Page 59 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“That monstrosity is going inside me?” I squeak.
Melinda nods. “It is! Isn’t that exciting?”
I look at Bacon for help. He places his hands on my shoulders and jokes with Melinda, who is still wielding this massive tool in my direction. “Transvaginal, huh?”
“Great word, right?” She giggles.
“For sure. Great word. Though, doesn’t transvaginal sound like Colleen’s lady parts are about to take the trip of a lifetime?”
“Well, they are!” Melinda beams. “Childbirth will spread Colleen’s vagina’s horizons further than she ever dreamed possible.”
“Alright,” I say, reaching for my pants. “I’m outta here.”
Bacon gently stops me and stays on task. “It’s Melinda, right?” he says.
“That’s right.”
“I feel like part of your job as an ultrasound technician should be to put patients—specifically first-time mothers—at ease. Would you agree?”
“Absolutely!”
“Great,” Bacon continues. “I’m thinking that telling a woman how far her vagina is going to stretch in childbirth might not be the best way to ease her into her first OB-GYN appointment.”
“Well, it’s just a fact, Daddy. I don’t think it’s appropriate to sugarcoat the sheer carnage that comes with?—”
He holds up a hand to silence her. “Understood, but this is essentially day one for us. Let’s take things step by step, shall we? Starting with this ultrasound.” He gestures to the condom-covered wand. “It’s my understanding that the transvaginal wand is mostly used during the first trimester when the baby is very small, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
How does he know this?
“We’re estimating that Colleen is already over four months along, well into her second trimester, so wouldn’t it be just as effective to do an abdominal ultrasound at this point?”
“I suppose so.”
“Terrific. Let’s do that, then. If we spot anything that needs a closer look—not that we will—we can discuss returning to the… transvaginal option. Sound good?”
“Fine by me.” She shrugs. She strips the wand of the condom and puts her weapon away.
Harold “Bacon” Hotman is my hero.
Melinda gets back to business. “Alright, girlfriend. Lie back for me and lift your shirt.”
I do as she asks. She tucks a thin paper sheet into the waistband of my pants—to protect the fabric I suppose—and whips out a clear plastic bottle filled with greenish-blue gel.
“This will feel a little cool on your skin,” she warns, squeezing a little gel heart pattern around my belly button.
“Wow!” I chuckle. “A heart, huh?”
“Just a little love squirt.” She giggles and squeezes another heart on my abdomen. “I like to go the extra mile with my patients. I figure a little love squirt got you two into this situation, right?” She turns to Bacon. “Just think, Daddy, if you’d squirted on her belly like I just did, things may have turned out differently for ya.”
“Melinda?” Bacon says with total calm.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He catches himself mid-sigh, then continues. “I’d be okay if you never said love squirt to me again. And please don’t call me Daddy. Bacon is fine.”
“Really?” she whines. Something tells me that calling soon-to-be fathers “Daddy” during ultrasound appointments is the highlight of her day. “Alright,” she acquiesces. “Bacon it is.” She holds up a far less intimidating tool than the one she had before. “Are we ready for a sneaky peeky at your baby?”
