Self flagellation

THE LOOKING GLASS

 

Here I am, alone, wearing only a piece of paper that can open all the way down the front or back, depending on what part of me my dermatologist will want to see today. An assistant opens my door a speck and tosses in paper slippers for me and advises me Dr. Gray is going to look between my toes during my sixth month check-up. My predicament is always a horror full of cob webs, tears and icicles. Two more times the door opens but the doctor is invisible. Sheila quickly grabs what she was sent to get and disappears. Rosalyn merely looks in, flutters her overly thick black eyelashes at me and lets the door slam.

 

I look at the framed paintings around the examining room. I read the instructions on boxes that explain to the doctor what products are used to make rubber gloves. I look at all the knives and needles Dr. Gray has ready to remove any little itsy bitsy brown mark or worse. In comes Sheila again, opens a locked cabinet, gets something she doesn't let me see and is gone in fifteen seconds.

 

The room is so cold I am sure my goose pimples have goose pimples. From the hook on the wall near the only door, I take my jacket, get a tube of lipstick from my purse and apply it without a mirror, sit down on the examination table to wait.  On a hot sterilizer, I can see myself and don't like what I see any more. Distortion taken into account, I am a me I don't recognize.

 

My appointment  was for two o'clock. My entrance to the refrigerator was at one forty-five, just in case Dr. Gray would be waiting for me. The tiny buzz of my wrist watch alarm tells me it is two-fifteen. My mental camera lights up and I see visions of my young blemish free face (accept for a few nose freckles). Did I really have dancers' legs, long, straight, shapely? The legs still hold me up but now have many brown spots, bruises, purple veins, swollen ankles and both big toe nails are growing painfully into my skin. My back is slightly curved, not as bad as Quasimoto's, but may be soon. Young men used to wink at me. The last wink I remember was at the zoo when the elephant was lead outside into the sunny afternoon.

 

Charlotte, the doctor's A 1 assistant, sticks her head in my doorway to tell me the doctor won't be much longer. I suggest he stay out, see another patient, go home for dinner or go to hell. I seriously start to say, 'I'm getting dress—and am out of here,' when in walks Dr. Gray. He's jovial, warm, a big smile lights up his face. He asks, 'And what are we going to do for you today, Mrs. Bloom?' My fuse is spurting and I let it explode. 'You have kept me in this miserable paper gown, in a refrigerator for almost an hour. Instead of a dermatologist, I might have done better with an Eskimo who would at least let me wear a walrus jacket while I waited for him.

 

Dr. Gray is not amused and sits down on his rolling stool, thinks a moment, and decides on his own, that I need a full body exam. From the air, he finds a metal wand, runs it quickly thru my hair. I pipe up, 'Dr. I don't have cooties, haven't had them since I was in third grade.' He shuts me up by explaining he was checking my scalp for signs of cancer. Oy, how could he know I am cancer free so fast? He pats me on my shoulder and repeats , 'Your scalp shows no sign of cancer.' I certainly don't want to argue him into saying, 'Maybe we should check further,' so end that discussion.

 

His 'real' exam finally begins. 'Mrs. Bloom, I see a few brown spots on your back that I believe need removing and biopsied. Most likely they are harmless but it is better to be sure. Shall I do it?' he asks. I reply, 'I'm here because you are the doctor, so do what you think is right.' The job is over in two minutes, but my mind is alert. Visions of Medicare charges of $700 will allow him about $400. I do not worry about him at all.

 

As he puts on his rubber gloves, made in China, he checks between my toes. I consider kicking him in his arse when he bends over me. Reconsidering, I tell him only one toe is uncomfortable and I can live with it a while longer. He gets antsy and tells me the receptionist will give me the name of a good podiatrist. I pull no punches and let him know I have one without his help and get a dirty look from him.

 

I must tell him the main reason I have come in. 'Please measure again this growth that is now almost in my eye. He is reluctant and tells me again, 'It is nothing', changes his mind and takes ten or twelve seconds of his valuable time to re-measure and mark the size on my chart.

 

Picture me. No, don't picture me. I am ½ in, ½ out of my wrinkled paper gown. The door opens and a patient's face peeps in. He tells the impatient woman he will see her in a few minutes, tells me I am fine and should get dressed.  As he closes the door on me, through a fake smile, he almost hums, 'See you in six months, Mrs. Bloom. The girls will call you with your biopsy report next week. Make an appointment with Sheila now for your next check-up.' Three calls to Sheila and finally get the long awaited report.

 

I don't have carcinoma squamas cell cancer on my back and the doctor wants to re-measure the growth on my nose, almost in my eye.
She wants me to make an appointment.

 

 'Give him Mrs. Bloom's  message. 'Dr. Gray, spring for cloth wrap arounds for the ladies instead of paper or I will find me that Eskimo dermatologist I mentioned. I might even do it with decent cover-ups. Be sure they have belts to keep the wraps closed while we wait for you.'

 

'So long, Sheila.'