Upside Down

The doctor wrapped inverted commas around the words, his pudgy little fingers flexing like devil’s horns as he dropped the Latin phrase.

‘Well, it’s not breached…“per se”.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, while it might seem so at the moment, it is not unheard-of that your child will right herself in due course.’ Peter squeezed my hand. ‘At this stage there’s nothing to worry about. We have no reason to suspect the birth shouldn’t go ahead as normal.’

Peter ran his hand over my protruding belly-button, a knot of skin and gristle poking out of my stomach. He described circles over my bloated expanse, his fingers rough but warm. He squeezed my hand again.

‘Darling, you’ll be fine. Let’s just take it easy and the little girl will do a forward roll for her mummy! Don’t you worry.’

‘Your husband’s right, Mrs Daniels. At this stage, there’s no cause for concern.’

Peter buttoned up my blouse from the bottom, pulling it across the architecture of my bra.

‘Just listen to the doctor, darling. He’s right.’

‘Indeed, Mrs Daniels.’

I felt their eyes on me.

‘But everything’s upside down,’ I pleaded.

‘Didn’t you hear Doctor Sandeep, darling? “No cause for concern.”’

My eyes were closed but I could hear Peter wrap the doctor’s claws around his words.

‘Your husband’s right, Mrs Daniels. At least three quarters of such cases rectify themselves before it gets to the final week. And you and your husband have no history of breached births.’

‘Something’s not right.’

‘Darling! You heard what the doctor said. She’ll be just fine. You’ll only get into a bother if you keep worrying.’

Peter kissed me on the forehead and the doctor helped me to sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I slipped down, straightening my spine as much as I could. Peter placed an arm around my back and led me to the door, muttering comforting words which I chose not to hear.

‘Thank you for coming in Mrs Daniels,’ said the doctor. ‘I’ll see you again in a week.’

‘Yes, Doctor Sandeep. Thank you,’ I replied.

We walked out into the carpark and Peter opened the door, helping me into the passenger’s seat. My broad thighs slid in off the leather and I dropped into the cupped seat. Peter bent down to fold my legs in.

‘Leave it.’

‘Just trying to help…’

‘For God’s sake, I’m not an invalid, Peter.’

He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He got in, put the keys in the ignition and before turning them leant over and kissed me on the cheek.

‘Darling, don’t worry. Please. Our little girl is going to be just fine.’

My head dropped forward, my chin folding flaps of flab on my neck until my head bobbed with tears on my chest.

‘What is it?’

‘Well…’

‘You heard what the doctor said: she’ll be just fine… our little girl.’

‘She’s not “ours”…per se.’

Lewis Crofts

Bruxelles, December 2006