Chapter 1: Doctor's Office

October 19, 2011
By , Los Angeles, CA
The children laughed and played blissfully with the wooden toys and plastic cars that lay strewn across the warm and inviting carpet. Their faces left no trace of anxiety or apprehension; only whimsical thoughts filled their minds. Another small girl was staring unseeingly at the television set at the corner of the room. Her icy blue eyes wandered aimlessly at the television, hardly knowing what was happening in the film, yet her expression was placated and appeased. I glanced at the television that was displaying two fish swimming out of a jungle of jellyfish in the sea. Their names you ask? The infamous Marvin and Dori – the ones from Finding Nemo, you know? I hoped that watching the film would pacify my nerves, but it did not ease my concern much. My right hand held firmly on the wooden arms of the cushioned chair with my legs crossed and stiff. I felt the strongest urge to head to the nearest restroom but I knew I had to hold it in. My fingers were tapping violently on the right arm of the chair. It was a habit of mine that never seemed to cease. I would habitually be shaking some part of my body or tapping something when I was uncomfortable. Normally, the lights in the doctor’s waiting room did not seem to irritate me. However, this time it was different. The lights were glaring brighter than ever as if it was all-powerful, and authoritative, causing my eyes to flicker constantly. I glanced outside the window behind me where I noticed tiny water droplets begin to rupture from the sky above. Outside, there was a middle-aged man who held the hands of a young girl firmly in his as he hustled with his other hand to open a dark, night-blue umbrella. The little girl had striking, soft blond curls that were at shoulder length and she was clasping onto a white teddy bear, swinging gently by her side, like a companion. As the two were making their way toward the building, the girl lost her grip on the bear, and it slipped out of her hand, falling into a puddle of water on the rough and black cement paved ground. The expression on her mollified, porcelain face suddenly turned to one of disparity and helplessness. I felt the urge to hitchhike to CVS and purchase another one of those stuffed animals, wrap it up with wrapping paper, and hitchhike back to give it to the girl. My mother looked at me with a small degree of concern and asked if I was okay. I lied and said yes. I’m really not the best liar but when I have the opportunity to scheme, it happens to be my expertise. I’m good at that kind of stuff like plotting, conniving, and strategizing things. I know it’s not the best thing to boast about, but I am telling the truth.
I left my seat and walked at a snail’s pace to the magazine category to pass the time. I looked at the several magazines that covered the top of a small coffee table. They were all the same slim and glamorized young ladies that braised the cover of the fashion magazines - all painted like goddesses. Instead, I picked up the Better Homes and Gardens magazine, November 2011 issue. The colors on the cover of the magazine were warm and welcoming – orange, brown, and red – similar to my lunch earlier which consisted of an actual orange fruit, wheat bread, and an apple. I absolutely adored reading recipes in that magazine and in general, any recipe. Watching cooking shows and seeing the lovely images of food next to the recipes aroused tranquility to me and brought me to a sense of nirvana. I highly enjoy cooking and I simply felt happy when I do cook. It’s actually quite odd. Most of the people my age take pleasure in the most ridiculous things I have ever witnessed. While the majority of teens are fixated on the screen watching a cluster of Italian buffoons on Jersey Shore, I read interior design magazines while listening to jazz and classical music. Sure, I sound quite lame, but it’s the honest truth.
Abruptly, the nurse bellowed my name, tarnishing my thoughts in an instant. She was a pale and large woman, around the age of thirty-five, with red hair. You could see the roots of her head were brown and there were several strands of hair that fell across her dark brown eyes. I took a deep breath, placed the Better Homes and Gardens magazine gently back on the table, and passed the nurse who was opening the door with a slight smile. For some apparent reason, the nurse made me feel even more nervous and I could smell the odor of french-fries and chicken nuggets that originated from her breath. She rambled toward the weighing scale sluggishly and asked me to take off my shoes and my coat. I did as was commanded and ever so slowly stepped on the cold, shiny silver scale. The texture of the scale beneath my feet was coarse, bumpy, and it designated some sort of fearful instrument to everyone, even if they didn’t admit it. Anxiously, I waited for the bright red flashing numbers to come to a halt while the nurse beside me stuck a piece of gum in her mouth and started to vigorously smack on it. At last, the numbers were steady and I gave a brief sigh of relief. It was still the same numbers from last year’s doctor visit. After that, they checked my height and made me stand tall and straight with my head against the scratchy and abrasive white wall. I realized then that I was making the most compulsive, firm, and rock-solid fist with both hands. I couldn’t hold it in any longer and as soon as the nurse wrote my height down, I told I had to use the restroom and she allowed me.
I fumbled to the nearest restroom down the hall of the doctor’s office. It was one of those one-room bathroom things. I closed the door shut and started to go. I released a sigh of relief and flushed the toilet right after since I drank almost three bottles of water before I came to the doctor’s. I felt much lighter, like a feather almost, it was all very relieving. After washing my hands with soap and water, I started to take off the extra three layers of jeans that I was wearing today and stuffed them in my oversized grey bag, zipping it tightly and securely. I probably just released five to seven pounds off my body. The bathroom is actually a very mysterious place.
In any case, I walked back to the nurse where she guided me to room one where I was to wait for Dr. Raca. Now, this lady annoys me. I know she’s supposed to be my doctor and all, but really, sometimes I think her common sense is off. “Never miss school,” is her motto. Even if I had a sore throat and a fever of 100 degrees, it is still “Never miss school.” It’s absurd, but I can’t really do much about the predicament since my mom treats her like some kind of God. I was once on the verge of being overweight and decided to lose 15 pounds. My doctor thought I was going to turn anorexic and sent me to a nutritionist when she was the one who looked like a mere stick.
I went into the doctor’s office for a check-up and sat in a chair waiting for Dr. Raca to arrive. The room looked exactly like it did 10 years ago with the same light blue walls that were covered with large Curious George stickers in some spots. Even the toys in the large blue box were the same; however, the colors were beginning to deteriorate. The jars of Q-tips and cotton swabs remained next to the metal sink. Everything was precisely like it was, never varying. The only thing that really did change was me. Time really does fly like a bird in winter.
After it seemed like an hour’s wait, Dr. Raca came in and she started to go over all the basics - whether or not I wore a seat belt, a helmet when I biked, whether I ate breakfast, and all the other necessary questions they’re supposed to ask every year. Dr. Raca’s a nice person, but like I said, sometimes she just doesn’t use her common sense. She was around the age of fifty, very thin, and wore Harry Potter glasses. Her face was elongated and the funny thing was that her black, grayish hair didn’t grow out of her scalp until farther up along her forehead so that she looked almost half bald. Nonetheless, she said that my hearing, my vision, and my weight were good and that my hobbies were wonderful along with my grades at school. She insisted that I keep my straight A’s since junior year is the most demanding and vigorous of all high school years. She always had this weird habit of being overly cautious and she even admitted it once to me. She started to ask questions like, have I ever been sexually active, if I have taken any drugs, drank alcohol, or smoked. Obviously I said no. I’m just not that kind of person. I don’t do those kinds of things. Personally, I find it a waste of my time and a vacuum for life. Finally, she released me and I got my small paper cup of animal crackers, just like I did when I was five.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback