor eggs, either their own or from someone else. The best time for a pregnancy is in your twenties or early thirties.”
So that explains it. And now, the inevitable, not-so-fun part, was beginning. Matteo lay a sheet over my waist and legs and asked me to slide down on my back to the edge and put my feet in the stirrups. Exactly what all my gynecologists told me to do over the past twenty years. But this was unnerving.
“What happened here?” He traced with his finger a small area near my right hip. I had a four-inch scar on my lower right side that the surgeon placed below my bikini line. Not that it mattered, I was in so much pain I wasn’t debating where he made an incision.
“I had an appendectomy about twenty years ago.”
“You didn’t mention it on your form under surgeries.”
“Oh, I forgot.” To be more transparent and honest, I added, “They thought I had appendicitis. But it wasn’t. It might have been a kidney stone.”
“Poor Kat, that’s painful. I’ve heard it’s like being in labor non-stop.”
“Yeah. Nothing I’d want to go through again.”
Matteo warned me about the cold metal speculum to collect skin cells or whatever for the test. “I’ll follow it with my finger.” At least it was quick and painless.
He asked if he should do a rectal exam.
In a full state of panic, I answered quickly, “No, thank you.”
“Fine. It’s part of the examination, but not necessary for this request.”
I peered up at him, and he referred to his notebook perhaps following a list of what to do.
“I assume you don’t want a breast exam to screen for cancer.”
“Nope, thanks. Good there too.”
He smiled, and our eyes met. “You are taking some of the fun out of this, Kat.”
If he expected me to laugh, I couldn’t. Being in this position was the worst. The exam must be over. I pushed back with my feet and sat up trying not to rip the paper gown covering the last bit of dignity I had left.
“All done?”
“Yes, unless you have any other requests?”
Was he dense or something? I didn’t need or want anything else except to get dressed and home. Even if he was the most attractive gynecologist on the planet. “I’m good. When should the results be ready?”
I slid off the examination table and reached down to pick up my clothes while holding my paper gown together.
“Either later today or tomorrow morning. Do you want to wait until they are ready?”
“No, tomorrow works fine. I’ll get dressed now.”
He stood there waiting as if I would do this in front of him. I may be quick but not that fast, and I needed my privacy after that exam. “Dr. Matteo, how much do I owe you for this?”
“Nothing. How do you say, it’s ‘on the house’? But I have a request. Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Tonight?” But it was Wednesday and my three-hour workout marathon. I checked my watch. If I got out in the next fifteen minutes, I might make my kick-boxing and sword fighting classes. The third-class was weights but that I could skip.
He waited, and I knew it was lame, even rude, to say I had a date with my Romanian gym instructor to push me past my limit for three hours.
“Can we meet later? Around nine p.m.? I have some gym classes tonight. My last chance for a while.”
“Nine is perfect Italian time. Ciao.”
As soon as he left, I scrambled into my clothes and out the door in about two seconds.
~ ~ ~
Matteo’s choice for dinner was a combination upscale Italian delicatessen and restaurant nearby on Amsterdam Avenue. The waiter greeted us speaking Italian with Matteo. We were seating in a secluded and romantic nook with the deli counter only a few feet away.
I’d been here before, but tonight with an attractive Italian was different. I didn’t want to think about it being another date and swigged down my first glass of red wine to calm my nerves.
We looked at our menus, and Matteo asked, “What would you like?”
I would usually study the line-up and make my decision. But after rushing around all day and my two-hour gym workout, I was worn out. It was nearly ten p.m., and I’d be in bed watching TV exhausted and eating dinner. “Why don’t you order? I’m sure I’ll like it all.”
I leaned back against the padded bench and let the ambiance of the darkened restaurant cover me anticipating the culinary surprises. I wanted to imagine being on vacation in Italy.
This restaurant didn’t serve typical bowls of pasta but individual small plates of Italian delicacies, like Spanish tapas. We feasted on never ending dishes of feather light carpaccio, fritto misto, grilled radicchio, cheeses, seafood, and meats. I sampled everything placed before us, and it slid down my throat with the gentle push of a red Chianti.
We finished with a cupful of blood orange panna cotta accompanied by an Italian dessert wine called Vin Santo, the Saint’s wine in English. Matteo, the good Catholic, made the sign of the cross before drinking it, and I did too. If Matteo had asked me to convert then and there, I probably would have after this heavenly meal.