General

The hypodermic needle grew as I watched it. The doctor had me lie on my stomach. Next, he examined the inflamed muscle in my left, lower back. When he pressed his fingers on that spot, the pain exploded up my spine to the top of my head. The nurse called the doctor into the hallway. The Doctor said, "I'm going to inject Novocain into that injured muscle." Then he brandished that weapon of a hypodermic needle. He laid the extra long needle right beside me on the table. I looked away at the wall, trying not to center my attention. However, my eyes swung back to it as if out of control. The tube with the medicine never grew. But the needle desired be thrust into my poor, innocent back, which never harmed anyone. The needle grew fast like the Hulk grows when he is angry. The doctor came back, and plunged that needle into the sore place. When the doctor released the medicine, blessed relief! All the pain left. The nurse asked, "Are you Okay? I said, "Piece of cake."

By wmack99, February 5, 2015.

Bill McDonald.

General

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..

General

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.

General

The doctor was built like a neanderthal. Gran's fingers gripped her handbag tighter and the smile on her withered lips drained faster than her morning coffee. Her eyes rested on the tattoos that played peekaboo up his sleeves. His ears had holes for piercings, as did his nose. I was expecting him to talk like a biker but he spoke so eloquently I began to imagine him squeezed into an posh school uniform instead. His voice was baritone and rolling. Under the wild black hair that stuck up from being ruffled every few minutes with his spade-like hands, his eyes were a warm brown- the kind that reminds you of all things soft and sweet. He explained everything in words even my kid brother could understand and rounded the whole thing off with a fist bump. Gran smiled like the act pained her and enquired if the “real doctor” would be coming soon. I expected him to take offence, but he beamed like Christmas had come early. “Madam, I am the consultant. Junior doctors will also be checking in.”

General

Grace didn't like the doctor. He was thin and ginger, that's all she needed to know. His voice came out like he had a grass reed for a tongue and he was too skinny. He walked like his legs were stilts with a hinge at the knees. When he spoke she stared at his head, "Too small," she thought, he can't get much of a brain in there. She wanted to reach right out of her bed and snatch the concerned look right off his freckled face. A strong slap might do though. She wanted to block his words right out but the nurse was looking and she didn't want to appear rude.

"Mrs Davey, I have been doing some checking around and we have found you the private bed you requested. I have asked my good friend the lead surgeon to take your case, you're going to be in excellent hands. Is there anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable?" Grace's fist curled under the blanket. She knew now why she hated him. He was just like that guy she'd dated back in school. Untrustworthy filthy liar.

General

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.

General

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.

General

The doctor walked in with a face like a brick. His movements were all sharp and with purpose, he analyzed the chart for a few seconds and looked up with a perfunctory smile flashed for just a moment. Behind the gun-metal spectacles his eyes were as grey as the washed-out bed sheets and the lines around his mouth gave no indication that he ever lost himself in laughter. Yet this was the man you both prayed for and never wanted to see in your life. This eminent oncologist had the ability to save but the task of often delivering the death prognosis and estimating the amount of time his patient had left. Gayla wondered if he had always been this grim or if his profession had made him this way. Perhaps as a boy he had rolled in mud and thrown stones through windows, but somehow she doubted it. This man was never a boy, only a student waiting for graduation day.

General

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.

General

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.