The Rosie Effect
Page 61
Stefan! Now Rosie was sharing critical data with him rather than the person who could make best use of it.
Although the method of transmission was frustratingly indirect, the identification of the Ultrasound Error was excellent input into improving my competence as a prospective father and demonstrating my interest to Rosie.
Gene’s advice was that I should have attended the examination with a knowledge of the procedure and its possible outcomes. Fortunately, I had a second chance. Rosie had agreed to an exact date for the second sonogram: Twenty-two weeks, zero days and zero hours from the nominal beginning of gestation, which had been established at the first appointment as Monday, 20 May. I calculated the date—21 October—and reserved the entire day in my schedule. This time I would be prepared.
I studied The Book for further events that might offer similar potential for error, or for compensatory high performance. There was one obvious example—the birth. The parallels with the sonogram appointment were striking:
1. Attendance at a specialist facility.
2. A critical point at which problems might be identified.
3. A low probability of problems, but high anxiety.
4. Expected presence of the partner despite him or her having no role in the procedure.
From The Book and further research, the best description that I could formulate of my role was ‘reduce partner’s anxiety’. This could be achieved through familiarity with the birth process so that the partner could be informed at all times as to what was happening while she concentrated on execution of the procedure. Knowledge is something I am good at. As a medical student, Rosie would have a basic understanding, but I planned to become an expert on birth, including the full range of possible complications and outcomes. I reopened Dewhurst’s Textbook of Obstetrics and Gynaecology and renewed my efforts to supplement theory with practice.
After multiple requests to assist with or even merely observe an actual birth, David Borenstein finally gave me contact details for Dr Lauren McTighe, who was based in Connecticut.
She called on a Saturday evening as the boys’ group finished take-out pizza at George’s. I explained the situation to my companions and, to my surprise, not only Dave but also George and Gene decided to join us.
‘You don’t need the knowledge,’ I said.
‘Male bonding,’ said George. ‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be about?’
I called Lauren back to ensure that their presence would not be a problem.
‘If you want. But you better warn them about the complications. It may not have a happy ending.’
We hailed a taxi and I gave the driver Dave’s address so we could collect his vehicle.
‘Bugger that,’ said George. ‘This is an emergency, right?’
‘A breech birth,’ I said. ‘Apparently there are additional problems. I’m expecting to learn a great deal.’
‘We’re going straight to Lakeville, Connecticut,’ said George to the taxi driver. ‘I want you to wait and drive us back.’
‘I don’t take this cab anywhere past—’
George, who was in the front seat, gave the driver some money held together by a rubber band, and the driver was silent as he counted it. He did not object further.
It was hard to believe that George had acquired such wealth during the brief period that the Dead Kings had been popular almost fifty years ago. I assumed that, being a rock musician, he would have wasted the majority on illicit drugs. His payment of the taxi driver provided a good opportunity to ask.
‘Where do you get all your money from?’
‘That’s what I like about you, Don. Straight to the point.’
Being straight to the point is what people generally don’t like about me.
‘Straight question, straight answer,’ said George. ‘Alimony.’
Gene laughed. ‘Let me guess. You had to work so hard to pay off four wives that you accidently ended up making some for yourself. Or one of them died and the quarter you got back was enough to live like a king.’
‘Close enough,’ said George. ‘My first wife died three years ago. Cancer. I left her when the band started to get noticed. Thought I could do better. Rock star and all. I never really did. I could say they were all the same, but the problem was I was all the same. When you have the same problem with four women, you start to think it might have something to do with you.’
‘Not sure how that helped financially,’ said Gene. ‘You’re not saying she left you all her money?’
‘I am saying that. Not all of it, but enough. I had to pay two-thirds of my income to her back in the day, and when we had a few hits that turned out to be quite a bit. I was pissing my third up against the wall and she was buying property. When she died she left half of it for me.’
‘Very generous of her,’ said Gene.
‘It was me or our son. He’s already blown his share. She must’ve seen that coming; left some to me so I could bail him out. She was no Jerry Hall, but I never did any better. Take note, young Donald.’
I had taken note. George’s advice, generalised and then particularised for my situation, seemed clear. If I couldn’t make it with Rosie, I couldn’t make it with anyone. If my marriage failed, I would not try again. My choice was Rosie or the remainder of my life without a partner. Or a child.
The journey took two hours and sixteen minutes, eight minutes longer than predicted by my navigation application.
‘You’re just in time,’ said Lauren (age approximately forty-five, BMI twenty-three). ‘I’ve been holding off till you arrived, but she’s in quite a bit of distress and I couldn’t leave it much longer. This is Ben.’
