Sherry
Do you ever fall asleep in the weirdest places? I'm not talking about on the sofa while binge watching Netflix on a Saturday night… No, I'm talking about on your desk at work, eating a nice dinner with your roommate (because who could date a walking zombie), or how about today when I fell asleep during my yearly OB/GYN appointment. Which, by the way, is happening now, and I'm going to leave this office mortified in more ways than one.
Let's rewind a few minutes, shall we? I mean, you totally need to get the FULL effect of this humiliation. Here I am, all five-feet-two-inches laying on the uncomfortable chair in the tiny room. Oh, let's not forget the thin paper blanket covering my body that's only dressed in an even worse paper-plastic gown. Seriously, why are we forced to wear this? Can't we get real robes in these places? I've been asking Dr. Davis Sr. this same question for the past five years that I've been coming here. You'll understand my dilemma here soon… Yes, you read the last sentence correctly, five years I've been coming here at least once every year. I mean, a woman who's twenty-five-years-old needs to have her check-ups and birth control filled, right? Not that I'm getting laid regularly; that would require me to stay awake long enough to make it out on time for a date.
Laying back I make myself as comfortable as I can and stare up at the dingy off-white ceiling tiles. I start to count them row by row, gridding them off one by one in my OCD way that I do when I count to stay awake. This is the only thing that I've been able to do over the last few years to stay awake. Seems the focusing on numbers keeps the sleepy side of my brain working. Time passes, and I stop counting; shifting on the temporary table, the thin fake blanket falls to the ground. I lay here contemplating if I want to actually move and pick it up, or just wait it out a little longer before moving; hell, I'm comfy. Deciding to forego picking it up, I adjust my robe and before I know it my eyes slide shut. Time is nothing to figure in at this point, because when I'm out, I'm out until I startle or hear voices.
"Miss. Wilde, I'm Dr. Davis Jr., and it's a pleasure to meet you." The deep, raspy voice booms throughout the tiny space causing me to fly up straight, halfway falling off the table. Lucky or not so lucky for me, I'm caught by a pair of arms that are totally not MY Dr. Davis' arms. Nope, those are not his frail older arms… And that voice isn't the voice of a man who's been doing this for over thirty years… My face comes level with his as he's bending down to push me back up. My throat’s dry like I just swallowed a handful of sand from the beach as I stare into his graphite gray eyes. They resemble the ones I'm used to seeing, but they don't belong on this imposter’s body.
Leaning back up, I wipe my eyes as I try to focus on what's going on and where I am. I don't recall making an appointment with anyone other than my doctor, so who's this person? I know for a fact that my Dr. Davis is the only doctor who works in this practice. It’s only been him over the last five years. Just as I go to ask, I happen to notice that the light paper robe is wide open, and my goodies are on full display. I shouldn't let this bother me because what has an OB/GYN not seen before? Pretty sure they’ve seen a pair of boobies, and if they haven't—well hello, here's mine for you to stare at. Grabbing the side and crossing it over my chest, I gather my wits and clear my throat.
"Sorry, who are you again?"
"Dr. Davis, well junior, that is."
"Oh… Well, I made my appointment with your father…He's been my doctor for years, and I don't think this’ll work," I say quickly as there is NO way he is looking at my tunnel of love.
"I assure you that you're in good hands, Miss. Wilde, and since I've taken over the practice, my father has turned over all his patients to me."
I sit here staring at him like he's grown a set of horns. How did they not alert me of this change when I scheduled my appointment? Or, for that matter, checked in? This has to be against some policy, law, or hazard to the general population. I liked coming here to see his father; he's old, and it's not weird when he's down in between my legs looking around the tunnel of love for issues. Or, what's going to happen when he has to push and grab the double lattes? My heart rate speeds up, and a tiny bubble of sweat forms on my forehead. Someone has stolen my ability to speak, or act like a normal human being because right now all I can do is stare at him.
Jumping down from the table, half of the stupid robe catches on the side of those foot contraptions and rips in half. Great, now my body is on full display. I ignore it and dash over to the corner, pulling the 80’s style curtain closed so I can dress.
"Miss. Wilde, is everything okay?" he asks from the other side of the room.
"Yes…. Well, no it's not okay. You can't be old enough to stare at my goodies, and I refuse to allow you to touch me. I demand to see your father." My voice booms from behind my current shelter, and if I'm not mistaken, I swear I just heard a soft chuckle coming from him. I peek my head around and look at him. Yep, that smug ass is leaning against the counter, tapping his pen against my file with the sexiest smile I've ever seen on someone's face.
Quickly, I run through the reasons this appointment shouldn't happen.
Reason One: Never allow a handsome man to examine your lady parts.
Reason Two: Never let someone that you might be attracted to, to dig around in an area that should not be violated in that manner.
Reason Three: I can't remember when the last time I waxed was, so revert back to reason one.
Lord, this list could go forever, but at some point, I just have to pull this curtain back and face him. Dressed and satisfied that I’m covered, I slide the thin material back and square my shoulders at the imposter of a doctor. My voice is quiet and steady. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I'll need to reschedule at a later time."
"Why?"
"Why, what?" I ask, scrunching up my face as I can't understand why he thinks this is normal.
"Do you care to explain to me why you're dressed and about to walk out without your exam?"
"Not really, just… just I don't feel like doing it right now, okay," I quickly respond. Grabbing my purse, I sling it over my shoulder and huff over to the door.
"My father is retiring; just thought you should know that you'll eventually have to see me or change doctors. If it would make you feel better, you can call me Greyson or Dr. Greyson."
I stop in my tracks with my hand on the handle to my escape. The room’s heating up, and I feel like I'm someone just turned the heat on. "Guess I'm looking for a new older doctor," I state firmly before I head out into the hall. Briskly I make a dash to the check-out counter; plopping my purse up on the counter I stick my head through the window for a familiar face. Not seeing the usual receptionist behind the desk now, I slouch forward in defeat.
"What's happening," I say out loud to only be startled by the raspy sexy voice behind me.
"Panic attack, denial, afraid of change. It could be many things, but without examining you, or doing a Q&A session, I can't help you." Dr. Davis—or the junior, I should say—cracks his funny joke only to cause me to cut my eyes in his direction.
"All done, Miss. Wilde?" the peppy nurse's voice beams with excitement as my head spins back to her.
"No, no I'm not all done, and I need a new appointment with his father." I practically scream it at her, causing a snort from behind.
"Sorry, but he's no longer accepting appointments. Want me to reschedule you?"
"No, no I don't," I say, snatching my purse off the counter. I stop, turn toward him and go to open my mouth, but nothing comes out. How can I respond to him while those graphite gray eyes are staring back at me with a cocky grin? I leave frustrated and not to mention without my prescription because I couldn't let the tunnel be searched.