Jesus Christ ... “You had a breast exam with Dr. Laurel five weeks ago, so I’m pretty sure the results from that still stand. But if you’d like, I can have Nurse Johnson here remain in the room with you and complete a new test for you. I’ll even have her log it into the system as pro bono.”
“I will totally do whatever you need me to do, Dr. Ashton.” Nurse Johnson blushed and let out a nervous giggle.
“I’ll pass.” Miss Aberdeen sat up and crossed her arms.
“I thought so.” I picked up her chart and wrote a few notes. “As I said before we started, nothing is alarmingly wrong with you ‘down there’, although it looks like you might be developing a minor yeast infection.”
“I told you it was something serious. It even sounds serious, so serious that I bet there’s not a cure for it.”
“They sell the cure for this at Wal-Mart,” I said. “Most women can actually diagnose a yeast infection for themselves.”
“Well, I prefer having a more personal touch.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to use your long, thick fingers to go a little deeper and make sure you don’t feel anything else inside of me?”
I immediately stood up and tore off her prescription sheet from my pad. “You should be cleared up within forty-eight hours, if you get this filled today and follow the instructions.”
“And in the case that I don’t follow the instructions? Do I get to see you for a follow-up?”
I gave her a blank stare. “Have a great day, Miss Aberdeen. Thank you for your assistance, Nurse Johnson.” I left the room before either of them could say another word, and headed straight for my assistant Emily’s desk.
“May I help you with something, Dr. Ashton?” She looked up at me as I approached.
“Yes. I could’ve sworn we agreed that I needed to be the absolute, last resort for Dr. Laurel’s walk-in patients on her off days.”
“You are the ultimate, last resort. Everyone else was booked with an eight o’clock appointment.”
Perfect ... “Do I have any updates so far today?”
“Plenty.” She picked up a box and handed it to me. “The award for being the number one private practice in the state came in the mail yesterday evening. Your ten o’clock rescheduled for four o’clock, your one o’clock wants to switch from an in-person session to a phone call, and I’ve replenished all of the vases in your office with a fresh supply of Twizzlers.”
“Thank you, Emily. Is that all?”
“Actually, one last thing. Dr. Ryan is back from Hawaii and in your office waiting for you. She says it’s important.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” I carried the trophy box down the hall and into my office.
Sure enough, Dr. Ryan — a.k.a. Dr. “I’m never here,” was sitting on my custom-made chaise for patients and talking on the phone.
I was actually shocked to see her here this early since she’d recently become a bit of a celebrity. She was the third member of my staff I’d nearly lost to the world of “TV medicine.” Every time I turned around, she was signing a new book deal, appearing on a television show, or hosting an expensive conference. Everything except practicing medicine.
“You don’t look happy to see me today, Dr. Ashton.” She ended her phone call as I took a seat at my desk. “What did I do now?”
“Nothing. Literally.”
She laughed. “You know, I really have no idea why my husband likes you so much.”
“You came into my office to talk about your personal life? I’ll have to charge you for that.”
“Never.” She pulled a thick document from her purse and slid it to me. “I need you to sign off on the joint statement for our new, special residency program. You’re the only doctor who hasn’t signed it.”
“Residency program? I could’ve sworn we have three of those already and that we agreed to bring aboard a new doctor.”
“A resident is a doctor.”
“It’s a doctor who needs a babysitter.” I flipped through the pages. “I agreed to use the new funding for a certified, licensed, and useful doctor. I’m not signing this.”
“Everyone else has already agreed, and we’ve already selected a very talented candidate, so I’m not going to argue with you. And if I recall, it was a twelve to one vote and the vote against was from you, so you technically never agreed to anything and you have to concede to the rest of us.”
I sighed and scribbled my signature on the first and last page of the document.
“Just so you know,” she said, “the nurses are whispering about you a lot more lately. You’re doing that thing again.”
I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
“Being closed off, getting annoyed quicker than normal, and well ... just being a more enhanced version of yourself, I guess.” She smiled. “I know this practice is your family’s legacy, but you really need a life outside of these walls.”
“No, I need the doctors inside of these walls to actually show up and do their damn jobs.”
“See? See how irritable you just got over me trying to be nice to you?”
“Get out of my office, Dr. Ryan.”
“I’m going.” She grabbed the document and stood to her feet. “By the way, what happened to that nice and sweet woman I set you up with a few weeks ago?”
“It didn’t work out.”
“It didn’t work out or you didn’t ‘allow’ it to work out?”
“Both.” The woman in question had been a childhood friend of hers and she was indeed “nice and sweet,” but the second she started babbling about wanting marriage and “at least four kids” within the first hour of the date, I quickly lost all interest.
“Well, do me a favor,” Dr. Ryan said, as she walked toward the door. “Give online dating a try or find a hobby for your rare off days. I’ll never repeat this or admit to saying it, but ... You’re too damn attractive to spend the rest of your life alone.”
“Thank you, very much, Dr. Ryan. Will I need to pay you for that unwanted psychoanalysis, or is your bad advice free?”
