Dr. Barrett grins. “That’s good to hear. When a guy comes to the doctor for the first time in years, it’s either because something’s really wrong, or a woman pushed him to do it.”
“Yeah.”
He glances back at his computer, presumably reading my answers to the new patient questionnaire. “You’re not married?”
“No.”
“In a relationship?”
“No.” I don’t have time for relationships.
“And you don’t smoke or drink alcohol?”
“No.”
“And no family history I should be aware of? Your parents are healthy?”
“Yep.” This is technically a lie, but I can convince myself it’s an insignificant one. My mother would probably still be healthy if she hadn’t been hit by a car while she was crossing the street. She died when she was forty-six, before she had a chance to develop heart disease or high blood pressure.
And since her cause of death wasn’t hereditary, there’s no reason to mention it to Dr. Barrett.
Barrett’s looking at the computer again. “I didn’t realize you were a neurosurgeon,” he says. “You work at Somerset Hospital?”
“Yep.”
“That must be stressful.”
“Not really,” I shrug.
“Mmmm,” he says thoughtfully. “And what kinds of things do you do outside of work?”
“Outside of work?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a bad first date, not a doctor’s appointment.
“Yeah, what kinds of things do you do for fun?” Dr. Barrett asks.
He has to be joking—there’s no way this touchy-feely crap can be part of a routine physical.
But apparently he’s serious, because he’s staring at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Uh, I spend time with my sister and her family. And I go to the gym. And, uh, my friends and I play poker sometimes.”
The poker’s a bit of stretch. I used to play poker with three other surgeons, but it’s been months since we got together. Luke’s got a girlfriend now, and since she doesn’t play poker, he’s not really interested either. And Ethan’s been on a leave of absence since the fall, and he’s been out of town.
Actually, I had to force Ethan to take a leave of absence, because he was struggling with an alcohol addiction. It was a messy and miserable situation, and I’m not sure he’ll want to play poker with me when he comes back.
Being the department chief isn’t exactly great for my social life.
“How’s your poker face?” Dr. Barrett asks.
You tell me, Dr. Barrett. Can you tell how I really feel about this appointment?
“I do okay at poker.”
“Great,” he says with a smile. “Okay. I’ll just do a quick physical exam.”
His exam is mercifully quick, but when he’s done, he says he’d like to check my blood pressure again. The cuff squeezes, painfully tight, and the machine beeps.
“Hmm. Still a little high,” Dr. Barrett says thoughtfully.
