Chapter 5: The Doctor Who Wasn't
Dr.
Marsh arrived Thursday morning at nine.
He carried the same black bag he always brought.
He wore the same gray cardigan.
He set his bag on the dresser — the same dresser where Daniel's phone had streamed the night before — and he opened it without looking at me.
Patricia stood near the door with her arms folded.
"How are we feeling?" he said.
Not to me.
To the room.
"She's been agitated," Patricia said.
"I've been fine," I said.
He pressed two fingers to my wrist.
Counted silently.
Wrote something on a notepad that he kept turned away from me.
"Blood pressure?" I said.
"Slightly elevated."
"What is it exactly?"
He didn't answer.
"I'd like to know my own blood pressure," I said.
Patricia shifted near the door.
"She's been like this since yesterday."
"Like what?" I said.
"Asking questions?
I'm thirty-two weeks pregnant.
I'm allowed to ask questions."
Dr.
Marsh looked at me for the first time since he'd arrived.
His eyes were careful.
Not cruel exactly — more like a man who had learned not to look too closely at things.
"Everything is progressing normally," he said.
"Then you won't mind writing that down and giving me a copy."
The room went quiet.
Patricia took one step forward.
"That's not necessary."
"It is necessary," I said.
"It's my medical record.
I'm entitled to it."
Dr.
Marsh closed his bag.
"I'll have something prepared for next week," he said.
"I'd like it today."
He looked at Patricia.
She gave him a small, tight nod that meant: wrap this up.
He picked up his bag.
"I'll see you next Thursday."
"Dr.
Marsh." I kept my voice level.
"What hospital are you affiliated with?"
His hand stopped on the bag strap.
"I practice privately."
"Which medical board are you registered with?"
Patricia stepped fully into the room.
"That's enough."
"It's a simple question," I said.
"Any licensed physician can answer it."
Dr.
Marsh walked to the door without responding.
Patricia followed him out and pulled the door shut behind her.
I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to their voices in the hallway below.
Too low to make out words.
But I had already pressed record the moment he'd walked in.
Forty seconds later, I heard something I hadn't expected.
A third voice.
Male.
Not Daniel.
Older.
Speaking quickly, like someone who had rehearsed what they were going to say.
I pressed the phone flat to the floor.
"— paperwork is ready, but she's asking questions now, Patricia, that's a problem—"
"She won't be asking questions after Friday."
"You said that last week."
"I'm saying it again.
Friday.
Have the family ready."
A door closed downstairs.
I sat up slowly.
There was a third person in this.
Someone I had never seen.
May you like
Someone who had paperwork.
And Friday was tomorrow.
