Shelly was a bit disappointed that she could not go back to her usual gynecologist, but at least her new job provided her with 100% coverage if she went to the firms preferred medical facility. She didn't make much working at Maxim magazine, so she had to take this money saving opportunity. Seeing as she was dealing with an urgent matter, she was happy there would be no wait for an appointment at the Midtown Medical Clinic. After a year of frugal living working odd temp jobs including a brief stint as a waitress, and an even briefer stint as a geriatric suppository instructor Shelly was happy her degree in journalism finally got her a job working for a magazine. Her title at said magazine was “Backstage Talent Liaison,” meaning she would provide assistance to the models and actors being photographed. This generally included setting up snacks and Champagne, picking up cocaine, and finding women willing to give Kid Rock, a regular friend of the editorial staff, a handjob. This vocation paid little more then most of her previous endeavors, and supplied her with health insurance and a great entry in her resume. Still her living would remain about as luxurious as a hot dog vendor, but it was a step closer to her dream of writing for Cat Fanciers'. It was Monday around noon as Shelly carefully but quickly made her way to the clinic. She was a tall, dirty blond twenty-four year old, with mammary glands that assisted her through the rigorous interview process at Maxim. Shelly was dressed professionally wearing business skirt instead of the usual suit-pants, as any form of stretching provided her with certain discomfort. She was so happy that her check up would be completely covered by her insurance, she insisted in coming into work after the visit to the doctor to show her gratitude. The clinic was in a modern building, on 45th and 12th, directly on the Hudson River. It looked like the bastard child of something Frank Gehry and Tim Burton would dream up. The building half consisted of odd angles and curved walls accented with navy blue and sea green siding, the other half looked dark, and somewhat medieval, menacingly supported by a single rusty beam in the Hudson. Shelly thought this must be one of those hip new green buildings that is somehow powered by the motion of the river. How progressive! thought Shelly as she briskly walked through the doors of the clinic. The lobby was typical for a medical clinic, nice and clinically sterile, decorated with a non-sensical collection of tacky modern art. A large burly security guard was busy watching an episode of Desperate Housewives, muttering what sounded like inspirational feminist phrases. Shelly saw an arrow pointing to the gynecology department, first floor to the left behind the desk, so she didn't bother to interrupt the emotionally preoccupied tough-guy. The gynecologists office was very typical looking, and it lacked other patients. It had a comfortably tacky waiting room with tasteful floral wallpaper and an untouched selection of current women's interest magazines. There were two doors next to the receptionists desk, the first had a fogged glass window, backlit in blue leading to the doctors office. The other door looked to be an antique, oak, painted a dirty black with large brass doorknobs. Over the door a sign read “Basement.” An odd place for the basement entrance thought Shelly, juxtaposed like Bill Cosby at a KKK cookout. Shelly approached Latifah, the receptionist. “I saw the Queen on Oprah this morning, you must me the Princess,” she greeted, immediately regretting her last statement. “Hi, how can I help you?” said Latifah with a slightly irritated smile. “Um, Hi, I'm Shelly O'Neal, and I have a 12:30 appointment with the doctor,” replied Shelly, hoping this interaction would be brief. “Okay,” replied the nurse as she handed Shelly a stack of forms “please fill these out, hand them back, and we will be right with you.” While Shelly was filling out the form she noticed Ingrid, Maxim's bitchy executive assistant emerging from behind the blue door. Ingrid used her position of power to harass and demean Shelly whenever she could. She would blame Shelly for the imperfect temperature of her iced coffee, and complained that the staples she used were “too metal looking.” Ingrid had no real qualifications in business or the publishing industry, aside from the fact that she won the Maxim contest “Women Who Will Still Look Hot in Five Years.” Shelly hid behind the clipboard holding her forms as Ingrid passed by, but it was not enough coverage. The corporate pin-cushion made direct eye contact with Shelly, and continued on, as a total stranger. Shelly then realized that she was not high enough on the totem pole to be graced with Ingrid's eyes in the office. Suddenly this did not bother her. Once completed, Shelly handed her forms back to Latifah. “You have insurance through