the gynaecologist

 The gynaecologist
© Melina Magdalena (2011)


I was of no use to her.
She could not make me pregnant.

Your pituitary gland
She explained
Is working hard to stimulate the ovaries
But every woman is born
With a finite number of eggs

So that’s it
I said
Stunned
And
She shrugged

I remember
She used the word
Unfortunately

She’d fluffed around for 15 minutes
Before showing us in
We’d sat waiting
The baby was fussy

By the time we got settled
In her consulting room
Faces turned
Expectantly
Awaiting her plan of action
For making our miracle
He was on the boob

What had she been thinking?
I can’t possibly charge those women $120
Just for giving the results of a blood test
But she did

I tried to make small talk
What can I expect from
Menopause?
She wasn’t interested
In giving me advice
On that

I changed the subject.
Instead
We discussed the décor.

Ashamed
Of my condition
I couldn’t face the receptionist
So I let my partner pay

I took the baby
out to the car

Averted my gaze
All the way home
Drummed on the steering wheel

Impatient
For my pillow
That would capture
My lost dream
sorrow