Dirty Doctor
THE DOCTOR
New York, New York
Garrett
If a private practice was voted number one in the state and top five in the country for the umpteenth year in a row, the prize for that needed to be a complete elimination of mornings like today. This was the third morning this week that I’d found myself face to face with a female patient who was wasting my time. Face to face with a patient who wanted me to “personally” examine her pussy.
“For the umpteenth time, Miss Aberdeen ...” I clicked my pen. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Your urine and blood tests are one hundred percent clear, and you’re currently wasting both of our mornings. I have patients who actually need me for something serious today.”
“I know, and I’m one of them.” She smiled and playfully pulled the hem of her paper gown up past her thighs. “I feel like something strange is going on down there.”
“Down there? Surely you’re capable of saying the words ‘in my vagina,’ if that’s what you’re referring to.”
“Okay. Something’s going on ... in my vagina.” She bit her lip and smiled again.
I’m not dealing with this shit today...
I set down her chart and started writing my ‘nothing is wrong with this patient’ note. This was her fourth pap smear appointment in four months, the very definition of the word ‘unnecessary.’
“I’m not convinced.” She crossed her arms. “Can’t you just check?”
“No.”
“No? You can’t say ‘no’ to me.”
Would you prefer ‘fuck no’? “I didn’t stutter, Miss Aberdeen. No.”
“Didn’t you take the Hippocratic Oath?” She wagged her finger in my face. “Isn’t there a line in there about treating people with ‘warmth’ and ‘sympathy’? I’m fairly certain that means that you have to take care of your patients, i.e. me, and you have to believe them when they say they’re in pain.”
“First of all, you are not my patient, and this is not my specialty. Second of all, you know damn well that your primary doctor, Dr. Laurel, is always off on Thursdays, so you shouldn’t even be here right now.”
“I also know that you’ve performed several other pap smears in her absence before. I’ve tried to book an appointment with you in your specialty, but your assistant always says you’re booked.”
“Anyway.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I would like you to kindly place your head between my legs and examine my vagina, Dr. Ashton. Do it now, or else I’ll leave you a really mean and negative, two-star review.”
“Why not just make it a one-star review?”
I rolled my eyes and put on a pair of gloves. “Lean back on the paper, please.”
She smiled and leaned back, looking as if this was the highlight of her life. I paged a nurse and waited for her to enter the room, making sure there was someone here to bear witness to this bullshit.
The nurse blushed as she stocked the prep cart and pushed it closer to me. When I realized that she was literally going to turn red and giggle each time I muttered a single word, I accepted that today was just not my day.
“Place your feet in the stirrups and spread your legs for me, Miss Aberdeen.”
“Gladly.” She followed my instructions, opening her legs far wider than necessary.
I took a seat on the stool between her legs, turned on the exam light, and picked up the speculum. I made sure this was the quickest, most efficient exam ever. I’d done far too many of these over the past few months, and I was certain I could do it blindfolded.
Sighing, I swabbed her cervix for the necessary cells — noticing a small irregularity, but it wasn’t enough to warrant this exam.
“Okay, Miss Aberdeen,” I said, taking off my gloves and tossing them into the trash can. “You can sit up now.”
“What? That’s it?” She didn’t move. “You haven’t caressed my pelvis yet. And what about my breasts? Aren’t you supposed to massage them and check for lumps?”
“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?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">