The second Sadie pulls out a couple of elastic bands; pink and blue Ace bandages. “Sit up please,” she sighs. Her scrubs are a poor man’s Jackson Pollack, and her shirt is just too short for her long torso, so that it reveals her middle every time she moves. She lifts up Cheryl’s shirt, exposing the fully distended bloat. Steve moves to close the door, for privacy, but the first Sadie gets in his way as she strolls back into the room. First Sadie is wheeling a medical equivalent of a coat rack over to the side of the bed. She stands directly between husband and wife, plugs in a black cord to the wall and clamps what looks like a miniature hot crimper on the end of Cheryl’s finger. The junior Sadie, who’s long brown hair is pulled tightly into a pony tail, wraps the two ace bandages around cherry’s pregnancy and says, “These are for the baby; to monitor the baby.” She has an accent like she’s from eastern Europe somewhere. Probably conned some GI into marrying her, Steve thinks. Pinko Stinko Commies.