*9*

Bob pulled into the parking lot at the doctor's office. He exited the car, went into the lobby and up the elevator to suite 608. He entered the suite and approached the receptionist behind the sliding glass window.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Getz at 4:30," Bob said to the receptionist.

She nodded and clicked some keys on her computer. "Okay," she said, handing him a clipboard with some printed forms on it. "We just need you to fill these papers out please, on both sides."

Bob sat on the sectional sofa enumerating data. He completed the usual: insurance coverage, release from liability, family medical history. Bob gave a one-side-of-the-mouth-up chagrin, signing the liability release. He hated signing away rights as a precondition to service. Shit. Not like I have any terrible choice at this moment, anyway. He returned the paperwork to the sliding glass window, went back to his seat and waited.

Doctor visits were always an extraordinary experience. Four hundred yards away, over at the hospital, people were dying, doctors were performing heroics and saving people, souls were passing in and out, children were being born into the world. Healing and fighting. Bob remembered back as a kid, from an amazing bicycle accident: crazy reckless flying downhill, too fast, unaware of his speed, enjoying the rush, misreading the hairpin turn impending up ahead. Going into the turn, wrestling the bicycle as the force of the turn pulled him wider into the street, sand on the road. Immense pain of broken bones.

"Mr. Thompson," a nurse called, holding the doorway open to the inner offices.

Bob rose and followed her indication to an examination room, climbing up and sitting on the crinkly paper. The nurse took his temperature and blood pressure, made some annotations on his chart. "Okay, the doctor will be with you in a little bit." The nurse closed Bob's chart, rested it on the credenza and left the room.

The empty examination room gave Bob goosebumps. Souls and psychics from the previous patients. The strangeness of charts, medical supplies, intercom buttons and coded lights on the wall. The amazing familiarity of simple things - tongue depressors, green plastic cones to fit on an ear examiner. Bob reached down and grasped the edge of the examination table, crinkling the paper.

Waves of linkage between this office and the hospital next door, doctors on call. Responding to a page from next door, patient in trouble. A ghost from an angry patient, passing through, no doctor here to haunt. Bob adjusted his hands to his side, leaning back slightly, the naugahyde table top rapidly warming, a different sensation from the crinkly paper. He heard two knocks on the door, and a man's head popped in. The man opened the door and extended his hand.

"Mr. Thompson, hi, I'm doctor Getz." The doctor seemed amiable, although somewhat worn by the travails of his profession. He gave the impression of a friendly mellowing Irish Setter. "What can I do for you today?" Dr. Getz inquired, opening and reviewing Bob's chart and medical history.

"Well doctor," Bob replied, "I've been having these chest pains lately."
The doctor approached Bob, checked the glands in his neck, and put the stethoscope in his ears. "Hmm," the doctor responded. "Unbutton your shirt."

Bob complied. The doctor put the stethoscope over Bob's heart, listening. He listened for about thirty seconds.

"Okay, turn over this way." The doctor put the stethoscope on his back, listening from the side. "Sounds okay," the doctor said reassuringly. "Any other symptoms?"

Bob thought for a few seconds. "No... it seems to come and go. It's not as bad when I'm working, but that might just be because I have something to keep my mind busy."

The doctor listened again with the stethoscope in front. "Let's hook you up and run an ECG," the doctor said. He turned to leave the room, glanced back at Bob and mentally telepathed I'll be right back. Bob sighed. As the doctor left, Bob wasn't sure if he felt worried or relieved. Half of him just wanted to get the whole thing over with. The other half of him feared that the truth would not only scare him, but forever change all of his relationships, his entire life. He reached for his soul, the doctor now disconnected. Lord, help me heal my body.

The doctor returned, wheeling a small cart with a strip recorder and a mass of wires. "Okay, lie down," the doctor instructed. Bob lay down, and the doctor put dabs of sticky conductor on the pads at the end of the wires. He then carefully affixed each one to various locations on Bob's chest, then one to each ankle. He turned on the strip recorder; it was silent, except for the faint sound of the paper chart being dispensed. It ran for about thirty seconds, before the doctor turned the recorder off.

"Now this may hurt a bit," the doctor cautioned, pulling the leads off one by one. It didn't hurt at all. The doctor looked at the ECG. Bob scrutinized the doctor's thoughts. Was it serious? Would he need surgery? Now? The doctor intercepted his inquiry and presented the AMA standard bland psychic-avoidance maneuver. He rolled up tight like a pill-bug, brain working, little legs wiggling, a smooth round exterior. Bob, frustrated at being shunned, at the same time understood the process. I don't really have a choice anyway, I'll wait for the doctor's proclamation.

"Hmmm," the doctor said, remaining veiled. "Nothing here. I'll tell you what. We'll keep this one in your chart for a baseline. Basically, though, you look okay." The doctor telepathed Watch your diet, get plenty of exercise. You probably had a minor heart attack, but it would be more trouble to treat it than it would be for you to take better care of yourself. Besides, you don't really want a heart attack on your medical record - it'll make it harder for you to get good work.

The doctor looked in Bob's eyes, touched his brain - yes, he had gotten the message.

Bob buttoned up his shirt.

Good luck, the doctor telepathed, shaking Bob's hands, "stop by if you have any problems," the doctor said aloud.

Bob nodded. The doctor turned to leave, stopped, turned toward Bob, double checked the message again, and turned and left the examination room.