the firm, Shelly?” she asked. “I do.” “Are you on the United Premium Plus Plan, or the United Premium Extra plan?” “Oh, I'm not sure... I just started, and you know...” said Shelly with a giggle. “Ah, I see,” said the Latifah. “We can find out in a sec which plan you are under. Are you staff or management?” “Um, staff, I suppose.” “Okay, hm.” The secretary typed a few things in the computer and her smile faded. “You are non-exempt, entry-level, tier three employee, correct?” “I'm not sure, but that sounds right, is that what is says? What does that mean?” “Oh, nothing,” Latifah replied with a stern look on her face. “Your appointment is with Dr. A,” she instructed without making eye contact. “Go through the black door, walk down one floor, his office is the first door on the right. It is not marked, but please be sure to enter the first door on the right, and not any other door on that floor.” She handed Shelly a rusty old skeleton key “Once you get to the first door on the right (repeated with emphasis) this key will open Dr. A's office.” With mild concern, Shelly left the office. She went through the menacing black door. This lead her down a dimly lit hallway, at the end of which was a long and rusty metal staircase, each step more physically and ascetically discomforting as she went down. The hallway in the basement was dark, eerily warm, and smelled of yeast. Shelly could hear the waves of the Hudson splashing around close beneath her feet. She walked over to the first door on the right, old and oak as well, with a black brass doorknob. She put the key in the lock and opened the door. The waiting room was a dimly lit and windowless place with a dirty brown rug and dark green walls. Instead of sofas or proper chairs there was a single wobbly looking stool, next to it a TV tray only supporting an issue of TV Guide, its cover showing a young Steve Urkel. Shelley felt uncomfortable at the sight of this place, she was about to turn around and leave when a short man with a limp and a severely lazy eye appeared from behind a curtain. “Ah, you are here for appointment,” said the man in a thick Russian accent as he stared at Shelly and the pole lamp next to her at the same time. “Um, yes, the 12:30...” “Eh, Doktor Auschewitz will be hwith you, eh, mo- momentarily.” “Pardon me?” Shelly asked as she was about to turn around a walk out of the door. Perhaps it would be worth another month living on a diet of bagles and ramen in exchange for a proper doctor thought Shelly. “Dr. Auschewitz, Wolfgang Auschewitz,” boomed a german accented voice from behind her “like the concentration camp, but of spermicide. Pleased to meet you Shelley, let us get this underway.” said the doctor as he entered the office, through creepy oak door. Dr. Auschewitz was a tall man with graying hair, a squared beard, and narrow round glasses. He had the air of a very learned person, and a calming and confidence voice, which comforted Shelly. “Boris, please show Ms. O'Neal to the examination room so she can get prepared for her check-up,” said the doctor to his assistant with a smile. Shelly followed Boris down a long hallway which seemed to sway with the waves underneath. “Please don't be alarmed by the looks of the place,” said Boris “the doctor has interesting opinion on comfortable hwurk environment, but he hwas considered the best gynecologist behind the Iron Curtain.” Boris lead Shelly down a dark and narrow hallway to the examination room. The examination room was bright with concrete floors. There were many odd tables with devices that looked like they belonged in a low budget sci-fi film. In the middle of the room was a divider in front of the examination table. The odd Russian instructed Shelly to get changed into the examination robes, then to get on the table. To her relief of Shelly, Boris left the room, muttering something in russian about “busenskis.” She quickly changed into her robes, then walked behind the divider. What she saw horrified her. The table was old and rusty with hand-cranks, the stirrups flaking with rust looking completely immobile, engraved with the Soviet insignia. This is not worth the free checkup she decided, as she walked towards her discarded clothes in an attempt to get dressed and leave. But before she made had the chance to begin getting dressed Dr. Auschewitz entered the room. “Make yourself comfortable on the table we will begin the examination shortly.” He said as he discarded some bloody gloves, washed his hands, and put on a new pair. This is free, and it is urgent, I will just go with it for a little longer, and get out as fast as possible she thought to herself as she got on the table. The examination table was surprisingly not uncomfortable, and the stirrups, despite being rusty causing them to move in a jerky fashion were nicely padded. The doctor began with a little small talk while he set up. “Have you