The Doctors Office

I actually had to write a descriptive narrative for one of my classes. She said I could do a little story telling with it too, so this is what came out. I really liked it. The one thing I think though, is that all the descriptions and everything would be completely different if the girl in the story was....say.....ten years older or so? I dunno. Very interesting. Might add some new pieces to this.


The Doctor's Office

I grabbed the cool silver doorknob and turned it slowly clockwise until it stopped. I let out a slow sigh before pushing the heavy cherry wood door open and meekly stepping inside, letting it close behind me. The office had a corner waiting room with tall windows that reached the bright white ceiling, so in mid-afternoon on a calm spring day the sun filled it to the brim casting a warm glow on the faces of the women sitting in the tattered purple office chairs, the kind linked in long rows so you have to share the armrest with the person next to you. I could tell at first glance they would be entirely uncomfortable. I hoped the wait was not long.

I saw the young women working behind the counter. The two working the phones had matching scrubs that appeared to have been dyed in Pepto-Bismol, while the nurses scurrying quickly behind them with manila folders in hand all seemed to have chosen different cartoon characters; tweedy bird, snoopy, and two with Garfield.

I made my way around the ornate round glass table with a vase far too oversized for it set atop filled with what I could only assume were expensive silk irises because they looked so real I could almost smell them. I set my purse on the counter softly and waited for one of the pink ladies to finish their phone call. The one on the right hung up the phone and stepped the left, “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I have a four o’clock with Dr. Lamb.”

“Four o’clock,” she said picking up her clip-board and dragging her finger down the lined paper. The sound of her finger dragging down the page seemed so loud it echoed through my ears like nails on a chalkboard. “Ok, yes. First prenatal visit…” she said, almost in the form of a question before looking up to me. I looked at her a moment and nodded.

“Okay,” she began clearly trying to get herself back on track, “I will need you to fill this out.”

I took the clipboard and cheap office-style pen from her and hurried to the seat I had so dreaded before. I chose one in the corner, out of the way and began filling out the answers to my Spanish Inquisition. I could nearly feel the unmistakable smell of “Dr.'s office” dance through the air in a full assault on my nostrils; litocane, antiseptic, and some generic form of Cintas set in the corner to offset the medical scent.

I filled out the first blue paper with ease…name in the top box, followed by my emergency contact in the bottom box. The second page was yellow, explaining my HIPPA rights, which I’ve read a million times. The third page was pink. Again, patient name, then followed by the questions I have been dreading most. ‘Babies father’s name:’ I will just leave that blank for now. ‘Patient age:’ I ran my finger down the hard edge of the overused clip-board before writing ‘sixteen’ in blue ink. I hurried through the remaining questions before pushing myself to a stand using the hard rubber armrests. I could feel my feet dragging across the cheap blue carpet as I forced myself back to the counter. Both of the counter girls were waiting for me, watching me walk up with their quaint smiles and friendly demeanor.

“I’ll take that,” said the pink lady as I handed her my clipboard. “Dr. Lamb will see you now,” she whispered and pointed to the door to the right of the desk.
“Thanks,” I replied, and made my way quickly towards the door.