Might need a Tums.
I force my mouth into its usual smile. “Why don’t you tell me about it? I’ll see what I can do.”
She shakes her head and waves a dismissive hand. “My appointment is next week. Doctor White has a great reputation for this sort of thing. I won’t bother you with it, dear.”
But I want to be bothered. This is my job. Why won’t she take me seriously?
Definitely need a Tums.
The words are right there at the tip of my tongue—I’d love to help—but I just smile instead. “Of course. I understand.”
“I’ll be right back to you next year for my annual exam.”
Good enough to feel up her boobs, but not good enough to fix her problems. Most patients complain their doctors don’t listen, but I’m here, ready to dive into her issues, only to be told my older, humorless, more misogynistic partner will do it better than me.
But he won’t do it better than me. He’ll talk over her. Barely examine her. Then throw some medicine at the problem.
It’s okay. It’s fine. This isn’t a big dealat all.
After the visit, Talia hums and does a jig outside the room. “That little old lady is my favorite.”
I scrub my chest right above the raw ache, then search my desk drawer. I know I have Tums.
Stupid, really. Don’t even like dealing with incontinence. Let’s examine the silver lining here.
Aha. Tums. I shoot Talia a wink and throw some in my mouth. “I prefer the patient I’m inducing next week.”
Mmm. Chalky lime. Tasty.
“Doctor Foley! You’re gonna make me cry.” She fans her face, then starts belly-cackling.
“Whatever. You’re coming to Pool Party Saturday, right?”
We settle back at our desks to chart. “Uh. Hell, yeah. It’s my last one before the baby.”
“Try not to have your water break in my pool.”
She gives me a sassymmm-hmm, then eyes me. “Tell your skinny blonde friend she owes me a Snickers for winning volleyball last week.”
That reminds me... Need to send Joss the latest picture of the ducklings. Rather funny, gauging her reactions. I can judge her mood based off how exasperated she is with the cuteness overload.
I pull out my phone, and oh, look. Another email from the hospital about Dragon training. They arereallypushing that thing. Must be saving the hospital money. No other explanation for the bombardment of emails would suffice.
I hit Send on the duck pic right as Talia says, “Do you think my baby will come out with hair?”
“Ten bucks says he’s covered in hair on his headandhis back.”
I’m playing the odds. Lanugo is common in newborns. Plus, Talia once showed me her baby picture to prove how cute she was. Very hairy baby she was.
She glares at me. “You think I’m having a Pomeranian or something?”
“You said it,” I tease.
She stands and strides to the door, pretending to be mad.“I’ll quit, you know. You just see how you function without me, Doctor Foley.”
“Icouldn’tfunction without you,” I tell her honestly.
She huffs and marches away, but we both know she’ll return in five minutes—with an empty bladder and a candy bar from the staff kitchen. In the meantime, I finish charting on Mrs. Mulaney and shove my disappointment with her visit deep beneath the surface.
