See disclaimers in part 1
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White Noise 2/3
By Lacy
"Here's the stuff you asked for on S.P. 683." I set the armload of
files on Josh's desk. Right next to a similar armload of files. He
glances up from the papers in front of him, and grimaces at the wall
of folders.
"If you bring me any more files you'll have to let down your hair so
that I can climb out of here tonight."
"Just call me Rapunzel," I joke. For the fifth time in an hour, I
check the slim watch on my wrist. "I have to go."
He looks up again, registering the time. "Oh. Okay. Are you sure
you don't want me to come with?"
"We talked about this, Josh. You'd be bored."
"I don't understand how you can think that."
"It's just going to be calculating, and weighing, and going over diet
stuff."
"Okay, but I just want to be sure...it's not because you're
uncomfortable with the idea of me being there, is it? 'Cause if it
is--"
"Josh," I warn.
"I'm just saying," he shrugs.
"You've got a country to run," I remind him. "Don't worry, Josh. I
won't let you miss the good stuff."
"Okay."
"I'll be back by three," I tell him. "I hope."
"I'll be keeping an eye on my watch."
"In that case, I'll be back by 2:45," I joke.
"Get out of here," he shoos.
I beat a path out the door and twenty minutes later I'm standing in
front of the nurse at the reception desk in Dr. Burgess' office.
"Donna Moss," I tell her as I sign the clipboard. "I have a one
o'clock."
The receptionist smiles. "Smart lady. First appointment after lunch.
No waiting, for you. C'mon," she beckons, "follow me." She leads me
back into an examination room with an adjustable table. Retrieving a
freshly laundered hospital gown from a drawer, she instructs me to
change, before stepping out of the room.
The room is cold and the opening in the back of the gown isn't helping
the situation. I hop up onto the table and wait for the doctor to put
in an appearance. A fetal development chart on the wall draws my
attention so I hop down and pad my way over to it. The floor is very
cold. Why are doctor's offices always cold?
I don't have much of an opportunity to peruse the information, because
the door opens and Dr. Burgess steps in. She's shorter than I am,
with brown hair cut into a bob. Her brown eyes are dancing as she
smiles at me.
"Afternoon, Donna."
"Hello, Doctor."
"I was surprised to see your name on my list of appointments today.
Mark tells me you haven't had an appointment in over eight months.
And then you show up on my side of the hall?"
"How is the other Dr. Burgess, by the way?"
"He's fine," she replies. "He's great, actually. He just received an
award from the AMA and he's very proud of it."
"Congratulate him for me."
"I'll do that."
You're probably needing a little back story here, right? Dr. Mark
Burgess is my regular gynecologist. His wife, Dr. Sylvia Burgess, is
the OB part of their OB/GYN partnership. They met in medical school
and got married when they were interns -- as crazy and foolhardy as
that sounds.
Anyway, when I moved to D.C., I did quite a bit of research looking
for a new gynecologist, and when I found a married couple that was
working together, I was intrigued. After my first meeting with Mr.
Dr. Burgess, I'd decided I found the right place. I've met Mrs. Dr.
Burgess several times during my appointments, and we've had some nice
conversations. Enough for her to remember me anyway.
"So," she says, "you think maybe my moron of a husband screwed up your
birth control prescription?"
"No," I smile, sheepishly. "I'm relatively sure it was all my fault."
"You've taken a home pregnancy test?"
"No. I was taken to the emergency room a few weeks ago for a head
injury. In the course of treatment, an ultrasound revealed that I was
pregnant."
"A few weeks ago?"
"Yeah, I needed to spend some time recovering before I could even
think about the baby."
"I understand. Donna, I'm going to need the name of the attending
physician."
"Dr. Clements. Do you want the name of my neurologist as well?"
"Any other doctor's I should know about?"
"Do you want them all?"
"Well, if your medical history has changed in the last eight months
I'm going to need as much information as I can get."
