The Middle Man

Jan 21, 2010

I took off for my second appointment, amazed that the red markings were so difficult to remove and smelling of alcohol pads. I still had fragmented lines all over my body, I mirrored a treasure map to some unforeseen prize, I was only missing the coveted big black X that marks the spot. This doctor was not as flashy and seemed to have a more obsessive compulsive feel to his office. The couches were leather, not the kind that invite you over but more like a boarded up frat house, and my without my invitation. The receptionist was nice, she smiled and took my information and lead me back to the examination office. I sat patiently until he entered the office. His gaze was that of a future mother-in-law, examining my facial lines and just waiting for the wrong move to erupt. Funny as the situation is looking back, I immediately corrected my posture and hoped he wouldn’t notice my over active; nervousness induced sweat glands hard at work to embarrass me within the first 10 minutes of meeting Dr. Perfect. He asked the same questions the previous doctor had and my answers remained the same. After the consultation had concluded I felt more drained than the last time I attempted to really see the entire Mall of America. I needed a breather; I called my mom, my confidant, for some much needed moral support. She agreed to go to the next appointment with me and so with my new backup and a refueled tank I took off on the 101 freeway to the last appointment.

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