I went to a new gynecologist expecting a routine checkup, but as soon as he finished the exam, he frowned and asked in a strange tone who had treated me before. I answered naturally that it had been my husband, who is also a gynecologist. Then the silence in the room grew heavy\u2014almost unbearable. He stared at me for several seconds that felt endless and said with a seriousness that chilled my blood: \u201cWe need to run tests right now. What I\u2019m seeing shouldn\u2019t be there.\u201d In that moment, I felt as if the ground had vanished beneath my feet.I went to that new gynecologist almost automatically, like someone checking another box on the list of \u201cresponsible adult things.\u201d I had postponed my annual exam for too long, and Diego had been reminding me for weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Make an appointment with someone reliable, someone from the public hospital. That way they won\u2019t think I\u2019m treating you because of favoritism,\u201d he had joked.That March day in Madrid was cold, and I was still wearing my coat when the nurse called my name.\u201cLuc\u00eda Mart\u00edn.\u201dDr. \u00c1lvaro Serrano\u2019s office was bright, with a large window overlooking a quiet street in Chamber\u00ed. He looked to be in his early forties, with graying hair, thin glasses, and a reserved, almost shy kindness. He asked the usual questions: medical history, cycles, pregnancies. I nodded and answered with short replies.When I mentioned that my husband was also a gynecologist and worked at a private clinic in Salamanca, \u00c1lvaro raised an eyebrow with mild curiosity.Then you must already be used to all of this,\u201d he joked, trying to lighten the moodI smiled politely. In truth, ever since Diego opened his own clinic, we had avoided having him be my doctor.\u201cI find it hard to separate the personal from the professional with you,\u201d he used to say, as if that confession itself were proof of love.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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