I pick up my purse from behind the dressing curtain and rifle through
it until find my day planner. I have come prepared, because I am the
Queen of Preparedness.
"Okay," I sigh.
"Do I need to call in a stenographer?" she asks.
"Get your pen ready. Here goes." I flip the pages until I find the
medical information leaf. "Dr. Bart Clements, he was the attending.
Dr. Maxwell Hayward, he's my neurologist. Dr. Brian Attwater was the
attending physician when I was diagnosed with an ulcer. And Dr.
Stella Wilborn is my psychiatrist."
"That's quite a lot of doctors," she comments with eyebrows raised.
"Yes, I'm beginning to feel like the medical version of Kevin Bacon."
Her shoulders quake with contagious laughter. "Yes, I'll have to
strike up a round of 'Six Degrees of Donna Moss' at my next medical
conference. Since your injury was so recent, I'll be getting in touch
with your other doctors. Does that bother you for any reason?"
"No. Anything else?"
"The father? I notice you came in alone. Is he involved at all?"
"Yes. He's a very busy man," I tell her. "I didn't think he'd need
to be here."
"I'm going to go out on a limb here -- having read the papers. Would
it be safe to say that Josh Lyman is the father?"
"It would be safe to say," I nod. "But don't go saying that to just
anybody. My pregnancy isn't common knowledge in the White House and
I'd hate for the President to find out from the morning paper."
"Gotcha."
"So what are we going to do?"
"Well, first off, I'm going to draw some blood. We'll run a pregnancy
test, even though I don't have any reason to doubt Dr. Clements.
Also, we'll test for STDs, and a variety of other not-so-fun things
just to see where we stand. Then we'll set up for an ultrasound."
"An ultrasound?" My pitch rises a notch.
"Yes. Is there a problem?"
"I didn't realize we'd be doing an ultrasound."
"Well, we might not, if you came here based on a single missed period
and positive HPT, but from what you've suggested, you're farther along
than that."
"About twelve weeks, give or take," I confirm.
"I see. Well, it's about time, Donna. And since you've clearly had
some health issues in the past few months, I want to get a look at the
bun in your oven. To see how it's cooking."
"It's just that...."
"Yes?"
"I promised Josh I wouldn't let him miss the good stuff. He wanted to
come today, but he's a little behind at work, and I wanted him to
spend the day catching up. I'm the reason he's not here."
"And you don't want to do the first ultrasound without him."
"No. Can it wait? Can we do the rest of the stuff, and save the
ultrasound for later?"
"It can't wait for very long, Donna. No more than a week."
"Do you work on Saturdays?"
"This is D.C.," she replies. "If I didn't occasionally work on
Saturdays, I'd lose half my patients."
"I can clear his schedule for this Saturday."
"I'll set it up then. I'll need to get his family history, too."
"I can tell you everything you need to know."
For the next half hour I answer questions about my family history
(looking for a history of difficult births) and Josh's (looking for a
history of genetic abnormalities). Dr. Burgess laughs and shakes her
head when I tell her that Josh is pretty much a prime genetic
specimen. Of course, I might have sounded the slightest bit partial.
She takes my blood for screening, records my weight, and calculates
my due date. And just because it's been eight months, it's up into
the stirrups for a Pap smear. That part, I'm not so thrilled about.
We go over diet. Start Folic Acid now. Lots of protein. Drink
plenty of water. Take calcium supplements. She tells me that when
she was pregnant with her daughter she ended up with three cavities in
her teeth. Fetuses leach calcium at a staggering rate. We discuss my
body's half-hearted attempts at morning sickness, and she tells me how
lucky I've been in that regard. The list goes on and on. She presses
several pamphlets into my palm after I've dressed. She offers me tips
on some good books to read, as I'm walking out the door.
I arrive back at the office at 2:45 Josh-time, on the dot. He's
sitting at his desk, exactly as I left him.
"I need the latest DOT findings," he orders without looking up.
"Sure," I answer, as I close the door behind me. "How do you feel
about Halloween?"
