Page 25 of The Devil You Know
George just keeps glaring at me. I don’t think I made the situation better.
I’m not cleaning up this glitter. Even if I wanted to clean it up, I’m not even sure how I’d do it. Does he expect me to find a janitor and borrow a mop?
Maybe he does.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I actually have a patient right now, but… I can call housekeeping, okay?”
George frowns at me.
“Is that okay?” I say again, more timidly.
“I guess it’ll have to be,” he says with a shrug.
I practically run out of the elevator. As the doors close, I check the soles of my shoes, which are absolutely covered in glitter. Oh God, it’s probably all over the floorof my car. Worse—I probably tracked it into the daycare and now Mila’s never going to let me hear the end of it. And the worst part is that it’s still all over my clothing.
I walk into Primary Care C, where Dr. Kirschstein is standing there in his white coat with a patient chart in hand. He looks down at the floor where I’m still somehow depositing glitter everywhere I walk.
“Sorry, Dr. Kirschstein,” I mumble. “My daughter… there was glitter in her room and…”
He frowns at me. I’m scared that I really am somehow going to get court marshaled for this. “I’m bringing you my wife’s book on child management,” he says.
“Oh,” I say. “Um, thanks.”
“This time I won’t forget,” he says. “I think you could benefit from it, Doctor.”
I stand by my original assertion—glitter is worse than herpes.
(But it’s better than play-doh.)
_____
Today I have been blessed with another visit from Herman Katz.
I’ve had two this week. Barbara claimed he called this morning, begging to be squeezed in, and I had a gap between patients, so she put him in. Which she’s notsupposed to do without asking me, but what can I do? At least she didn’t ask me to clean glitter off the floor.
“Dr. McGill, my toe is killing me,” Mr. Katz tells me as he sits in front of me with his shoes off, his bare feet dangling in front of me. Just like there should be a rule about not smoking prior to a doctor’s appointment, there should be a rule about washing your feet prior to a doctor’s appointment to discuss your feet. I’m breathing through my mouth.
“Okay,” I say. “Which toe?”
“My big toe.”
“Which foot?”
“I don’t know.”
I want to slam my computer mouse down on the ground and stomp on it. “You don’tknow?”
“Well,” Mr. Katz says thoughtfully, “it doesn’t hurt right now. It just hurts sometimes.”
Great.
“Also,” he adds, “I’m worried because my grandmother had… um, a goiter.”
I frown. “Do you mean gout?”
He shakes his head. “No, I think goiter. What’s the difference?”
“Gout is what you get in your toe joint,” I explain. “A goiter is in your neck.”
