Delightful Ning Back In Farangland 11 – Departure 2
Next Monday morning, we sit in another gynacologist’s waiting room. It is plastered with posters and brochures, depicting happy families on flowery meadows. Young ladies gaze dreamily across their eighth-month bodies. Horrible.
— Research 2 —
Ning leafs through a glamour magazine that features a home story about Sting. The rock singer has a huge wood stove in his living room. – “Horrible”, Ning says and quickly turns the page: “This stove looks like a pagoda place to burn dead people!”
The next page has his sleeping room, with another woodfire stove. But this time she doesn’t turn the page. – “This stove is ok for you”, I ask? – “Yes, it’s too small to put dead people inside.” – That aside, we both dislike his dark and furniture-heavy home. As always, we have very similar tastes.
The second doctor is more agreeable, fortunately. He feels a bit like a worried elder brother. On his ultrasound, he discovers the black dot in Ning's inner milky ways: "Yes, you are pregnant. Yes, we can remove that."
"Is the baby dead or alive", I plead.
Now he gives me a look as if I were very stupid: "I can't say now."
We have to sign a lot of papers. Ning is still under trance. We also get a pill that has to be inserted into her vagina six hours prior to the deed. She may not eat nor drink from then on.
— At night —
At two a.m. the alarm rings. For the pill. Ning insists that I put it into her. I go to wash my hands – "no need", she says, because they are colder afterwards – then I slowly put the tiny pill into her vagina. She is wet.
Then water has to follow. With the plastic syringe from the doctor, i inject her 1 milliliter of tap water. She puts on a slip with a panty liner, as we have been warned she might start to bleed.
3 a.m. She wakes me up again. – "I am soooooo thirsty", she moans. – In the dark, I refuse to let her drink, because the doctor said so. – "Then I drink some water from your mouth!" – Ok, I swallow a bit of water and feed it from my mouth to her mouth.
3.20 a.m. She moans for more water. I say "no, you already got 1 milliliter down there at 2 a.m., that's enough."
3.40 a.m. She announces a trip to the bathroom. I say "oh, I need too, I go first". I just hurry there to remove the drinking cups, so she will not easily use them to quench her thirst. I flush the toilet just for camouflage. Back in the bedroom, I ask her to promise she will not drink tap water.
To make her forget her thirst, I hold her tight for a while. I feel cold doing so, it is just a trick. In the pitch-black night she whispers: "I want to stay with you for-eeehver. You take care so much."
This to the monster who just forces her into an unwanted abortion. She deserves me.
— At night —
At dusk, we arrive at the clinic. There is one lonely nurse there. We find out that we came one hour early. We have to sit one hour, only Ning and me, in that horrible waiting room with all the pics of happy families and bovinely grinning pregnants.
"Ning", I say, "I can't sit here doing nothing, let's go for a coffee." There's actually a new, promising Italian coffee bar nearby. The brioches had looked good through the glass. – She replies: "No, I feel so tired, also I have pain down there, I guess from that medicine you put inside me. You go alone and come back after one hour." – "You sure?" – "Sure, no problem!" She even gives me an encouraging look. She knows I like coffee shops more than gynaecologists' waiting rooms.
I pass the lone nurse at the reception. When she sees me grabbing my jacket, she asks: "Is her treatment covered by any insurance?" – "No, we pay cash." – She quickly writes a bill and hands it to me. "Would you please pay now?" – 430 USD.
I come back 50 minutes later, just for the originally appointed time. Clinic and waiting room are busy now, but Ning is not there. – "She's already in surgery 3”, says the nurse who wrote the bill earlier.
I feel guilty. I enjoyed café latte, brioches and the morning paper, while Ning and doctor are in the most serious business. And who is not there, idle semen donor Mr. Pothole.
I hurry to surgery 3. Ning hangs helplessly in a gynacologist's chair, her delicate bronze legs spread up, her body covered with a blanket. The doctor and a nurse stand around her. "I just wanted to give her the anesthesia", informs the doc. "Please tell her she will sleep through it all. She will wake up after half an hour, after the procedure has been done. Then she will sleep here two more hours. Then she can go home, but with assistance."
Sure, sure. I hold Ning's hand. I tell her the schedule. She has the faithful look of a little child. Three rich, clever westerners (her general observation) stand around her with looks of pity, empathy, professional interest. See, we all care.
Slowly, the needle sinks under her skin.