The Dreaded Doctor's Visit

Other people are chatting. I am not. Some are pretending to read. Ha! As if you could In a doctor’s office. I am sixty-six, and still do not want to be here. Because of my fear of a prick, a shot, an I.V. It takes a long time to get over these things. I am not over them yet. They call my name. Crap! I just sat down, take someone else I silently think. But partly glad that I will not have to dread it any longer. Everyone else looks up, relieved it is me being led and not them. A few smile along my route. I want to stick out my tongue, but I catch myself. I head in to meet my doom, and face the lying weight machine. I see the doctor. She mentions pills. Then she remembers my stomach problems, so she cheerfully says “It’s a shot for you!” Ouch! Oh, you’re a bleeder, the nurse says. “A big bleeder.” Come here, and let me show you, I think.