been living in New York long?” “Two years... so, you are from East Germany then? I love Berlin...” “Ah, Berlin is a wonderful city, but no, I am from Munchen. Ever been?” “No... I thought... Iron Curtain was only East Germany?” “Yes, but I emigrated to the East, because, well, they were more open to my medical curiosities,” he stated nonchalantly “So what seems to be the problem? Is this just your annual checkup?” Shelly paused while his previous statements sunk in “Yes, but I would also like for you to take a look... I have been experiencing some odd discomforts since the weekend.” “Tell me when this first started” he said and he began to gaze inside her with his penlight and mirror. Shelly started to have second thoughts about the situation she was in. “Well, honestly, I think I was just experiencing cramps, I have an important meeting I forgot, can we reschedule?” she asked, as she attempted to lift her ankle out of the stirrup. A sharp pain in her uterus caused her to cry out, causing her legs to uncontrollably kick the air. “Remain calm,” said the doctor, as he latched a top half of the stirrups over her ankles locking her in. Before Shelly could protest the doctor continued with a hint of a smile “Don't worry, you are in good hands, I just don't to get kicked in the face. You understand?” “No I don't...” “So please,” he interrupted “you were telling me when this started...” After a brief hesitation she decided to give the doctor the benefit of the doubt, seeming as she had little choice otherwise. “Well, it started last Saturday. We were on Long Island for my aunts funeral... well I was sunbathing on the beach the day before the funeral. I took a nap while sunbathing. I slept for an hour, maybe two, when suddenly I felt a pain in my vagina, as if someone had kicked me in there from the inside. It woke me up, I thought I got hit by something, but no one was around me, there was a bit of smoke, and the smell of something like gasoline in the air.” “Hm, I see. Do you use any ah, sex toys? Dildoes, vibrators, other foreign objects? Have they ever slipped in?” “I... um... no I have never left anything in there,” said Shelly with a blush. “Have you experienced any irregular discharges?” “Well, yes... that's the odd thing. I... I, um, leaked something similar to motor oil.” “When exactly did this happen?” “Oh, I'd rather not say, it's an embarrassing story...” “You have nothing to fear,” said Dr Auschewitz with a reassuring smile “I am here to help you, not to judge. Be honest, and, like the Treaty of Versailles, I will be able to find the best solution to solve your ailments.” “Ok then,” said Shelly, a bit comforted. “I was at my aunties wake when it happened. I walked up with my uncle to the casket to pay my last respects. While I bent over to give her one last look suddenly... oh it was awful...” “Please continue, do not be shy” said the Doctor somewhat preoccupied with his findings within Shelly. “Well, as I was standing over my aunties casket about a gallon for dark oily fluid came poring out of my vagina, onto the floor, and... well, all over my aunt. My poor uncle jumped back when he saw the fluid spraying down my legs and he slipped in the... the discharge, and he broke his hip, not only that, he was covered in the fluid when he got up... He tried to be nice about it... He swore it was motor oil coming from some pneumatic device on the alter... but it was cleaned up to prevent a fire hazard before we could figure out what it really was.” “Hm... that is odd,” said the doctor “Ah, wait a minute, I see something... oh my.” “What is it doctor?” “I think... but it can't be... let me see... Boris! BORIS!” He yelled. “Oh, I don't really feel comfortable....” “Don't worry about him, he is ex-KGB, and ex-CIA, so he will be of assistance.” “KGB? CIA? What, is there an international incident going on in my vagina?” She asked, with a tremble in her voice, as she decided to buy herself new boots with the money she saved by visiting this guy. “An international incident?” contemplated the Doctor. “Yes, I believe we may have possibly stumbled upon one.” “BORIS!” Yelled the doctor. Boris limped into the room “Hwat is it master?” “I really don't feel comfortable having other people look into...” They ignored her “Boris take a look at this. Is this... could it be?” Boris put a miners helmet on turned on the light and took a look. “I think It is. How did it get there?” “Please excuse us for one moment.” Said the doctor still gawking at the site within Shelly. “Wait! Please tell me what is going on!” she cried frantically. The Doctor and Boris left the room. Shelly did not like having her privacy violated while this the creepy little assistant gawked into her gaping uterus without her permission. She began to get up, but before she could make a move the doctor returned alone with a concerned look on his face. “Ah, Shelly, have you been