He held up his free hand in surrender, but his smirk saidthis conversation isn’t over.
“I got him a cat,” I blurted before he could leave.
A beat passed.
“You got your husband a cat?”
“Yes.”
He tilted his head. “You hate cats.”
“I know.”
“You’re allergic.”
“I.know,” I spat through clenched teeth.
He burst into laughter. I grabbed the stapler off my desk and hurled it at him on instinct, but he was already ducking away, still chuckling as he disappeared down the hall, calling, “Alright, Mrs. Thompson, the doctor will see you now!”
I forced myself to inhale, exhale, to tuck the tiny flutters under lock and key just as the door opened.
“Hi, Jennie,” I said, rising from my chair. “How are you doing?”
Her husband stood behind her unexpectedly, his expression startled.
“Mr. Thompson. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze shifted to his wife. “I thought you said your OB was named Lilly?”
I froze for a fraction of a second. “It is. Dr. Lillian Tariq.”
The smile on his face disappeared entirely, a flicker of suspicion settling into his stare.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Thompson?”
He shook his head, but the strain in his jaw betrayed the lie. I didn’t need to be psychic to know what the issue was. That subtle tightening around his eyes, his glare lingering on the fabric wrapped around my head, the unfamiliarity he clearly hadn’t prepared himself for—it all screamed it without him saying a word.
My chest constricted with a familiar pang. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a patient refuse my care because I was Muslim, because of the hijab, because of me. Racism wasn’t new—it had shown up in whispered doubts, in hesitations, in people’s eyes darting away instead of meeting mine. But I swallowed it down, letting my excellency speak louder than his prejudice ever could.
“Well,” I said, gesturing for them to sit down, “let’s get started on your birth plan for the twins, shall we?” I flipped open her chart. “Everything we discussed last time is here, and a few updates that I think will make the process smoother for you.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes, that sounds great.”
I had just opened my mouth to continue when he cut in.
“Are you a Canadian citizen?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It’s important,” he said evenly, “that the person handling my wife and children is a fellow Canadian.”
For a split second, something hot ran up my spine. As if citizenship conferred medical talent. As if maple syrup in my veins would somehow improve my surgical precision.
“I was born and raised in Vancouver,” I said calmly. “So yes, I’m a Canadian citizen.”
He made a small, noncommittal noise.
I turned back to Jennie with a reassuring smile. “As I was saying—”