His head snaps up. "I've been put in charge of decorating the White
House for a pagan holiday, haven't I? I'm going to have to hand out
candy to the preciously costumed children brought in for a holiday
photo op."
"Relax, Josh. No one's stupid enough to put you in charge of a
holiday."
"Then what's with Halloween?"
"October 31st. It's my due date."
"Due date?" he asks, briefly clueless before the light dawns. "The
baby's due on Halloween?"
"Uh huh."
"That's not set in stone is it? 'Cause, I gotta tell you--" He
stands from his chair and makes his way around the desk to where I'm
standing.
"It's not set in stone."
"But first babies often come late right? Isn't that true?" I can see
the wheels turning.
"Sometimes. What are you thinking?"
"Could you shoot for November sixth?"
And now it's my turn for the light to dawn. "You want the baby born
on Election Day? What have you been smoking?"
"We can have an Election Day baby," he seems inordinately excited by
this prospect.
"Yeah, uh huh, in which case I'll be all alone in the delivery room."
"Not if you give birth before the polls open."
"Josh!" I smack him hard on the arm.
"Ow! Okay, I'll admit that your point is not without merit," he
concedes, his excitement suddenly deflated.
"Or you could just say I'm right. If I went into labor on Election
Day, you'd be too busy looking at projections and exit polls to know
I'm alive, much less having a baby."
"It was just an idea," he defends.
"Which doesn't much matter, since I'll have no control over it
whatsoever. Unless I'm really late and they have to induce."
"So, Halloween, huh?"
"Yeah. Oh, and you were wrong in your calculations, by the way. I
didn't get pregnant after the press conference."
"When *did* you get pregnant?" he grins. His dimples take my breath
away as they always do, and I'm picturing how our son will look.
"Approximately?"
"Approximately."
"February third."
"February third?"
"Are you doing the math? Are you thinking back?"
"That...February third? That was...okay, wait…that wasn't...."
"Uh huh," I confirm what his mind can only half comprehend.
"The first time?"
"Uh huh."
"Okay," he croaks. "Good to know."
"Yeah. One more thing, Josh. We have an eight-thirty appointment
Saturday morning with Dr. Burgess."
"I have a breakfast meeting with Sheldon's guys," he says.
"About the...?"
"What else?"
"I'll reschedule."
"Damn. I was looking forward to kicking their collective ass," he
smirks. "Why another appointment so soon?" his smirk fades away. "Is
there something wrong?"
"She wanted to do an ultrasound today," I reply, with a shrug. His
expression became so suddenly worried that I need to calm him. "I
convinced her to hold off until Saturday so that you could be there."
"Really? You did that for me?"
"Of course, Josh. I should also apologize. I really didn't think
she'd want to do anything like that yet. I keep forgetting how far
along I am. I'm not even in my first trimester anymore."
He smiles then. Not one of his irrepressible grins that I can't
resist, but sort of a tight-lipped smile. There's something new in
his eyes, something I can't place. I can't help but worry about it
because it's unfamiliar.
"What is it, Josh?"
"What? Oh, nothing. Saturday morning, then. You'll reschedule my
meeting with Sheldon's people?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, while we're on the subject of appointments. Did you call Dr.
Kreskin, yet?"
"You really shouldn't call her that, Josh."
"Somehow, I don't think she'd mind. And don't change the subject.
Did you call her?"
"No," I reply, sheepishly. "I wanted to wait until after Dr.
Burgess."
"You'll call her now?"
"As soon as I reschedule Sheldon," I nod sharply.
"Donna, please do this." He's worried again. I don't think I'll ever
grow accustomed to his I'm-worried-about-Donna face.
"I will, Josh. Get back to work," I order.
"Isn't that my line?"
"Not today."
"Fine. See? Look. I'm working." He plops into his chair and
returns to the folder he was studying before I interrupted. "See Josh
influence domestic policy. See Josh run a country."
TBC
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