There’s something I look forward to annually, and even more so as I now require extensive adoption-related documentation and many extra blood tests: my yearly physical. But this year somebody above, below or over there must have smiled upon me (the goddess Bast, maybe, because I did a little something special for her yesterday in observation of the vernal equinox?). My brand new doctor came into the room and offered me a toaster: I was her very first patient! She was excited.Me, too.There was a lot of shuffling going on down there, out of range, and it was a little drafty — out of range, too. I looked at the ceiling above, the wall on my left, the scale on my right, and finally moved into a crunch position to peer over my draped knees. Doctor R— ?
“I can’t find anything down here”
She sounded frustrated. I was reasonably certain I’d seen something down there this morning, but got a little shaky when I began to wonder what I was missing that I didn’t realize ought to be down there. Something that no one had mentioned was missing before. Out of politeness, maybe?I had thought she meant I was her very first patient here at the Big HMO, but started to wonder if A. I was her first patient EVER or B. she had just played a doctor on TV, or stayed in a local hotel chain, or had wandered in and grabbed a white coat.But the drawer in the exam table came open after a bit of jimmying, and voila! It was the speculum she was looking for, and not … something a bit more personal. We were both very happy with the discovery, because she seemed very determined, and I had been concerned that some sort of McGyver approach to making a Dead Ringers-style speculum from paperclips and chewing gum was a possible alternative. Well, “happy” is overstating my state a little. But she was speedy with the tool, things were looking just fine, and most important, everything was there that ought to be there.
