Time When Men Pause

The appointment date had arrived.

Mireille was to go to the gynecologist for a check up after a long, long time.

She had almost forgotten these probe’npacify- what she called PnP visits. You know, to take those necessary tests that women have to go through to see all is well with their birth machines.

Now if you’re getting wild ideas, it was neither a baby nor a camel that summoned her thither.

She wasn’t a Sarah and her man was a far cry from Father Abraham.

It had been ages since she had been to an Ob gyn and wisdom summons one to follow up on her Diva Den from time to time.

The wait was incredibly long. The appointment was at 11am but the doctor was nowhere to be seen. Everyone’s eyes were hooked on the little thing in their hands. Hardly any book readers around.

How long can one gaze at the phone and read all the silly posts that whizz in with the speed of summer lightening? Which then gets re-posted, after you’ve added your inane thought to it.

It was no wonder Mireille put the phone away and began indulging in her favorite pastime- which is… people watching and building stories around them. And if the wait was unceasing, she would just go and talk to the friendly faces. The flow was to start with either the weather, then move on to which number birth this happened to be.

Right next to her was a young couple. O God, they were all young. There was nobody even close to her age. They must have wondered why this ol’ lady even needed a gynaec when everything must have dried up within.

“Excuse me,” she ventured, looking at a youngish guy, “Are you old enough to bring a child into the world?” She spoke absolutely in an attitude of warm friendliness. But the bloke looked mighty offended, instead of being flattered.

“What business is it of yours,” the man asked her and turned his face away.

A good start at character assessment, she thought.

All the women, sitting around, looked harassed, with their little baby bumps, carrying their bulges as bravely as they could.

Their men walked close behind.

One man was sitting as if he had accomplished a great deal. Noticeable that his legs were shaking furiously, not unlike a machine churning in a flour mill. And he was sunken deep behind the newspaper. An intellectual too.

“You know if an electric wire is wound round your shaking knees, electricity could be produced.” Mireille said, trying to be funny.

His legs stopped moving. And he glared at her.

“Your job is done and now it’s over to her. Isn’t it?”

But why was she looking sad? His woman sat with her shoulders slumped down, looking ever so mournful.

Across Mireille, sat a pretty woman who kept staring at her because she had nothing better to do. Mireille reckoned this mama-to-be would have liked to chat but was sitting too far away. Both husband and wife looked incredibly bored. Now had Mireille taken her dog with her, she would have easily made friends. Have you noticed how easy it is to talk to strangers with a dog at the end of their leash?

Dog friends are plenty everywhere.

Her husband was closing his eyes and his palms were folded. It looked as if he was praying earnestly.

Look how he is praying. Definitely praying for a son right from the first trimester itself. His mom will be super happy at a prospective heir. Anything to please the ol' mom.

Suddenly a man with broad shoulders pushed his way around and in a rather stylized manner, announced to all loudly that he’d been waiting for 15 minutes and his patience was being tested.

Not that anybody had asked him.

Mireille thought to herself, now what’s his hurry? Does he have a uterus? Why was he in a tearing hurry to see a doctor who checks female complaints only?

‘Search me. I’ll never know and I never asked him.’

There was another man in full suit. No pregnant wife by his side. It was annoying to see all these men sit at the woman’s consultation area.

The Gynecology department is definitely a women’s area of domain to wait patiently, waddle slowly, breathe deeply, drink tons of water, get ultra sounds and walk like ducklings. Not a place for men in black suits. They shouldn’t be made welcome.

Why was he sitting there, Mireille couldn’t help wondering.

Did his mama ask him to check out, go peek on how women look once they get married?

He was busy talking on his phone and it seemed it was to his mama far away in Chennai.

“Yes, Amma, I can handle it. It doesn’t look that terrifying. Just a little bulge, that’s all, Amma. The women look quite strong, Amma, to carry out all domestic chores even if they get pregnant. I think I will go ahead with the proposal."

Now walks in, a tall man holding his wife who seems to be in some sort of agony. She didn’t look like she was going to deliver on the floor but was surely in some form of distress. He looked deeply stressed too. But that was because he had taken leave from work and this was around his coffee break time.

A little eavesdropping revealed that.

But the tall man was kind to hold her as she walked painstakingly to the doctor’s room. Everyone made way for them. It could have been a ruse to walk in and break the queue.

One would never know.

Then came a family of four very, very tall people, of Nordic descent, Mireille was certain. The woman in front was largely pregnant, followed by her family, which included her mother, all carrying bags of great import. She strutted in with a confident air and a fairly revealing dress that clearly showing off her country of origin was undoubtedly Viking. Mireille liked her confidence, the way she proudly showed off her baby bulge, and the way she was calling the shots.

After having scrutinized all the patient patients, and troubled some of them, Mireille was finally summoned into the doctor’s office.

A quick examination revealed that she was pregnant.

“Excuse me, I am 55. How on earth is it even possible in this day and age?”

“Do you want to go full term?”

“No way.”

“All right then we can do a DnC.”

“Do whatever is possible, doc,” she gushed.

Feeling mighty relieved that hatching part of her life was over and done with, she remembered the agony and the ecstasy of giving birth almost a century ago. The squeezing of her mama’s fingers while in the throes of pain, the breaking of the water bag, the joys of seeing a small near-perfect creation plop right into her hands- so dependent on her.

And as time goes on, reading them story books and rhymes.

There’s redemption right there. The good news after every childbirth is the hope of recovery, of reformation and renewal.

Much like the blessed Child who was born for a sinful world.

Motherhood is so worth it. Baby, it’s worth it. Worth all the waiting, the pain and the agony.

And that special worth the men will never ever know. Especially the one with the shaking leg syndrome.

Or will they?

It’s men who pause. Women just men'o’pause.