Chapter 3
THREE
DREW
Damn. I’m going to be late for the doctor’s appointment I promised my sister I wouldn’t miss.
If Breanna hadn’t spent the past three months nagging me about it, I wouldn’t bother going to the doctor at all. I’ve always been healthy, and I’m only thirty-four. I have years before I’ll have to worry about crap like getting my prostate checked.
But Breanna worries I’m not looking after myself, so she took it upon herself to book this appointment for me.
Actually, this is the third appointment she’s booked for me, since I missed the first two.
If Breanna wasn’t friends with this doctor’s receptionist, I doubt they’d have booked me a third time.
Of course, I could have pulled strings and made my own doctor’s appointment, but it was easier to let Breanna arrange it. And the good thing about this family doctor is that he’s pretty new to town, so I don’t know him professionally.
If I have to see a doctor, I’d rather it be a stranger. I considered finding someone in Toronto, where I could be comfortably anonymous, but the thought of driving an hour and a half each way was too much. Especially since I don’t really need a doctor in the first place.
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I wait at a red light. I would have been on time for this appointment, but my own clinic ran late. I blame Alexandra Parker for that; if I hadn’t wasted so much time arguing with her this morning, I’d have had time to review the charts in advance.
It just proves my point. I don’t have time for an administrative assistant.
Especially an administrative assistant like Alexandra. One with wavy blonde hair, sea-blue eyes, and sexy tortoiseshell glasses. A woman who didn’t try to flatter me or flirt with me, but who wasn’t afraid of me either.
I’m open to suggestions. I’ll do anything you want.
Fuck me.
That one’s above my pay grade.
Her smart retort has been playing through my head all afternoon. Alexandra’s quick, I’ll give her that. And that exchange could very easily be misinterpreted, so I’m grateful she didn’t run to Human Resources and claim sexual harassment.
Because I really wasn’t propositioning her, I was just cursing the situation.
If Heather Larkin’s trying to make my life hell, she’s found the perfect way to do it. A quick-witted assistant with legs for miles, who says she’ll do anything I want.
And one who looks strangely familiar. I’d swear I’ve seen Alexandra Parker before, I just can’t place where.
I turn into the parking lot of the family medicine clinic and find a space by the door. I’m exactly seven minutes late, which really isn’t too bad.
I paste on a smile for the receptionist, a pretty girl with dark hair and a friendly face. “Drew Malone, for six o’clock,” I tell her, handing her my health card.
“I was worried you weren’t going to make it,” she says with a smile, swiping the health card through the reader. “But Breanna promised you’d show up this time.”
“Yeah,” I say sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late. You must be Kristin?”
“That’s right. I do yoga with Breanna.”
“Nice to meet you, Kristin. I appreciate you fitting me in.”
“No problem.” She hands me back my health card. “I’ve checked you in, you can take a seat. The nurse will call you in soon.”
I move to the waiting room, which is empty. I’m probably the last appointment of the day, and they’ve probably been waiting for me.
“Mr. Malone?” A redheaded nurse is calling my name, and I follow her down the hall to an exam room. I move to take the chair in front of the computer—the doctor’s chair—then catch myself and hop up onto the examining table.
“My name is Cindy,” the nurse says with a bright smile. She’s probably around fifty years old, and she looks like the motherly type. “I’ll just get your blood pressure, then Dr. Barrett will be in.”
“Great.”
I roll up my sleeve and Cindy slips a digital blood pressure cuff around my arm. She pushes a button on the machine, and the cuff squeezes my arm. It gets painfully tight before it starts to deflate.
Cindy sees my grimace. “Try to think happy thoughts,” she says with a reassuring smile.
“A lot of people find coming to the doctor stressful, and it puts their blood pressure up. It’s called the white coat syndrome.
But if it’s a little high now, Dr. Barrett will recheck it near the end of the visit. ”
“Sure,” I say, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. I do brain surgery for a living. And when I’m not operating, I’m policing a group of egotistical surgeons in my role as department chief. Going for a check-up does not rank high on my list of life stressors.
The machine beeps to signal it’s done. Cindy frowns at it for a moment before moving to the computer to type in the numbers.
“Okay, all done,” she says, in her usual bright tone of voice. “Your blood pressure was little high, but like I said, Dr. Barrett will probably recheck it later.”
I glance at the machine. Fuck. My blood pressure is 154/92. It’s not dangerously high, probably not high enough that Dr. Barrett will recommend medication, but still above target.