Although the method of transmission was frustratingly indirect, the identification of the Ultrasound Error was excellent input into improving my competence as a prospective father and demonstrating my interest to Rosie.
Gene’s advice was that I should have attended the examination with a knowledge of the procedure and its possible outcomes. Fortunately, I had a second chance. Rosie had agreed to an exact date for the second sonogram: Twenty-two weeks, zero days and zero hours from the nominal beginning of gestation, which had been established at the first appointment as Monday, 20 May. I calculated the date—21 October—and reserved the entire day in my schedule. This time I would be prepared.
I studied The Book for further events that might offer similar potential for error, or for compensatory high performance. There was one obvious example—the birth. The parallels with the sonogram appointment were striking:
1. Attendance at a specialist facility.
2. A critical point at which problems might be identified.
3. A low probability of problems, but high anxiety.
4. Expected presence of the partner despite him or her having no role in the procedure.
From The Book and further research, the best description that I could formulate of my role was ‘reduce partner’s anxiety’. This could be achieved through familiarity with the birth process so that the partner could be informed at all times as to what was happening while she concentrated on execution of the procedure. Knowledge is something I am good at. As a medical student, Rosie would have a basic understanding, but I planned to become an expert on birth, including the full range of possible complications and outcomes. I reopened Dewhurst’s Textbook of Obstetrics and Gynaecology and renewed my efforts to supplement theory with practice.
After multiple requests to assist with or even merely observe an actual birth, David Borenstein finally gave me contact details for Dr Lauren McTighe, who was based in Connecticut.
She called on a Saturday evening as the boys’ group finished take-out pizza at George’s. I explained the situation to my companions and, to my surprise, not only Dave but also George and Gene decided to join us.
‘You don’t need the knowledge,’ I said.
‘Male bonding,’ said George. ‘Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be about?’
I called Lauren back to ensure that their presence would not be a problem.
‘If you want. But you better warn them about the complications. It may not have a happy ending.’
We hailed a taxi and I gave the driver Dave’s address so we could collect his vehicle.
‘Bugger that,’ said George. ‘This is an emergency, right?’
‘A breech birth,’ I said. ‘Apparently there are additional problems. I’m expecting to learn a great deal.’
‘We’re going straight to Lakeville, Connecticut,’ said George to the taxi driver. ‘I want you to wait and drive us back.’
‘I don’t take this cab anywhere past—’
George, who was in the front seat, gave the driver some money held together by a rubber band, and the driver was silent as he counted it. He did not object further.
It was hard to believe that George had acquired such wealth during the brief period that the Dead Kings had been popular almost fifty years ago. I assumed that, being a rock musician, he would have wasted the majority on illicit drugs. His payment of the taxi driver provided a good opportunity to ask.
‘Where do you get all your money from?’
‘That’s what I like about you, Don. Straight to the point.’
Being straight to the point is what people generally don’t like about me.
‘Straight question, straight answer,’ said George. ‘Alimony.’
Gene laughed. ‘Let me guess. You had to work so hard to pay off four wives that you accidently ended up making some for yourself. Or one of them died and the quarter you got back was enough to live like a king.’
‘Close enough,’ said George. ‘My first wife died three years ago. Cancer. I left her when the band started to get noticed. Thought I could do better. Rock star and all. I never really did. I could say they were all the same, but the problem was I was all the same. When you have the same problem with four women, you start to think it might have something to do with you.’
‘Not sure how that helped financially,’ said Gene. ‘You’re not saying she left you all her money?’
‘I am saying that. Not all of it, but enough. I had to pay two-thirds of my income to her back in the day, and when we had a few hits that turned out to be quite a bit. I was pissing my third up against the wall and she was buying property. When she died she left half of it for me.’
‘Very generous of her,’ said Gene.
‘It was me or our son. He’s already blown his share. She must’ve seen that coming; left some to me so I could bail him out. She was no Jerry Hall, but I never did any better. Take note, young Donald.’
I had taken note. George’s advice, generalised and then particularised for my situation, seemed clear. If I couldn’t make it with Rosie, I couldn’t make it with anyone. If my marriage failed, I would not try again. My choice was Rosie or the remainder of my life without a partner. Or a child.
The journey took two hours and sixteen minutes, eight minutes longer than predicted by my navigation application.
‘You’re just in time,’ said Lauren (age approximately forty-five, BMI twenty-three). ‘I’ve been holding off till you arrived, but she’s in quite a bit of distress and I couldn’t leave it much longer. This is Ben.’
