Gilbert I. Martin, MD, Jon Fanaroff, MD, JD, Robert Turbow MD, JD 

Dell’s unexpected telephone call interrupted a rather busy, unproductive paper-shuffling day. “Ralph,” she began, “I’ve got great news. The promotion came through—it’s just what I want.” 

“Great, great, honey,” I replied. Dell had been trying to land this job as Chief X-ray Technician for two years, and it seemed that all of her hard work had now paid off.” 

“Let’s celebrate.” Dell continued. “Make reservations at Villa Vincenzo’s at 8 o’clock. I’ll meet you there.” 

“What would you like this evening, Madame?” the waiter asked. 

“I think I will have breaded veal cutlet, pasta Alfredo, and a baked potato. Please bring black coffee with dinner.” 

“Would you care for any other vegetables?” the waiter continued. 

“I think not,” replied Dell. 

“And for you, sir,” he said, turning toward me. 

“I believe I will have the antipasto, veal scaloppini with a side order of eggplant, and bring me a Lite beer as well. 

“Very good, sir,” he said as he turned and walked away. I poured another glass of champagne, and we talked for a few moments. Suddenly the maître d’ of the restaurant appeared in front of us. 

“Buona Sera,” he began. 

“Good evening,” I replied. 

“I am sorry to interrupt your dinner, but Mr. Skurow, the manager of the restaurant, would like to see you in his office. It’s important. Please follow me.” 

“What about our dinner?” I exclaimed. 

“Dinner will wait for your return,” he replied. “Please follow me.” 

Rather bewildered, quite annoyed, and still hungry, we followed him into the manager’s office. Mr. Skurow was fiftyish, rather suave, with graying hair and jet black eyes, which quickly darted as he spoke. 

“Please sit down,” as he motioned us to a small couch at one end of the room. He sat down at a desk at least ten feet from us across a plush, British racing green carpet. 

Hoping to take the offensive quickly, I said, “I hope you have an adequate explanation for interrupting our dinner.” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he continued. “As you know, Mr., eh….?” 

“Rubin,” I replied. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Rubin, the “Protect the Newborn Act,” which Congress recently passed, is quite specific about do’s and don’ts for pregnant women in an attempt to protect the unborn child from illness and stress. All restaurants, employers, physicians, and industries have had to read and understand the law and abide by it. You know about the law, don’t you? Your obstetrician should have been quite explicit about it.” 

“Dr. Copeland did mention the law, but he is old-fashioned about his practice and actually did not spend too much time telling us about it. What, if anything, does this have to do with interrupting our dinner and spoiling a perfectly good evening? 

Please get to the point, and be brief. We are both hungry, and my wife, who is seven months pregnant in case you haven’t noticed, needs her nourishment.” 

“Dell,” I interrupted, “Go on, man, go on.” 

“Yes, yes, yes.” 

I was getting more annoyed by the minute, and the “yes, yes, yes” was not helping any. 

“As you can see,” he continued, “a dinner consisting of breaded veal cutlet, pasta, and potatoes is loaded with starch and does not contain enough vegetables or a balance between protein, fat, and carbohydrates. This is something which we “restaurateurs” must be careful of today because if an inspector is present, our license can be revoked. Also, if a federal or state official noticed Mrs. Rubin drinking champagne or coffee in Villa Vincenzo’s, we would be fined, and you would be asked to appear in court to defend your actions in jeopardizing your newborn infant.” 

“This is preposterous,” I said, rising and pulling Dell with me. 

“Preposterous, maybe,” he continued,” but I would advise making an appointment with your obstetrician tomorrow for he can fill you in on other parts of the law. These, I believe, deal with allowable types of employment, smoking, and other potential hazards to the baby. As you can see, there is no smoking allowed in most public places today, for apparently, the baby remains at risk.” 

“It seems to me,” said Dell, obviously bewildered and upset, “that the unborn baby has begun to have more rights than the parents.” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” was the reply. “Now, before it gets too late. Could I interest Madame in the zucchini squash?” 

Disclosure: There are no reported conflicts.