The waiting room at St. Mary’s Catholic Hospital buzzed with the kind of sterile chaos only a place of healing could muster. Clara, heavily pregnant and radiating a mix of irritation and exhaustion, shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. Her blouse strained against her pendulous breasts, the fabric protesting with every breath she took. Beside her, Tim, her lanky and perpetually nervous husband, flipped through a dog-eared magazine, his fingers jittery as if the pages might bite.
“Stop fidgeting, Tim. You’re making me more nervous than I already am,” Clara snapped, her voice low but sharp enough to cut through the hum of the room. Her dark eyes pinned him with a look that could’ve curdled milk.
“I’m not fidgeting,” Tim mumbled, though his knee bounced like a jackhammer. “Just... reading. About... uh, knitting.”
“Knitting?” Clara raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching despite herself. “Planning to make booties for the baby, are we? Or just looking for a way to stab yourself with needles to escape this hellhole?”
Tim flushed, dropping the magazine into his lap. “I’m trying to distract myself, okay? This place gives me the creeps. All these... nuns walking around like they’re judging my soul.”
Clara snorted, rubbing her swollen belly. “They’re not judging your soul, Tim. They’re judging the fact that you’re sweating through your shirt. Relax. It’s just a check-up.”
Before Tim could retort, a nurse with a voice like a foghorn bellowed across the waiting room. “Clara Matthews! Let’s get you in, sweetheart!” She grinned, her round face beaming as she gestured down a bustling hallway toward an examination room. Heads turned, and Clara felt the heat crawl up her neck. Nothing like being announced to the entire hospital as if she were a prize cow at auction.
She hauled herself up with a groan, shooting Tim a pointed look. “Come on, knitting boy. Let’s get this over with.”
Tim scrambled to his feet, trailing behind her like a lost puppy as they navigated the hallway. Staff and patients shuffled past, their eyes darting with mild curiosity at Clara’s waddling form. When they reached the examination room, Clara’s stomach dropped. The door was wide open, offering a full view to anyone who cared to glance inside. No curtain, no privacy, just a stark white room with a paper-covered table waiting like a stage.
“Uh... shouldn’t we... close that?” Tim ventured, his voice barely above a whisper as he gestured at the gaping doorway.
Clara shot him a withering glare. “Oh, brilliant idea, Einstein. Why didn’t I think of that? Maybe because I’m busy carrying your spawn while you stand there gawking?”
The nurse, oblivious to their discomfort, bustled in with a clipboard. “Alright, Clara, let’s get you out of those clothes. Everything off, hon. Don’t be shy now!” She didn’t even glance at the open door, as if the concept of privacy had never crossed her mind.
Tim’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Wait, uh, excuse me, but... shouldn’t we at least close the door? Or... or pull a curtain or something?”
The nurse let out a hearty laugh, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, honey, we’re all family here at St. Mary’s! No need for all that fuss. Everyone’s seen it all before. Now, hop to it, Clara!”
Clara’s cheeks burned as she gripped the hem of her blouse, her jaw tight. “Family, huh? Well, this family reunion is about to get a lot more intimate than I signed up for.” She muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Tim to hear. He winced, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor.
With a resigned sigh, Clara began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate, as if delaying the inevitable might summon a miracle. Her swollen belly and large, wrinkled anus came into view, and she caught a passerby in the hallway—a middle-aged man with a clipboard—peeking in with the casual interest one might give a mildly intriguing painting. She wanted to scream, but instead, she bit her lip and folded her clothes with military precision.
“Clara Matthews, as I live and breathe!” A booming voice cut through the room as Dr. O’Connell strode in, her white coat flapping like a cape. She was a no-nonsense woman with steel-gray hair and a presence that filled the space, leaving the door wide open behind her. Without hesitation, she slapped Clara’s bare thigh with a familiarity that made Clara jolt. “Look at you, girl, blooming like a damn garden! Let’s see how this little one’s doing, shall we?”
Clara gritted her teeth, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, please, Doc, make yourself at home. Invite the whole hospital while you’re at it. I’m sure they’d love the show.”
Dr. O’Connell chuckled, snapping on a pair of gloves with a loud snap. “Now, now, don’t get sassy with me. I’ve seen more backsides than a plumber, and yours is just another day at the office. Let’s have a look at this beautiful belly—and everything else while we’re at it.” Her tone was as casual as if she were discussing the weather, her voice carrying out into the hallway as she began the examination. “My, my, that’s a textbook anus if I’ve ever seen one. And let’s check this vagina—nice and healthy, Clara, good for you!”
Tim, standing awkwardly to the side, looked like he might faint. “Uh, Doc, could you... maybe lower your voice? Or close the door? Please?”
Dr. O’Connell didn’t even glance at him, her focus on Clara as she continued her loud commentary. “Boy, if I had a dime for every nervous husband, I’d be retired on a beach somewhere. Relax, Tim. I’m just giving your wife the VIP treatment.”
Before Clara could unleash the scathing retort brewing in her throat, a new figure appeared in the doorway—a sales rep with a clipboard and a sample kit slung over his shoulder. He didn’t even blink at the sight of Clara splayed out on the table, Dr. O’Connell’s gloved fingers deep in an intimate examination. “Hey, Doc, got a minute to talk about the new ultrasound probes? Top of the line, I’m telling ya!”
Clara’s eyes narrowed, her voice a dangerous purr. “Oh, sure, come on in. Why not? Let’s turn this into a goddamn convention while we’re at it.”
Tim, desperate to do something, stepped forward, trying to shield Clara with his body. “Uh, excuse me, could you maybe wait outside—”
The sales rep laughed, playfully shoving Tim aside. “Relax, buddy, I just need a better view of the equipment. Not your wife, I promise—though, gotta say, Doc’s got a steady hand!” He winked at Dr. O’Connell, who smirked back.
“Steady as a rock, Jim. Now, tell me about these probes while I finish up here. Clara’s cervix is a work of art, by the way—textbook dilation!” Dr. O’Connell’s voice boomed, drawing more curious glances from the hallway as staff wandered in and out, seemingly oblivious to Clara’s mortification.
Clara turned her head, locking eyes with Tim. Her voice was a razor-sharp whisper. “You’re as useless as a screen door on a submarine, you know that? Couldn’t even close the damn door.”
Dr. O’Connell barked out a laugh, her fingers still working with clinical precision. “Oh, I like her, Tim. She’s got fire! You better step up, or she’ll run this show without you.”
Tim swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m... I’m trying, okay?”
Clara’s lips pressed into a thin line as the examination continued, Dr. O’Connell’s loud instructions—“Push down for me, Clara, let’s see that pelvic floor!”—echoing through the open door like a megaphone broadcast. More faces appeared in the hallway, some lingering, others passing by with barely a shrug. Clara’s embarrassment churned in her gut, hot and bitter, but as she met Tim’s helpless gaze once more, something shifted. Her eyes hardened, a steely resolve taking root beneath the flush of humiliation.
She wasn’t just some sideshow for St. Mary’s amusement. If they wanted a spectacle, fine—but she’d be the one calling the shots from now on. Somehow, someway, Clara Matthews was going to take control of this absurd circus, even if she had to do it with her bare ass on display for the whole damn hospital to see.
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