Friday, February 8, 2013


 The quote came from Martina Cole's two women. My writing partner in Argelès said that it was cold down there as it is Geneva. However, both our Skypes worked. Her piece was about a nurse who noticed a virus in women and not men and the doctor's lack of credence.

The nurse shook her head.

The little boy just stuck his tongue out at her.

“Now Bobby,” his mother said. “We’ve discussed about how we greet people.”

Bobby stuck his tongue out at his mother and jumped off the examining table and ran to the door which had been locked. The child had been a patient there before and the staff when they examined the 
appointments list over coffee before the patient would all say “Oh no.”

“It’s not Bobby’s fault,” Louise would tell the staff. “It’s his mother’s.”

Bobby’s mother, Anita, was in her mid 30s and dressed in designer everything. Bobby was five, and Anita believed that a child’s desires should not be thwarted. Instead the child should be made to see the error of his ways. As a result, she had cancelled two earlier appointments because Bobby hadn’t wanted to come in to see the pediatrician who was still with another patient. He would knock when he was ready to see the child.

“I didn’t tell Bobby where he was going,” she’d whispered at the reception desk. And when we came up in the elevator, I told him you’d give him a lollipop.”

“We don’t give candy but crayons,” the receptionist said.

“I know, but I’ve a lollipop that I’ll sneak to the doctor to give him.”

The receptionist had been too well trained to not roll her eyes, but she knew it would make a good story to tell the staff later.

Bobby began to scream his “I wanta go home” could be heard throughout the practice and into the practice next door.

The doctor used his key to enter the room. He was old and was planning to retire next year. Already he had bought his Florida home. “That’s enough young man,” he said as he put his stethoscope on the boy's chest.

“I don’t like you,” Bobby said.

“I don’t care. I don’t like you either. Now shut up.”

The mother’s mouth fell open. She turned on her $250 pair of high heels. “No one talks to my son like that,” she said. Grabbing Bobby she made for the door. “Unlock it. I’ll find a doctor that treats my son with respect.”

The doctor unlocked the door. Her heels clicked, clicked, clicked down the hall and then the office door slammed.

The doctor looked at his nurse and had a big smile. “There’s more than one way to fire a patient.”

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