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Authors: Judy Clemens
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scrunch my foot under the dash.
Lucy started the car. “Maybe I can visit Carla while you’re in the ER.”
“We’re not going to the ER.”
Lucy squinted at me. “Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re not. We’re going to my doctor.”
“She can’t help with this.”
“Sure she can. She can take a look and tell us it’s not broken.”
Lucy shook her head and took off down the lane. “You’re impossible, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Dr. Rachel Peterson had been my doctor for only a year. She’d treated me following my motorcycle accident the summer before, and I’d stuck with her. Before that, the last doctor I’d seen regularly had been my pediatrician. Dr. Peterson convinced me it was good to see a physician for more than just an emergency every ten years.
Not that I’d been in that often.
The waiting room held several people, but after a slight amount of Lucy’s badgering, the receptionist said Dr. Rachel would be able to squeeze us in. The receptionist wasn’t very happy about it, but what could she do? Lucy wasn’t going away.
We’d been waiting about fifteen minutes, alternately trying to avoid being sneezed on by sick people and reading pamphlets on nutrition for the pregnant woman, when the outside door opened and a man came in. He strode up to the reception desk, his comb-over flying high as he walked. “Dr. Peterson said I should stop by sometime to talk about my prescription.” He took a pill bottle out of his pocket and set it on the desk.
The receptionist smiled. “All right. I’ll let her know you’re here. And your name is…?”
The man went red. “Not her . It’s Dr. James Peterson I want.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. James isn’t in today. But Dr. Rachel would be happy to—”
“I don’t want her. I want him . When will he be in?”
The smile on the receptionist’s face faltered. “Today is Wednesday. He won’t be in again until Saturday morning.”
“Satur— But my prescription runs out tomorrow!”
“I’m sorry, sir. But, like I said, Dr. Rachel will be glad—”
“Forget it. Just forget it. And tell Dr. James he can forget me, too. This is the last time I’ll be put off by him. I’ll have my new doctor send for my records. Today .”
He spun on his heel, strode toward the door, and shoved it open. He disappeared outside, but was soon back, stomping toward the reception desk. My muscles went tight, and I wondered how quickly my foot would allow me to get to the desk if he got violent. His hand shot out from his side, and he swiped his prescription bottle from the desk, knocking over a pen holder and scattering its contents onto the floor.
I hoped the door would smack his ass as he left.
“Well.” Lucy slipped from her chair and picked the array of pens and pencils off of the tile floor. She righted the holder and placed the pens back into it, setting it gently in front of the receptionist. “I guess that’s not something you see every day.”
The receptionist’s fingers fluttered toward her hair, then to the arm of her glasses. “Not every day, no, but far too often for my taste.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lucy sat back down and I watched the bright color on the receptionist’s face slowly fade. When the phone rang a few minutes later she jumped, but her voice sounded steady as she spoke.
A nurse soon called my name and I pushed myself from my chair. Lucy rose to come with me, but I waved her back. “I don’t want my mommy.”
She frowned. “What if you need me?”
“I promise to have the nurse get you if I think I’m going to cry.”
She rolled her eyes, and sat back down.
“Besides,” I said, “shouldn’t you be reading that brochure about quitting your smoking habit?”
A young mother close by glanced at Lucy, and I grinned at the fire I could imagine coming out of Lucy’s eyes.
The nurse did the usual—temperature, blood pressure, embarrassing questions—and left me alone in the examining room. She didn’t attempt to
Lucy started the car. “Maybe I can visit Carla while you’re in the ER.”
“We’re not going to the ER.”
Lucy squinted at me. “Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re not. We’re going to my doctor.”
“She can’t help with this.”
“Sure she can. She can take a look and tell us it’s not broken.”
Lucy shook her head and took off down the lane. “You’re impossible, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Dr. Rachel Peterson had been my doctor for only a year. She’d treated me following my motorcycle accident the summer before, and I’d stuck with her. Before that, the last doctor I’d seen regularly had been my pediatrician. Dr. Peterson convinced me it was good to see a physician for more than just an emergency every ten years.
Not that I’d been in that often.
The waiting room held several people, but after a slight amount of Lucy’s badgering, the receptionist said Dr. Rachel would be able to squeeze us in. The receptionist wasn’t very happy about it, but what could she do? Lucy wasn’t going away.
We’d been waiting about fifteen minutes, alternately trying to avoid being sneezed on by sick people and reading pamphlets on nutrition for the pregnant woman, when the outside door opened and a man came in. He strode up to the reception desk, his comb-over flying high as he walked. “Dr. Peterson said I should stop by sometime to talk about my prescription.” He took a pill bottle out of his pocket and set it on the desk.
The receptionist smiled. “All right. I’ll let her know you’re here. And your name is…?”
The man went red. “Not her . It’s Dr. James Peterson I want.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Dr. James isn’t in today. But Dr. Rachel would be happy to—”
“I don’t want her. I want him . When will he be in?”
The smile on the receptionist’s face faltered. “Today is Wednesday. He won’t be in again until Saturday morning.”
“Satur— But my prescription runs out tomorrow!”
“I’m sorry, sir. But, like I said, Dr. Rachel will be glad—”
“Forget it. Just forget it. And tell Dr. James he can forget me, too. This is the last time I’ll be put off by him. I’ll have my new doctor send for my records. Today .”
He spun on his heel, strode toward the door, and shoved it open. He disappeared outside, but was soon back, stomping toward the reception desk. My muscles went tight, and I wondered how quickly my foot would allow me to get to the desk if he got violent. His hand shot out from his side, and he swiped his prescription bottle from the desk, knocking over a pen holder and scattering its contents onto the floor.
I hoped the door would smack his ass as he left.
“Well.” Lucy slipped from her chair and picked the array of pens and pencils off of the tile floor. She righted the holder and placed the pens back into it, setting it gently in front of the receptionist. “I guess that’s not something you see every day.”
The receptionist’s fingers fluttered toward her hair, then to the arm of her glasses. “Not every day, no, but far too often for my taste.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lucy sat back down and I watched the bright color on the receptionist’s face slowly fade. When the phone rang a few minutes later she jumped, but her voice sounded steady as she spoke.
A nurse soon called my name and I pushed myself from my chair. Lucy rose to come with me, but I waved her back. “I don’t want my mommy.”
She frowned. “What if you need me?”
“I promise to have the nurse get you if I think I’m going to cry.”
She rolled her eyes, and sat back down.
“Besides,” I said, “shouldn’t you be reading that brochure about quitting your smoking habit?”
A young mother close by glanced at Lucy, and I grinned at the fire I could imagine coming out of Lucy’s eyes.
The nurse did the usual—temperature, blood pressure, embarrassing questions—and left me alone in the examining room. She didn’t attempt to
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