putting it all in a pile on the right side of his desk.
I wait. He looks at me. My hands are neatly crossed in my lap, not over my chest like they usually are. He doesn’t seem to notice.
‘So Emma, how are you? No, wait. I need to get your file; just a moment…’
He begins to sift through the stack of folders and papers on his desk. His brow furrows and he mutters to himself until he finds it. He wipes it off, opens it up, and starts glancing over it. He nods to himself and looks back up at me.
‘I hear you had a hard time at dinner last night, Emma. Is there a reason why?’ He picks up his pen, waiting for my response.
I’m slightly surprised by his question. ‘Uh, what do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Well, according to the evening nurse, you didn’t want to eat dinner last night. She made a note of it. Now again, is there a reason you didn’t want to eat last night, Emma?’
‘Um, well kind of. The food was gross, and I didn’t like it.’
Dr X looks at me suspiciously.
‘I’m serious.’ I tell him. He continues to look at me without speaking. ‘I mean, the food was cold
and
burnt at the same time, and I’m not a big fan of meatloaf. I just didn’t like dinner.’
‘So it was a food preference issue, and not anything else?’ he asks me.
‘Yup,’ I nod. ‘That’s it. Nothing else.’
Dr X looks at me, and I’m not quite sure he believes me, but he accepts my response.
‘Well Emma, I must remind you that you’re very thin, and that with the different medications you’re on…’
I zone out. I don’t really mean to, but I just click into autopilot, nodding my head as he continues talking about needing to eat and how if I don’t, it affects how the medicationsget into my system or something like that. I’m busy staring at a picture of Dr X with a beautiful, well-dressed blonde woman, holding an infant.
‘What did I just say Emma?’ Dr X asks me.
‘Uh…’ I stammer. ‘You said it’s important to follow the rules because if I don’t, it affects my treatment.’ I tell him.
I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m not entirely sure that’s what he was talking about, but that’s become my stock answer any time someone starts talking about something that I’m not interested in hearing, and usually it works out. Today, it doesn’t.
‘Yes, and then I said that a third leg was growing out of your stomach, to see if you were paying attention. And then you nodded and agreed with me.’ Dr X tells me.
Damn. I’m caught. I look down and snicker in spite of myself. Dr X seems offended by mysnickering. ‘
What
are you laughing about, Emma?’ He’s irritated now.
‘I’m sorry. The third leg thing was funny,’ I say sheepishly. The humour of his comment seems to escape him until I point it out and despite himself, he cracks a smile briefly before clearing his throat and resuming his usual clinical demeanour.
‘Yes well, never mind. How are you feeling today?’ Now he picks up his pen to take notes.
I think for a minute. Really, I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to say, so that I’m not telling him too much but not being so vague as to let him know that I’m evading his questions.
‘Um, ya know, trying to get used to the medication and stuff…’ and I continue to talk about how I’m trying to deal with my parents’ divorce and how it upset me, when Dr X’s beeper goes off. He frowns and takes it off his belt, looking at the number before he sighs and interrupts me.
‘I’m sorry Emma, we’re going to have to continue this later. I hate to interrupt you, but I have to go. Uh, just keep writing in your journal and following your uh, treatment plan.’
He grabs a stack of folders and rushes to the door before he turns and looks at me. ‘I’m really sorry Emma,’ he says.
I realise he feels bad and I smile to make him feel better. ‘It’s cool Doc,’ I tell him. He shakes his head and rushes out the door.
I pick up my journal and follow him out of the
I wait. He looks at me. My hands are neatly crossed in my lap, not over my chest like they usually are. He doesn’t seem to notice.
‘So Emma, how are you? No, wait. I need to get your file; just a moment…’
He begins to sift through the stack of folders and papers on his desk. His brow furrows and he mutters to himself until he finds it. He wipes it off, opens it up, and starts glancing over it. He nods to himself and looks back up at me.
‘I hear you had a hard time at dinner last night, Emma. Is there a reason why?’ He picks up his pen, waiting for my response.
I’m slightly surprised by his question. ‘Uh, what do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Well, according to the evening nurse, you didn’t want to eat dinner last night. She made a note of it. Now again, is there a reason you didn’t want to eat last night, Emma?’
‘Um, well kind of. The food was gross, and I didn’t like it.’
Dr X looks at me suspiciously.
‘I’m serious.’ I tell him. He continues to look at me without speaking. ‘I mean, the food was cold
and
burnt at the same time, and I’m not a big fan of meatloaf. I just didn’t like dinner.’
‘So it was a food preference issue, and not anything else?’ he asks me.
‘Yup,’ I nod. ‘That’s it. Nothing else.’
Dr X looks at me, and I’m not quite sure he believes me, but he accepts my response.
‘Well Emma, I must remind you that you’re very thin, and that with the different medications you’re on…’
I zone out. I don’t really mean to, but I just click into autopilot, nodding my head as he continues talking about needing to eat and how if I don’t, it affects how the medicationsget into my system or something like that. I’m busy staring at a picture of Dr X with a beautiful, well-dressed blonde woman, holding an infant.
‘What did I just say Emma?’ Dr X asks me.
‘Uh…’ I stammer. ‘You said it’s important to follow the rules because if I don’t, it affects my treatment.’ I tell him.
I wasn’t paying attention, and I’m not entirely sure that’s what he was talking about, but that’s become my stock answer any time someone starts talking about something that I’m not interested in hearing, and usually it works out. Today, it doesn’t.
‘Yes, and then I said that a third leg was growing out of your stomach, to see if you were paying attention. And then you nodded and agreed with me.’ Dr X tells me.
Damn. I’m caught. I look down and snicker in spite of myself. Dr X seems offended by mysnickering. ‘
What
are you laughing about, Emma?’ He’s irritated now.
‘I’m sorry. The third leg thing was funny,’ I say sheepishly. The humour of his comment seems to escape him until I point it out and despite himself, he cracks a smile briefly before clearing his throat and resuming his usual clinical demeanour.
‘Yes well, never mind. How are you feeling today?’ Now he picks up his pen to take notes.
I think for a minute. Really, I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to say, so that I’m not telling him too much but not being so vague as to let him know that I’m evading his questions.
‘Um, ya know, trying to get used to the medication and stuff…’ and I continue to talk about how I’m trying to deal with my parents’ divorce and how it upset me, when Dr X’s beeper goes off. He frowns and takes it off his belt, looking at the number before he sighs and interrupts me.
‘I’m sorry Emma, we’re going to have to continue this later. I hate to interrupt you, but I have to go. Uh, just keep writing in your journal and following your uh, treatment plan.’
He grabs a stack of folders and rushes to the door before he turns and looks at me. ‘I’m really sorry Emma,’ he says.
I realise he feels bad and I smile to make him feel better. ‘It’s cool Doc,’ I tell him. He shakes his head and rushes out the door.
I pick up my journal and follow him out of the
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