My kid sister* has been sick the last few days so we set up an appointment at the doctor’s office. My parents stuck their head into my room (my nana’s living room**) and asked if I’d take her that afternoon. Half-asleep I agreed. With ten years between us, I had always been seen as an understudy to my mother.
*The featured image was chosen for two reasons: it was a picture of my sister when she was still cute enough to get away with things and also because this story takes place in Ireland and for some reason, she looks like a leprechaun.
**I always have to clarify this but I’m only staying for a couple weeks before I continue my travels so I’m not couch surfing indefinitely. I clarify this for you and border control. They were mean and made me show them proof I plan to leave. Jokes on them, I’m actually an Irish citizen who made the mistake of traveling with her American passport instead of her EU passport so she could stay in line for customs with her sexy American boyfriend. The stupid shit you do for a guy to carry your luggage.
The neighborhood doctor has a tiny office attached to the side of his house down the street from Nana’s place. His daughter is also a doctor and they are a badass duo. (Why isn’t there a superhero who writes prescriptions?)
You could maybe fit two American-size fridges in their tiny waiting room. (That’s now how I scale things now.)
An older woman and I were bumping knees and I felt her staring at the side of my face. She’d hurumph and click her tongue in disapproval when I’d hand Abigail a tissue or push hair behind her ear (all motherly like). This is when I realized she thought I was her mother.***
***Abigail’s mother, not this woman’s mother, that would be time travel and I’m not that talented. Just talented enough to get pregnant before my first period. Call me Mary. That was a biblical reference. It was incorrect but it was a reference. (Apparently, I don’t know how to use footnotes.)
She was angry at me for possibly birthing a child as a teenager. I’m obviously not a teenager anymore. This means this woman was holding a grudge against me for something that may or may not have happened 12 years ago. When I was 10.
I actually found myself hiding my left hand because I didn’t have a ring on my finger! I was kicking myself for not wearing more rings. Should’ve put a ring on it. By the time the doctor came to get us I was humming Beyonce.
We sat down in her office and I immediately started sweating. I’m still not used to going to the doctor by myself, let alone another person. I’m so adult I wrote down a list of her symptoms and kept checking it when she looked away.
She had Abigail lay down so she can press all over her lower abdomen and do doctor things. When she sent Abigail to the bathroom for a urine sample I twiddled my thumbs in silence. I attempted doctor small talk.
“So what organs were you pressing?” I said.
“Organs?”
“Yeah, organs! Like what were you feeling her for?”
“Well uh, there’s bladders and tubes and the whole female reproductive system down there. You do know where babies form right?”
“Oh well yeah! I know how babies are made.”
Should’ve stayed silent.
“I’m just going to go check on Abigail.”
I banged on the bathroom door to hurry my sick sister and came back after counting 60 Mississippi’s.
“She’s fine! Should be with us shortly.”
Once she got back I continued to not know the answers necessary to confirm her medical history. I felt like it was exam day but if you fail so does your sister’s appendix. I’m not equipped for that kind of pressure, and neither was my deodorant. (Insert deodorant commercial that makes me rich and I buy robot doctors I can rent to third world countries for a fee because there’s no such thing as a free lunch!)
She asked who she should call in the morning to further discuss Abigail’s symptoms.
“If your mom is working who would be the best person to call [because you’re useless]?” she said.
“Oh just call Nana,” I said like a freaking three-year-old.
“Nana [you toddler in a woman’s body]? ”
“I mean, Adrienne. I mean her grandmother [jesus, let me off the hook and give me a lollipop].”
She nodded and wrote something down. I like to think she wrote down a reminder to splurge for the nice alcohol tonight because she has to deal with patients’ family members like me.
We left with the possibility Abigail either has a minor virus or appendicitis.
All that work and I didn’t even get a lollipop.
Wow, I totally sound like that sex ed video we all had to watch in 5th grade where the boys and girls were put in separate rooms and the boys emerged holding deodorant sticks and the girls emerged with the realization that they’re literally baby making machines.
I won’t lie, the first time I removed it, it was like a horror scene. But I’ve gotten the hang out of it since. Now I never have to be that girl who’s wandering around asking people if they have a tampon with desperation in her eyes (that was me, that was always me).
People at the stop began to gather and discuss in French (my eavesdropping skills were of little use, so were my Spanish skills…).
Someone goes crazy at the idea of being stuck with us losers for the end of his days and charges at the front door breaking the glass and his body. People trample over him to freedom to find that the sky is blood red and mutant ninja turtles are running rampant. (Were they the good guys or bad guys in this situation? We’ll never know.)
I was then brought back down to Earth/Katniss’s body where I was struck blind by the witches. They then mess up my hair like high school bullies. It wasn’t out of character for them.