Grabbing his scrub pants before they fell, Mannerheim turned to leave. At the door he looked back at the two residents. "I want you to close her up again as if she were still alive. Understand?"
Chapter 5
"My name is Kristin Lindquist," said the young woman waiting at the university's GYN clinic. She managed a smile, but the corners of her mouth trembled slightly. "I have an appointment with Dr. John Schonfeld at eleven-fifteen." It was exactly eleven according to the wall clock.
Ellen Cohen, the receptionist, looked up from her paperback novel at the pretty face smiling down at her. Immediately she saw that Kristin Lindquist was everything Ellen Cohen was not. Kristin had real blond hair, which was as fine as silk, a small turned-up nose, big deep blue eyes, and long shapely legs. Ellen hated Kristin instantly, labeling her in her mind as one of those California sluts. The fact that Kristin Lindquist was from Madison, Wisconsin, would not have made any difference to Ellen. She took a long drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out her nose as she scanned the appointment book. She crossed off Kristin's name and told her to take a seat, adding that Kristin would be seeing Dr. Harper, not Dr. Schonfeld.
"Why isn't Dr. Schonfeld going to see me?" asked Kristin. Dr. Schonfeld had been recommended by one of the girls in the dorm.
"Because he's not here. Does that answer your question?"
Kristin nodded, but Ellen didn't notice. She'd returned to her novel, although when Kristin walked away, Ellen watched her with jealous irritation.
It was at that moment that Kristin should have left. She thought about it, realizing that no one would have noticed if she just continued walking the way she'd come. She already disliked the hospital's dilapidated environment, which reminded her of disease and decay. Dr. Walter Peterson in Wisconsin had an office that was clean and fresh, and although Kristin still did not enjoy her semi-annual exam, at least it hadn't been depressing.
But she did not leave. It had taken a significant amount of courage for her to make the appointment, and she was compulsive about finishing what she'd started. So she sat down on the stained vinyl waiting-room chair, crossed her legs, and waited.
The hands of the wall clock advanced painfully slowly and after fifteen minutes Kristin realized the palms of her hands were sweating. She recognized she was becoming more and more anxious, and wondered if there was something psychologically wrong with her. There were six other women in the small waiting room, all of whom seemed calm, a fact which magnified Kristin's distress. It made her sick to think about her internal structure, and coming to the gynecologist forced the whole issue at her in a brutal and unpleasant way.
Picking up a tattered magazine, Kristin tried to divert her mind. She was unsuccessful. Almost every advertisement reminded her of her upcoming ordeal. Then she saw a picture of a man and a woman, and a new concern entered her mind: how long after sex can sperm be found in the vagina? Two nights previously Kristin had seen her boyfriend, Thomas Huron, a senior, and they had slept together. Kristin knew that she'd be humiliated if the doctor could tell.
The relationship with Thomas was the reason Kristin had decided to make an appointment at the clinic. They'd been seeing each other steadily since the fall. As their relationship grew, Kristin realized that trying to decide when it was "safe" was no longer a reasonable method of birth control. Thomas refused to take any responsibility and continually pressured Kristin for more frequent sex. She'd inquired about birth control pills at the student dispensary and had been told she first had to have a gynecological exam at the Med Center. Kristin would have preferred to have gone to her old doctor at home, but her concern for privacy made that impossible.
Taking a deep breath, Kristin realized her stomach was now a knot and she could feel unsettling rumblings in her abdomen. The very last thing she wanted was to get so upset she got diarrhea. Even the thought mortified her. Looking up at the clock, she hoped she wouldn't have to wait much longer.
One hour and twenty minutes later Ellen Cohen called Kristin into one of the exam rooms. The linoleum felt cold to her feet as she undressed behind a small screen. There was one hook and she hung up all her clothes. As she had been directed, she put on hospital gown, which came to mid-thigh and tied at the front. Looking down she noticed her nipples were erect from the cold, poking out through the worn cotton fabric like two hard buttons. She hoped they'd go down before the doctor saw her.
Emerging from behind the curtain, Kristin saw the nurse, Ms. Blackman, arranging instruments on a towel. Kristin averted her eyes, but not before she'd caught an unwanted glimpse of a host of gleaming stainless steel instruments, including a speculum and some forceps. The mere sight of these devices made Kristin feel weak.
"Ah, very good," said Ms. Blackman. "You're quick, and we appreciate that. Come!" Ms. Blackman patted the exam table. "Climb up here now. The doctor will be in shortly." With her foot Ms. Blackman moved a small stool to a strategic position.
Using both hands to clutch at her flimsy gown, Kristin made her way to the examination table. With the metal stirrups jutting off at the end, the table looked like some medieval torture device. She stepped on the stool and sat down facing the nurse.
Ms. Blackman then took a detailed medical history, which impressed Kristin with its thoroughness. No one had ever taken the time to do such a complete job, which included careful inquiries into Kristin's family history. When Kristin had first seen Ms. Blackman, she'd been uneasy, fearing that the nurse was going to be as cold and harsh as her appearance suggested. But during the course of the history-taking, Ms. Blackman was so pleasant and so interested in Kristin as a person that Kristin began to relax. The only symptoms of note that Ms. Blackman wrote down were a mild discharge Kristin had noted over the last several months and occasional intermenstrual spotting, which she'd had as long as she could remember.
"All right, let's get ready for the doctor," said Ms. Blackman, putting aside the chart. "Lie down now and feet in the stirrups."
Kristin complied, vainly trying to hold the edges of her gown together. It was impossible and her composure began to fade once again. The metal stirrups felt like ice, sending a chill through her body.
Ms. Blackman shook open a freshly laundered sheet and draped it over Kristin. Lifting up the end, Ms. Blackman looked beneath. Kristin could almost feel the nurse's gaze on her totally exposed crotch.
"Okay," said Ms. Blackman, "move yourself down to the end of the table."
Using a kind of rotational movement of her hips, Kristin walked her backside toward her feet.
Ms. Blackman, still looking under the sheet, wasn't satisfied. "A little more."
Kristin moved farther until she felt her buttocks half off the end of the table.
"That's fine," said Ms. Blackman, "now relax before Dr. Harper comes in."
Relax! thought Kristin. How could she relax? She felt like a piece of meat in a rack waiting to be pawed over by customers. Behind her was a window and the fact that its drape was not completely closed bothered her immensely.
Without a knock, the door to the exam room opened and a hospital courier thrust his head in. Where were the blood samples that were going to the lab? Ms. Blackman said she'd show him and disappeared.
Kristin was left by herself in the sterile atmosphere, enveloped by the aseptic smell of alcohol. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. It was the waiting that made it so bad. The other door opened. Kristin raised her head, expecting to see the doctor, but instead saw the receptionist, who asked I where Ms. Blackman was. Kristin only shook her head. The receptionist left, slamming the door. Kristin put her head back and closed her eyes again. She wasn't going to be able to take much more.