Don’t Spook The Doctors

The new, young doctor and her even younger shadow bustle around the tiny examining room while my usual doctor goes to fight with the pharmacy about where exactly the lidocaine might have gotten to, and why it might be taking an hour to get it. They move the ultrasound machine, then move it back, do-si-do around each other, put on gloves, take them off, misplace them, leave and come back.

My dressing gown and I watch all this hubbub with mild concern. I mean, they’re doctors, so I definitely don’t ask, “How old are you?” or “Have either of you actually done this before?” because I know how that makes me sound, and it certainly wouldn’t help the case of nerves they seem to have, especially when they’re about to stick me with needles, so I keep my mouth shut.