Cheating to Survive (Fix It or Get Out) by Christine Ardigo Page A

frequent-flyer in the hospital? Some guidance on what they should do to improve their disease process? You know, diet counseling that her friends charged a hundred dollars an hour for in their private practices?
    “What’s wrong with the food?” She had perfected her fake smile after sixteen years of abuse. Heather’s lips curled back to reveal her welcoming, kindhearted, sympathetic teeth.
    “It’s disgusting, I can’t eat this stuff.” The bag of potato chips by her beside sprayed its contents across the tray table. Half eaten chocolate muffin. Two-liter bottle of diet Pepsi on the far end.
    “What do you want to eat?” She folded her arms across her chest, knowing this was a sign of distancing yourself, but as the odor whiffed toward her distance was all she thought about.
    “Normal food.”
    “Like what? Give me some examples of what you eat at home.” She knew the answer already. McDonalds, Burger King, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell.
    “Just normal food, this stuff’s crap.”
    “We serve four hot choices a day, seven days a week. That’s twenty-eight wholesome nutritious hot meals. Grilled salmon, chicken parmesan, pepper steak, lasagna, beef stew, all of this is foreign to you?”
    “Yeah, I’m not eating that garbage.”
    “If you’ll just tell me what you eat at home I can see if the cooks can prepare something to your liking.”
    “Just send me something I can eat.”
    Anger and frustration punched each other under Heather’s skin. “If you can’t tell me what you normally eat I can’t help you. Name something, anything, just one dinner item you normally eat.”
    She assessed Heather from head to toe, then shifted her eyes to the TV. “Just forget it, I’ll have my family bring me in food.”
    Heather fled the room and then inhaled deep gulps of fresh air. Fresh floor wax replaced the gagging odor of crotch and some rotting infection. She leaned against the wall in the corridor and banged her head into the cold hard surface several times. This day could not get any worse.
    “Problems breathing?” Dr. Silvatri asked.
    Heather’s eyelids flicked open.
    “You’re supposed to use your mouth, not your head. Here.” He placed his fingers under her chin. “Now inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.”
    His fingertips, like anesthesia, paralyzed her. Was his tongue circling inside his parted lips or had she imagined it? She looked at her shoes avoiding his steady eye contact.
    Every day he looked more gorgeous. Was she imagining it? Could someone grow hotter with each interaction? He was the only thing that enticed her to come to work anymore. She hadn’t seen him the past two days and left work disappointed. What was she thinking? This wasn’t happening.
    He had brought her a brownie from the doctor’s lounge the other day and watched her as she ate it. Any man that brought her chocolate was worth entertaining.
    “Dr. Silvatri,” Maddie, a cantankerous old nurse interrupted, “the patient in 609b wants to know when you’re doing her colonoscopy.
    Heather giggled at the word.
    He studied her expression. “You’re next.” He tapped her exposed collar bone with his finger.
    “Never, are you kidding?”
    “Why not, don’t trust me?”
    “It’s not a question of trust, I’m…just…not having you look up there.”
    He sent out a roar of laughter. “What do you mean? I do this all day long.”
    “Not to me, you won’t.”
    “You don’t want me getting all invasive like that?” His eyebrows climbed and descended, and he lifted his palm waiting for an answer. With his enormous bicep in her face, its blood vessel pulsing at her, she convulsed. He reeled back. “What was that?”
    Heather wanted to crawl into the lounge and cry. “You did not just see that.”
    “Uh, yeah, I did. The thought of me performing an invasive procedure on you gives you the chills? Hmmpf, interesting.”
    “Dr. Silvatri, the patient is waiting to speak to you.” Maddie threw Heather a contemptuous