It’s probably a mistake. Maybe the cuff wasn’t calibrated properly.
Cindy bustles out before I can ask her to check it again, and a moment later Dr. Barrett comes in. He looks friendly enough, but young. Probably fresh out of residency. Only a year or two older than Alexandra Parker.
“Mr. Malone,” he says, extending his hand for me to shake. I notice his tie is printed with a Snoopy cartoon. “I’m Dr. Barrett.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he says with a grin. “I hear my receptionist does yoga with your sister.”
“Uh huh.”
He sits at the computer and taps at the keyboard. “I see you’ve completed our new patient questionnaire, but we don’t seem to have received the records from your previous doctor,” he remarks. “I can have Kristin send them another request—”
“I don’t have any medical records,” I tell him.
That gives him pause. “None at all?”
“I haven’t been to a doctor since I was a teenager,” I explain. “And I’m pretty sure the last guy I saw is retired, so I wouldn’t know where to find the records. But there’s really nothing significant. I’m healthy.”
“That’s great,” he says. “So no health concerns?”
“No.” I’ll be a great patient for him. I won’t be the guy who comes in every week to complain I get a tingling sensation in my pinky toe whenever the moon is full.
“Great.” Dr. Barrett meets my eye, and he’s scarily perceptive. “So what made you decide to book a doctor’s appointment now?”
I’m afraid I’m losing my edge. Sometimes I lose focus in the OR, just for a moment. And sometimes I have trouble falling asleep. And sometimes even when I do sleep, I’m still exhausted when I wake up.
And sometimes I think I have a fucking tremor.
Fortunately, Dr. Barrett can’t read my thoughts.
“Uh, I’m here because my sister nagged me to have a physical,” I tell him.
Dr. Barrett grins. “That’s good to hear. When a guy comes to the doctor for the first time in years, it’s either because something’s really wrong, or a woman pushed him to do it.”
“Yeah.”
He glances back at his computer, presumably reading my answers to the new patient questionnaire. “You’re not married?”
“No.”
“In a relationship?”
“No.” I don’t have time for relationships.
“And you don’t smoke or drink alcohol?”
“No.”
“And no family history I should be aware of? Your parents are healthy?”
“Yep.” This is technically a lie, but I can convince myself it’s an insignificant one.
My mother would probably still be healthy if she hadn’t been hit by a car while she was crossing the street.
She died when she was forty-six, before she had a chance to develop heart disease or high blood pressure.
And since her cause of death wasn’t hereditary, there’s no reason to mention it to Dr. Barrett.
Barrett’s looking at the computer again. “I didn’t realize you were a neurosurgeon,” he says. “You work at Somerset Hospital?”
“Yep.”
“That must be stressful.”
“Not really,” I shrug.
“Mmmm,” he says thoughtfully. “And what kinds of things do you do outside of work?”
“Outside of work?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a bad first date, not a doctor’s appointment.
“Yeah, what kinds of things do you do for fun?” Dr. Barrett asks.
He has to be joking—there’s no way this touchy-feely crap can be part of a routine physical.
But apparently he’s serious, because he’s staring at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Uh, I spend time with my sister and her family. And I go to the gym. And, uh, my friends and I play poker sometimes.”
The poker’s a bit of stretch. I used to play poker with three other surgeons, but it’s been months since we got together.
Luke’s got a girlfriend now, and since she doesn’t play poker, he’s not really interested either.
And Ethan’s been on a leave of absence since the fall, and he’s been out of town.
Actually, I had to force Ethan to take a leave of absence, because he was struggling with an alcohol addiction. It was a messy and miserable situation, and I’m not sure he’ll want to play poker with me when he comes back.
Being the department chief isn’t exactly great for my social life.
“How’s your poker face?” Dr. Barrett asks.
You tell me, Dr. Barrett. Can you tell how I really feel about this appointment?
“I do okay at poker.”
“Great,” he says with a smile. “Okay. I’ll just do a quick physical exam.”
His exam is mercifully quick, but when he’s done, he says he’d like to check my blood pressure again. The cuff squeezes, painfully tight, and the machine beeps.
“Hmm. Still a little high,” Dr. Barrett says thoughtfully.
I glance at the machine, and fuck. My blood pressure is still high: 146/90. Dr. Barrett might even suggest I start blood pressure medication, which would be ridiculous. I’m thirty-four years old, and I look after myself. It’s not like I sit on the couch all day eating potato chips.