How I Might Have Derailed Dr. McSteamy's Medical Career

“You’ll be seeing a medical student. You can leave your urine sample now.”

It’s a teaching hospital, and as the saying goes, this is not my first rodeo. I fully expect to see medical students (or have them see me) occasionally. I once had a newbie ask if my infant had been complaining of muscle pain or headaches. To which I responded, “He doesn’t speak or have control of his limbs, yet, so…” A attending doctor entered the room and finished my answer, “No. We don’t ask that of babies.” I’m a mom and a teacher. I wanted to put a reassuring hand on the student’s shoulder, but my baby was wailing, so I just smiled a smile that I hoped said, “No problem. It’ll get easier.”

When the door to the exam room opened this time, I was ready for the clipboard and the questions. What I was not ready for, was a guy running a close second to one of the “McSteamy” or “McDreamy” characters on Grey’s Anatomy. Oh. Good.

“I just have a few questions,” he smiled.

“Great,” I answered, my voice rising several octaves. Get a hold of yourself.

It’s not that he was tall, dark and handsome with a flawless complexion and adorable smile that made my pulse quicken… it wasn’t that he told me I seemed to be “looking good and doing well” (observations he made because I was able to stand up from my chair and hoist myself onto the exam table without help)… it wasn’t even that he confirmed I’m Strep B positive again, (whatever, discussions about bacteria partying in the land down under is practically a first date conversation for some people… _probably_). Those weren’t the reasons my heart beat a little faster when he rested the stethoscope against my chest (I’m sure had I turned that stethoscope on him, my radiant 9-month pregnant form would have had the same effect on him… _obviously_).

No. It wasn’t those things. It was that I knew, in a few short minutes, this dreamy, bright-eyed medical student and I would come face to… actually “face” is not the right word here… face to hooha. I hoped he wasn’t a virgin – not the kind of virgin who hadn’t had a romp in the sack – a virgin to 9-month pregnant lady parts… 9-month pregnant lady parts preparing to push a fourth human being into the world.

I’m sure he read about the increase in blood volume in pregnant women. Certainly someone told him that things might look a bit different; that it’s not only the abdomen that swells to something unrecognizable. Surely someone prepared him.

I mean it’s not that I know for sure what my not-so-delicate-flower looks like these days. I haven’t seen it for weeks. But I have a hunch it wouldn’t inspire poetry.

I talk too much when I’m nervous, so when the doctor came in and told me to let my knees fall “all the way open,” I motioned to the med student in the corner of the room, “Have you ever done one of these before?” Cripes. “Checked someone’s cervix, I mean?”

At least my embarrassing chatter forced some of that extra blood into my cheeks.

“We can close the curtain,” the doctor answered.

I nervously laughed, “No. No. I just don’t want to traumatize anyone.” Seriously, Em. Shut up.

It was true, though. I didn’t want to be single-handedly, or single-vagedly (it’s shocking this is not a word) responsible for changing the course of this man’s career. I hoped this seraphic med student hadn’t glossed over the pictures in his anatomy books and was only now seeing for the first time, in high definition, the miracle of a woman’s body preparing for childbirth.

I also hoped the doctor’s body was a shield, and that the third year medical student saw nothing except my freshly shorn knees.

“Almost 4,” the doctor smiled.

I sat up trying not to look like an upside-down turtle trying to right herself.

Almost 4!

Everyone left the room.

I wrestled with my pants and waddled to the reception desk. While I scheduled my last prenatal visit, I hoped that somewhere down the hall a young medical student wasn’t canceling the rest of his.

Emily Gallo was a career woman, MOMMY! in the pedagogical conversation, MOM! with her hand on the pulse of culture & art. MAHMEEE! Now she knows what’s really important. WIPE ME! Emily finishes her conversations at Girl, Always Interrupted – The Rest of the Conversation. (formerly fourtuitous.com). You can also find her on Twitter and on Facebook._