His Baby

Chapter 1

Melissa

“Bye Mr. Thurman,” I call as the elderly man dodders out the door. “Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll see you again soon.”

The white-haired man staggers a bit, leaning heavily on his cane but he doesn’t even bother to turn around. He just waves a hand backwards at me, as if shooing away an annoying fly.

And I don’t blame Mr. Thurman because I just gave the seventy year-old a prostate exam. It’s not exactly anyone’s idea of a good time. I’m literally putting a finger into a guy’s behind and feeling around back there. Who would want that? But it’s a medical necessity, and the exam is recommended for men above age forty depending on risk factors. It’s my job to make sure that everything goes off without a hitch.

So I try to be sensitive about the test. I’m respectful and professional, and try not to snap the rubber gloves when I put them on. Instead, I’m discreet and wear a white lab coat to signal that I am a doctor and we are conducting a serious medical exam. Take a deep breath, relax, and it’ll be over soon.

And they go off without a hitch for the most part. After all, I’ve done thousands of prostate exams by now, even though I’ve only been in practice for a few years. It’s my business as a urologist after all. Guys come in, drop their pants, and bend over. And then I go about my business and poof! We’re done in thirty seconds, sometimes even less. No biggie.

But let’s be honest – it’s not exactly a fun time. You literally have someone else’s finger in your most sensitive spot, although I’m always careful to douse myself with lube. Thus, Mr. Thurman’s refusal to look at me once we were done. I was a bad memory, something to be revisited only every two years. My name and number would be forgotten until the alarm chirped on his phone once again.

I sighed, leaning back as Leonie popped her head in. She’s a fellow urologist, and we opened up this practice together after finishing our residencies.

“How’d it go with that one?” she asks sympathetically.

I shrug ruefully.

“Not bad. He didn’t like it, but then they usually don’t.”

Leonie laughs a little.

“Yeah tell me about it. I just had a big black guy come in for his first exam, and when he saw me putting on my gloves, the guy started hyperventilating. Like tears in his eyes panic, I thought he was going to pass out.”

I giggle a little too. Thank god the patients can’t see us now because it’s unprofessional to laugh at their nervousness. But at the same time, the thought of a huge black guy unnerved by tiny blonde Leonie? You have to admit, it’s hysterical in some ways.

My fellow doctor rolls her eyes again.

“Yeah, he was freaked out,” she recounts. “It was like there was a bee in the office. Suddenly he starts darting his head this way and that, although my finger wasn’t even in him yet.”

I choke back another giggle.

“Well, it’s better than the guy who vomited when I put on my gloves,” are my rueful words. “Remember? It smelled so bad for an entire day even though we used that industrial cleaner stuff.”

Leonie makes a funny face.

“Yeah, because he forgot to aim for the trash can. God. Someone should tell him next time. That was a clusterfuck for sure.”

And I try to suppress another giggle. I shouldn’t laugh. After all, urology is our profession and we are real-life doctors who screen people for cancer. Both Leonie and I have multiple advanced degrees, not to mention years of training. But still, the ridiculousness about our situation sometimes just gets to me. Bumble bees? Big black guys freaking out at the prospect of our finger? Men walking with an exaggerated limp after leaving our office? It’s hysterical, you have to admit. Besides, it’s good to laugh now and then. Disease and illness aren’t exactly uplifting subjects, and it’s nice to see the lighter side of things occasionally.

So I turn back to my friend.

“Who’s next?” I ask wryly. “Another upchucker or another guy who can’t look me in the eye once it’s over?”

Leonie grabs the clipboard from its plastic rack by the side of the door.

“Hmm, very interesting. A new patient. Only forty,” she says, scanning the chart. “But it says here that he inquired about an exam because of risk factors in his family.”

Both of us grow quiet for a moment because despite the fact that we giggle and laugh like teenage girls sometimes, prostate cancer is real. It’s the second leading cause of death among men ages sixty and over, and many hospitals have developed advanced protocols to follow when addressing this incipient disease. Prostate cancer takes our husbands, fathers and sons all too often, and I can’t help but feel like I have an important role in its early detection and treatment.