The air reeks of disinfectant and the temperature is much cooler than necessary. The setting supports my belief that humans go to the doctor to die, not to live. If they’re going for the modern-day mortuary feel, mission accomplished.
I giggle. The timing is terrible, but I can’t help it. I imagine the nurse saying, “Scarlet Stone, we’ll fit you for your coffin now.” Maybe the cancer has spread to my brain. At least I could blame my crazy thoughts on that instead of having to completely claim them as my own.
“Let’s get you weighed, and then I’ll have you deposit a urine sample in this cup and place it on the shelf in the restroom.”
The nurse frowns at my weight. How professional of her.
I wee. Find my room. Undress. And sit on the folded gown.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Yes,” I respond.
The doctor enters with his head down, focused on his electronic tablet. When did bedside manner become optional?
“Scarlet, I’m Doctor—” He looks up, then down, then turns.
“Sorry, do you need help with your gown?”
“Nope. If your medical degree is legit, then I don’t think my naked body should be an issue. Don’t act like you’re not going to ask me to recline back and spread my legs.”
“Ms. Stone, it’s protocol for you to—”
“Protocol schmotocol… I’m not hitting on you. I simply think the paper-gown peekaboo game is utterly ridiculous. Let’s just get on with this.”
I can’t explain my behavior, because I’m not a nudist. The only good reason I have for making this poor man feel uncomfortable is Theo. Since he tried to dismiss everything between us, I’ve sort of run out of give-a-fucks.
He turns and clears his throat.
However, it is quite ironic how I’m the one who feels most vulnerable with that stupid gown on, yet he’s the one who is clearly uncomfortable without me wearing it.
“So you’re here to…check on your cancer?” His finger traces along the screen, repeating myReason For Visitverbatim.
“Yes.”
“I don’t have any of your medical records. Have you had a cancer diagnosis?”
“Yes.”
“Well, without your records, I can only run through standard procedure: physical exam, blood and urine tests—”
“Give me your tablet.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t—”
I hop off the table. There are probably not enough days left in my life to learn to play by the rules, but that’s what I’m here to find out. He steps back until the wall meets him. I’m seriously questioning his medical degree.
“You can’t do this,” he protests as I snatch the tablet from him.
“I’m here to check on my cancer…” I access the internet “…and you need my medical records…” my finger eats up the screen, making haste with my mildly-illegal hack into my own medical records “…so I’m getting you my records so we don’t have to reschedule and wait for all the…protocolto be followed. Things run much more smoothly when we look at rules and laws as recommendations. Helpful—or sometimes not—suggestions.”
“Ms. Stone, this is completely un—”
“Here.” I hand him the tablet.
He smooths over his dark hair and adjusts his thick round glasses before he takes the tablet. I ease my bare bum back onto the table and fold my hands in my lap while he reads in silence for several minutes.
“How do you feel?” He finally looks up with a deep line of confusion along his brow.
