As if my nerves for Saturday and having a hectic theatre performance in front of me was not enough, the gynaecologist I was about to see could also schedule me in on Saturday morning only.
That is how I found myself in the hospital mere hours before my performance, knowing well that my costume and make up artist expected me there any moment now.
I had sat in the waiting room with my scripts, revising and re-revising my lines for the afternoon, thinking I'd go through a mental practice of the skit since I missed the actual one for this appointment, and the lines were everything in my head until I was sitting inside, on the chair, some liquid gel on my skin and a machine being rubbed on my non existent belly.
The lines were also everything in my head until the doctor pointed at the scree
