"Cook, Robin - Vital Signs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Robin)

Marissa stole quick glances at some of the other women, wondering what they were there for. They all seemed so calm. Surely she couldn't be the only one who was nervous.

Marissa tried to read an article on upcoming summer fashion trends, but she couldn't concentrate. Her abnormal Pap smear seemed like a hint of internal betrayal: a warning of what was to come. At thirty-three years old, she had been having the barest exterior reminders of getting older, like the fine lines appearing at the outer corners of her eyes.

Focusing for the moment on the many ads that filled the women's magazine in her hands, Marissa gazed at the faces of the sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds who populated them. Their youthful, b1cmish-free faces seemed to mock her and make her feel old beyond her years.

What if the biopsy was positive? What if she had cancer of the cervix? It was rare but not unknown in women her age. Suddenly the possibility bore down on Marissa with a crushing intensity.

My God! she thought. If it was cancer, she might have to have a hysterectomy, and a hysterectomy would mean no children!

A dizzy feeling spread through Marissa, and the magazine in her hands momentarily blurred. At the same time her pulse began to race. The thought of not having children was anathema to her.

She'd married only six months previously, and although she hadn't planned on starting a family immediately, she had always known that children would eventually be a big part of her life. If it turned out that she could not have children, she hated to consider the consequences, both for herself and for her husband.

And until that very moment, waiting for the biopsy that Dr.

Carpenter said would be "a piece of cake," she'd never given the possibility serious thought.

All at once Marissa felt hurt that Robert had not been more concerned and that he had taken her at her word when she'd said she'd be perfectly fine going to the clinic by herself Looking around the room again, Marissa saw that most of the other patients were accompanied by their spouses or boyfriends.

"You're being ridiculous," Marissa silently chided herself as she tried to keep her emotions in check. She was surprised and a little embarrassed. It was not like her to be so hysterical. She liked to think she wasn't easily upset. Besides, she knew that Robert couldn't have come with her even if he'd wanted to. That morning; he had an important meeting of the executive staff of his health care management, investment, and research company. It was a critical meeting that had been planned months in advance.

"Marissa Blumenthal!" a nurse called.

Marissa jumped up, placed the magazine on the side table, and followed the nurse down a long, blank white corridor. She was shown into a changing room with an inner door opening into one of the procedure rooms. From her vantage point in the changing area, Marissa could see the table with its gleaming, stainless steel stirrups, "Just to be on the safe side," the nurse said as she twisted Marissa's wrist to check her ID. Satisfied she had the right patient, she patted some clothes on a bench and added: "Slip into this Johnny, slippers, and robe and hang your clothes in the closet. Any valuables can be locked in the drawer, When you're done, go in and sit on the examining table." She smildd. The woman was professional, but not without warmth. She closed the door to the hall behind her.

Marissa stepped out of her clothes. The floor was cold on her bare feet. As she struggled to tie the straps of the Johnny behind her, she acknowledged how much she liked the staff at the Women's Clinic, from the receptionists to her doctor. But the main reason she patronized the clinic was because of its private status and the consequent confidentiality it had to offer. Now that she was having a biopsy, she was even more thankful for her choice. Had she gone to any one of the major Boston hospitals, especially her own hospital, the Boston Memorial, she would have undoubtedly come in contact with people she knew.

Marissa had always been careful to keep her private life private.

She never wanted personal matters like birth control, annual pelvic exams, a couple of episodes of cystitis and the like to be topics of gossip with her colleagues. And even if people didn't talk, she did not want to worry about passing her GYN man in the hospital corridor or in the hospital cafeteria.

The flimsy robe, the open-backed hospital Johnny, and the paper slip-on slippers completed Marissa's transition from doctor to patient. With her ill-fitting slippers flopping, she padded into the procedure room and sat on the edge of the examining table as instructed by the nurse.

Glancing around at the usual accoutrements which included an anesthesia machine and cabinets of instruments, her panic swelled anew. Beyond her fear of the procedure, and the possible need for a hysterectomy she kept reminding herself was remote, Marissa now felt a strong intuition of disaster. She realized how much she had come to prize her life, particularly in the last few years. Between her new husband, Robert, and her recent acceptance into a fine pediatric group, her life seemed to be going almost too well. She had so much to lose; it made her terrified.

"Hello there, I'm Dr. Arthur," a burly man said as he entered the room with a purposeful flourish, clutching a handful of cellophane-covered packages and an IV bottle.

"I'm from anesthesia, and I'll be giving you something for your upcoming procedure.

Allergic to anything?"

"Nothing," Marissa assured the man. She was glad for the company, relieved to have someone take her away from her own thoughts.

"We'll probably not need this," Dr. Arthur said as he deftly started an IV in Marissa's right wrist.

"But it's good to have it just in case. If Dr. Carpenter needs more anesthesia, it can be given easily."

"Why would he need more anesthesia?" Marissa asked nervously.