a doctor - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Patients recover faster when they feel loved and emotionally supported, that's why he was the best and we called him Dr Sunshine.
When the doctor spoke her words were the "off switch" for his internal storm. She was the calm, the sunshine and a summer breeze. At first he wasn't sure why, yet then he realised, she was so genuine, so mothering.
The doctor spoke with such love, in a voice that soothed and showed great emotional warmth. She felt better at once, as if she was at last in good hands.
On a plastic hallway chair sat a child, legs kicking in the air, clearing the floor by several inches as they swung back and forth. James was mesmerized by the red rubber boots on his feet and blue duffle coat, somehow the kid reminded him of Paddington Bear. His face had unhealthy look to it and his eyes were hard open as he stared at nothing on the wall. James stopped. The boy's legs weren't swinging in the care-free way he'd first assumed. Each one was more like a kick, sharp and pointed. He crouched down in front of him, letting the boy see his white coat and stethoscope and brushed his blonde bangs from his face.
"Hey there, I'm Doctor James. What's your name?" The boy became still and was quiet for a moment, sitting further back into the chair.
"Ben," came out almost like an accident, spilling out of his drawn inward lips. His brown eyes lost their harshness, becoming rounder, more glossy. Then all at once his face buckled, his breathing stopped momentarily and tears streamed..
The doctor had the posture of a soldier. Every action she took was precise and purposeful. She smiled in the cold and distant way professionals do. I can never relax around such expressions. I need a genuine face, preferably a smile, but if not I'd really rather they didn't fake it. Her eyes were devoid of any make-up and her hair was in a tight bun, not a strand out of place. Through the examination she gave commands rather than requests. The nurse had hovered two feet behind, her relaxed expression of earlier replaced with a grim slash for a mouth and knitted brows. When the prodding was over I dropped my eyes to the covers in anticipation of her speaking to me, but when I raised them again the room was quite empty; they weren't even in the corridor. My hands stretched over the cold linen like an infant in search of a comforting toy and closed on the thick itchy fabric. I was alone before, but then I felt ever more so. The walls seemed far away and I felt trapped- tethered by tubes.
Betty was pleased to see the silver hair on the doctor. He had a face like some guy you'd ask for directions in the street, non-threatening she supposed. In a suit he could be a news anchor, clean cut but with that loveable smile that was only ever removed from his features when he needed to be serious. His movements were unhurried, choreographed and deliberate. He courted the opinions of the nurses and listened to what they had to say. His voice was as deep and he spoke without the jargon Betty feared. For the most part she understood what was going on and periodically he would stop to address her directly, to explain the next procedure and what its purpose was. It was oddly comforting to be treated so much like a child, yet all along she felt in control, like all she had to do was whisper "stop" and they would.
The doctor entered in green scrubs, her black hair tied low in a pony tail. Tina sat up a little higher to get a better look. She was Indian looking with large brown eyes, neatly lined in black. She had the lithe movement of an athlete and the easy smile of one visiting a dear friend. She spoke with an american accent and with her hands. With each word the fine fingers would flourish into the stagnant hospital air like birds, then settle as she listened to the answer like she had all the time in the world and nothing could interest her more than what Tina had to say. So this was her surgeon. Younger than she had expected but somehow she didn't mind anymore. Those hands were beautiful, precise, elegant. That night she thanked God for sending her such a wonderful doctor and slept soundly until the ward noise woke her the next morning.
Emily liked the way the doctor called her "boss" even though she clearly wasn't the one running the show here. He was clearly Asian in descent, Chinese most likely, yet he had the fluid easy mannerisms she associated with Canadians. His speech was peppered with humour, though never inappropriate, yet she never doubted for a moment that he was taking her seriously. He listened, asked questions that were targeted to find the information he required, and gave a well balanced response. In his replies there was the truth of what he thought was happening, but holding back from diagnosis before the lab results came back. Every time she went in she "knew" it was something serious this time, and she went out with her mind put at ease or at least knowing the right tests had been ordered.
Doctor Sean entered the ward. In any other clothes he would appear too young for the job, in board shorts and an old t-shirt he could be a surf-bum. At the end of Jayne's bed he paused to check the chart and then allowed his face to crack into a wide grin as he greeted her like a kindly older brother. She visibly relaxed and her face broke into a rare smile, one almost large enough to mirror the doctor's. They chatted about school, skiing and dance lessons while he checked her vitals one more time. She told him more than she had told anyone since admittance and throughout it all he never frowned or let his face fall in seriousness or judgement.Then with a flourish he pulled a penny from behind her ear, then another and another. Jayne squealed like the eight year old she was and then he was gone to another patient. If it weren't for her fractured leg she'd skip down the ward after him.