The patient, running out
of patience, suffering from
understandable impatience,
stood at the open door
of the exam room
wondering.
A half an hour late,
the physician
gave a high-five sign
in the hallway
and charged into the
room avoiding
a collision with
the door frame like
Gail Sayers dodging
three-hundred pound
linemen, then sliding
into his chair and
rolling up to the now
sitting impatient patient
to within an inch
of his face, to
which the patient
reflexively put up
his hand like a Sayer’s
stiff arm to the
secondary. And that
was the start of the
exam which ended
almost before it
began without a touchdown.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re a half hour late
and I’m paying for this
and you just went from
lost in outer space to
ground zero in a nano
second and I’m just
trying to get some
personal space and
breathing room.”
Did he really say that
to the physician?
Yup. The rest of the
exam didn’t go any
better but the patient
did get the smidgen
of information from
the physician that
he came for in the
first place — yes,
he would live,
at least until the
next time he would
encounter the
half back doc.