6th Aprm

October 1

Went back to the doctor, as ordered, now that the critical “period” is over. Besides, I had to find out what effect no pills and much tomato soup was going to have on Jake.

Wore my slacks, for an unmatronly touch. How many days has it been now that I haven’t been able to get the top button closed? Can’t seem to remember when that started.

Again the waiting-room scene. The same girl with the smart suit was there and she and I fell into a very gay and sophisticated chit-chat about the places we were going and the things we were doing-a conversation that put us another plane or two above the heads of the gals around us. We both knew we were being nasty and we knew we were lying like mad, but we couldn’t stop once we’d started. We got sort of drunk on it. We covered every fashionable night spot in town, dashing from luncheons to fittings to hairdressers. We dreamed up games of golf, and Smart Suit went so far as to describe a new evening gown she was thinking of buying.

The doctor was his usual nonchalant little self.

He tossed off my worry about lack of appetite with another “Just wait.”

I slipped in a careless reference to tomato soup and how was it going to affect Jake’s development. It didn’t seem to worry him, but he did urge me to eat sugars and starches often, if in minute quantities.

I weighed in at 117. The scales at home must have lied.

“No bulge yet,” I said smugly. “Just wait,” said he smugly.

Can’t say that I’ve spent any sleepless nights worrying about the pains of childbirth, but come April, I want nembutal and all the etceteras hours before anyone else gets ‘em. I have a campaign mapped out to convince the doctor that I need special care. “Doctor,” I said, “I haven’t been sleeping. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, dreaming of the horrors of having a baby. I just can’t stand the thought of pain!”

“Probably not a cold sweat.” He was back in the swivel chair position. “You’re probably too warm at mg t. on t use so many covers.

“But I dream horrible dreams. I wake up screaming! I never could stand pain.”

“What do you eat before going to bed?” “Nothing,” I said. “Just a little tomato soup. But it takes me hours to get to sleep. During the day it isn’t so bad. Then I can forget. But at night I see visions of me screaming in agony. And it’s all your fault.”

The swivel chair came to attention. “My fault!

What do you mean?”

“Well,” I said, “this ‘comfortable as possible’ business. Why don’t you put our poor souls at rest and say that there is absolutely no pain? If in the end there is some-a little, I mean-at least we’ve enjoyed nine months of blissful ignorance. If you’ll forgive my saying so,” with my sweetest smile, “you ought to be more psychological.”

“And have women gunning for me if they feel a pain or two? No thank you!” He buttoned up his professional manner. “We do have some wonderful results with modern methods. In many cases women have been completely out during Iaborthe later period of hard labor, that is. They’ve had a very easy time. In any case it works to some extent during hard labor and, of course, you know nothing about the actual delivery. Then you are completely anaesthetized.”

“But you mean in some cases this dope doesn’t work?”

“Well, that has happened.”

“Look, why don’t you try it on me now? Then I’ll know whether it works or not and I’ll not have to spend any more sleepless, dream-filled nights. The very thought of pain, Doctor-”

“I could give you the stuff,” he admitted, “but I have no way of duplicating the pain. You see it’s the force of the pain that returns you to consciousness through the nembutal.”

That was when I began to wish I had never brought up the subject.

“At least,” I said in a small voice, “I won’t know anything about the actual process of having a baby.”

“That’s right. Now, if you’ll just step into the other room.”

Again he poked my stomach, took my blood pressure, and made a note or two in blue on form 678B 37-41.