to North Korea recently?” “No, why...” “The Pacific ring? Japan, South East Asia, the Phillepeans, Hawaii?” “No, what...” “You said Long Island?” “What the do I have in my vagina?” asked Shelly on the verge of hysteria . “Please, one moment while I consult with Boris.” He returned to his assistant and they conferred once more in what sounded like Russian. He turned back to Shelly, and cleared his throat. “Well, I don't quite know how to explain this to you, said the doctor slowly. It appears as though.... it appears as though you have a Tapedong 2 missile stuck in your uterus.” “A WHAT?” “A Tapedong 2 missile. It is an ICBM – intercontinental ballistic missile developed in North Korea to possibly deliver nuclear warheads as far as the mainland US.” “Are you fucking with me?” Shelly shouted. “I am afraid not. See Boris here used to be with the NSA, and he is very familiar with North Korean rocketry. He is quite certain about this.” “What the fuck is a rocket doing lodged in my vagina? How did it get there?” “Well, I'm not sure, I do not know why it would be flying over Long Island...” “How can a massive missile be in my pussy?” “Well, first of all, not the entire missile is in there. See these rockets fire in stages, and the drop parts off, so you only have about a third of the entire rocket in there.” “But that still must be huge!” “Well, yes, you know the uterian wall can expand like a balloon to hold a child...” “But there is a fucking rocket in there!” “Well, you do have a rather big vagina...” “Okay, I had enough of this bullshit, let me out of here, and I won't call the cops, I want to see a real doctor” she yelled. “Please, I only mean to help you. Remain calm. Boris!“ he bellowed “Please bring me that... ah... crowbar.” Boris arrived at his side with a rusty crowbar. The doctor inched the filthy piece of metal towards her vagina. “Get that away from me! Let me out, immediately!” Shelly demanded. She desperately tried to sit up, but the pain inside her was too much to bear at the angle she was in. This is a shitty way to treat a woman who works for a magazine that supposedly worships the female body thought Shelly, awaiting her horrid fate. “Oh, I am so sorry. Boris! Bring a fresh bottle of the topical medicine.” Boris appeared second later with and odd white bottle with Cyrillic writing on it. “What is that?” asked Shelly, terrified, as the doctor removed the plastic wrapping from the bottle. He squeezed some white lotion onto his fingers. “Don't worry, it is only pain reliever.” Do not put that on me! How can I trust...” she broke off her plea as the doctor rubbed the lotion into her uteran walls, immediately relieving Shelly of the pain, and relaxing her. “This is the best... opium based, I'm sure you will enjoy...” he said. Shelly felt as if she was melting into the examination table as he re-approached her with his crowbar. At least I don't have to pay any money for this, I'm going to spend all the money I'm saving on liquor and take the rest of the day off she thought as the effects of the lotion made her indifferent to what could quickly turn into rape or dismemberment. Dr Auschewitz brought the crowbar towards her. He fiddled around within her vagina for a few seconds. Suddenly she felt a snap, and heard a loud metallic bang. Before she knew it the doctor released the stirrup clamps, and helped her up. She only felt the slightest discomfort as she sat up. To her surprise a four-foot tall metal object, that looked like a rocket engine with unknown eastern writing on it was sitting on the floor at the end of the table. “Feeling better?” The doctor asked as he helped her up “I told you there was nothing to fear.” She paused, still astounded at what came out of her “Why yes, I feel much better... um, thank you.” “Here,” he said handing her the bottle of lotion. “apply this every morning and evening for the next week, and here is a prescription for some anti-biotics, and a note to keep you out of work until after our next appointment.” She walked around the engine in stoned astonishment. “So this is what was in me?” “Oh, that is just a small piece of the rocket. Next week, we will remove the rest, once I order the proper equipment.” “Okay” she agreed, feeling too sedated to protest mothering a WMD for a full week. “Go up to the secretary, and set up an appointment.” “Thank you doctor” she replied, dazed. She was so sedated she didn't even realize she walked back up to the office, and approached Latifah. “I need to set up another appointment.” “Sure,” replied the receptionist. “I will set you up for next Tuesday at ten in the morning. Today's appointment comes out to $220.” Shelly quickly sobered up, and her face turned bright red. “What? I thought this was covered by my insurance?” “Checkups are fully covered. Only Twenty percent of any procedures are covered by your plan. Will that be cash or credit?” Boom. |