Second Opinion

We were bound to have a little glitch. While Mr. Forty is quick to point out that humans have managed to give birth for a millennia (some, he claims, while being chased by cheetahs), we seem to be a bit stumped when it comes to finding the right fit for our obstetrics. I predicted this early on.  I chose a group that is associated with a hospital that I fundraise for and support and love dearly. It is the “hospital of last resort” in our area, taking on the “indigent cases” (which until Jan. 1 could also define any poor bastard that doesn’t have a couple million dollars cash on reserve to pay for their health care and found themselves in an unexpected health crisis with no insurance).  This hospital also ranks in the top 5 for transplants in the country and has some of the finest doctors anywhere in the world. I like this hospital very much. It’s full of good decent people and they’ve cut me open and sewn me up better than before on a few occasions. That said, the women’s group associated with it is… well… efficient.  Too efficient. Mr. Forty mentioned that we got to see Critter on Friday. We hadn’t planned on it, but my APRN thought it might be nice since I’m “older.” I guess being older comes with some perks. Waiting for the ultrasound was an interesting and unintended political moment. There we sat next to the ultrasound machine – the monitor and the corded device with three potential “attachments.” One attachment looked very much like the handheld roller that goes over the cold belly jelly and produces images (when it comes to looking for the space alien in your belly – that device comes out in the 12th week).  Another attachment didn’t really ring any bells and I really didn’t think about it because the third attachment was A HUGE GODDAMN DILDO. I pointed at it and said, “That is a transvaginal ultrasound.” Mr. Forty’s eyes got very large and his face took on that shape that men get when they realize that they are staring at something shaped similar to their “special purpose” but much, much larger. Suddenly we found ourselves in the quintessential Carol Hanisch moment where the personal is political. Mr. Forty and I are good liberals and we strongly support the right to choose. Interestingly I have a much more conservative view for myself and fortunately my obsessive behavior towards birth control ensured that I never had to make that choice – but that’s the beauty of choice… you can choose. I watched as he found himself face-to-face, or rather face-to-9” of thick rubbery cock.  I saw him doing the “math” in his head. “So, that’s… what…” “Yup darlin’ that’s why when we have to have the procedure without our consent, ‘rape’ isn’t an exaggeration.” It was almost exactly at that moment that our tech came in and while we made small talk, she began to tear the top off of a small packet of lube. “Oh no,” I groaned. Because they don’t lube up your belly. To be fair, this wasn’t my first transvaginal ultrasound, it wasn’t even my second.  It was my third. I had one back in the early 00’s. I believe to this day it was because my doctor had just gotten this fancy new toy and wanted to try it out for any reason possible.  Later, I described it as being “gang banged by...