On Monday afternoon, while she was setting me up for the x-ray that revealed my pneumonia, the technician asked me, “Now, is there any possibility you might be pregnant?”
I always find this wording funny, and responded, “Well, yes, there’s a possibility.”
The technician froze, and for some reason my eyes traveled up above the referencing target where I saw in bolded caps:
IF YOU ARE PREGNANT, OR THINK YOU MAY BE PREGNANT,
INFORM THE X-RAY TECHNITION IMMEADIATELY.
I sighed then, and told the young woman, “No. I’m not pregnant.”
She was wary now. “Not even a chance?” Again, I couldn’t not-tell the whole truth, even to simplify things (I think it’s connected to my explaining problem) .
“Of course there’s a chance, biologically speaking, but it’s really. not. likely.” Poor dear finally seemed to take the spirit of my answer rather than follow (what I would guess was) the letter of the law from her training.
Half-attempting an apology when she came to rearrange me against the bull’s-eye, I told her, “I’m a literalist. I think there’s always some chance of pregnancy when there’s sex.”
I managed to refrain from my short lecture on efficacy (let your words be beneficial, pearls before swine, and all those good reminders must have been in my mind somewhere).
Even so, my readers here will, I think, eventually receive some further talk about efficacy ;-)
If it makes someone uncomfortable to think about the direct connection between sex and babies, well, I think it would be wise to take a good hard look at your expectations and the way our bodies work.