She flipped up her middle finger and left my office, shutting the door behind her.
“I will totally do whatever you need me to do, Dr. Ashton.” Nurse Johnson blushed and let out a nervous giggle.
“I’ll pass.” Miss Aberdeen sat up and crossed her arms.
“I thought so.” I picked up her chart and wrote a few notes. “As I said before we started, nothing is alarmingly wrong with you ‘down there’, although it looks like you might be developing a minor yeast infection.”
“I told you it was something serious. It even sounds serious, so serious that I bet there’s not a cure for it.”
“They sell the cure for this at Wal-Mart,” I said. “Most women can actually diagnose a yeast infection for themselves.”
“Well, I prefer having a more personal touch.” She leaned forward and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to use your long, thick fingers to go a little deeper and make sure you don’t feel anything else inside of me?”
I immediately stood up and tore off her prescription sheet from my pad. “You should be cleared up within forty-eight hours, if you get this filled today and follow the instructions.”
“And in the case that I don’t follow the instructions? Do I get to see you for a follow-up?”
I gave her a blank stare. “Have a great day, Miss Aberdeen. Thank you for your assistance, Nurse Johnson.” I left the room before either of them could say another word, and headed straight for my assistant Emily’s desk.
“May I help you with something, Dr. Ashton?” She looked up at me as I approached.
“Yes. I could’ve sworn we agreed that I needed to be the absolute, last resort for Dr. Laurel’s walk-in patients on her off days.”
“You are the ultimate, last resort. Everyone else was booked with an eight o’clock appointment.”
Perfect ... “Do I have any updates so far today?”
“Plenty.” She picked up a box and handed it to me. “The award for being the number one private practice in the state came in the mail yesterday evening. Your ten o’clock rescheduled for four o’clock, your one o’clock wants to switch from an in-person session to a phone call, and I’ve replenished all of the vases in your office with a fresh supply of Twizzlers.”
“Thank you, Emily. Is that all?”
“Actually, one last thing. Dr. Ryan is back from Hawaii and in your office waiting for you. She says it’s important.”
“I’m sure it isn’t.” I carried the trophy box down the hall and into my office.
Sure enough, Dr. Ryan — a.k.a. Dr. “I’m never here,” was sitting on my custom-made chaise for patients and talking on the phone.
I was actually shocked to see her here this early since she’d recently become a bit of a celebrity. She was the third member of my staff I’d nearly lost to the world of “TV medicine.” Every time I turned around, she was signing a new book deal, appearing on a television show, or hosting an expensive conference. Everything except practicing medicine.
“You don’t look happy to see me today, Dr. Ashton.” She ended her phone call as I took a seat at my desk. “What did I do now?”
“Nothing. Literally.”
She laughed. “You know, I really have no idea why my husband likes you so much.”
“You came into my office to talk about your personal life? I’ll have to charge you for that.”
“Never.” She pulled a thick document from her purse and slid it to me. “I need you to sign off on the joint statement for our new, special residency program. You’re the only doctor who hasn’t signed it.”
“Residency program? I could’ve sworn we have three of those already and that we agreed to bring aboard a new doctor.”
“A resident is a doctor.”
“It’s a doctor who needs a babysitter.” I flipped through the pages. “I agreed to use the new funding for a certified, licensed, and useful doctor. I’m not signing this.”
“Everyone else has already agreed, and we’ve already selected a very talented candidate, so I’m not going to argue with you. And if I recall, it was a twelve to one vote and the vote against was from you, so you technically never agreed to anything and you have to concede to the rest of us.”
I sighed and scribbled my signature on the first and last page of the document.
“Just so you know,” she said, “the nurses are whispering about you a lot more lately. You’re doing that thing again.”
I raised my eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
“Being closed off, getting annoyed quicker than normal, and well ... just being a more enhanced version of yourself, I guess.” She smiled. “I know this practice is your family’s legacy, but you really need a life outside of these walls.”
“No, I need the doctors inside of these walls to actually show up and do their damn jobs.”
“See? See how irritable you just got over me trying to be nice to you?”
“Get out of my office, Dr. Ryan.”
“I’m going.” She grabbed the document and stood to her feet. “By the way, what happened to that nice and sweet woman I set you up with a few weeks ago?”
“It didn’t work out.”
“It didn’t work out or you didn’t ‘allow’ it to work out?”
“Both.” The woman in question had been a childhood friend of hers and she was indeed “nice and sweet,” but the second she started babbling about wanting marriage and “at least four kids” within the first hour of the date, I quickly lost all interest.
“Well, do me a favor,” Dr. Ryan said, as she walked toward the door. “Give online dating a try or find a hobby for your rare off days. I’ll never repeat this or admit to saying it, but ... You’re too damn attractive to spend the rest of your life alone.”
“Thank you, very much, Dr. Ryan. Will I need to pay you for that unwanted psychoanalysis, or is your bad advice free?”
She flipped up her middle finger and left my office, shutting the door behind her.
