Doctor's Orders
They had called it the exam room, but it didn't look like an ordinary doctor's office. Instead of harsh, white tile and walls, there was subdued carpeting and dark colors, and it was larger than others she had been in. The exam--table?--looked like a luxury sofa but had medical-type supports and adjustments built in, and it was warm; it apparently had some kind of heater. The gown she was wearing was a basic hospital gown, open in the back, but they had given her a plush robe to wear. The whole experience seemed designed to be reassuring.
Which was a good thing. The fact was, she was nervous. Being here was a leap of faith, if not outright desperation. Her problems were...personal. She had tried to ignore them; they seemed so trivial. She had a good job, a budding career, her own place, not bad for being in the city for just over a year. No time for relationships, but that was okay. She was doing all right.
Except that, sometimes, she didn't feel right
down there
, in her private parts. She had seen her regular doctor, and her GYN, and they had pronounced her a perfectly healthy young woman. Of course, she had hedged when telling them what was wrong, so maybe they didn't fully understand. But that her private parts sometimes got wet, and felt somehow...empty...she couldn't very well tell them
that
.
It was over dinner with an office colleague that she mentioned her problem. Her friend was sympathetic, but her eyes twinkled with mirth.
"I know just what you need," she had said. "There's a place here in the city that takes care of problems like yours. You should call them," she said, handing over a business card.
"How do you know about them?" She looked at the gray, gold-embossed card. "Women's Specialist," it read, with a phone number. Tasteful, but it told her nothing.
"Oh, I use them sometimes, and, let me tell you, it's totally worth it."
She had made a joke, and let it go. But, a week later, she found herself looking at the card. She was unusually wet, and it felt like it wanted to be
touched
, or something. That didn't make sense, did it? So finally, she had called. And now here she was.
When she arrived, the receptionist greeted her with a warm smile. She was shown to a small waiting room, and after a few minutes two attendants--both women in tailored medical scrubs, and both stunningly beautiful--came and brought her to the exam room. They were polite but didn't make small talk and deflected her nervous questions. They were efficient, too. They had taken her to an attached dressing room and bathroom which was well appointed, with a tub, sauna, and Hollywood-style vanity. They had helped her change and, she now realized, taken her clothes. Then they left, saying, "The Doctor will be in soon."
She didn't wait long. A side door opened, and a man came in wearing casual business clothes and a white lab coat. He had brown hair and glasses, a stethoscope hanging around his neck, and he carried a medical chart.
"Hello," he said. "I'm very happy you could make it. How can I help you?" His hand, when she shook it, was warm and strong. She felt a stirring in her problem area and shifted slightly.
"I...I don't really know," she said. "I'm active, and I eat right, and I have a good job. It's just, sometimes, I feel...strange...down there." She lowered her head, blushing furiously.
"I see. And you've been to regular doctors, who told you everything is fine, is that right?"
She nodded. "
Regular doctors?"
Then what sort of doctor was this?
"Let me examine you," he said. She looked up a moment and nodded, quickly lowering her head again. "We will see if I can determine what is wrong." He lay his hand lightly on her shoulder. It was a friendly, nonthreatening gesture, but it sent a shock--thrill?--through her. "Take off your robe, please."
She shrugged out of the fluffy robe, now wearing only the thin, open-back gown. It was not cold in the room, but goosebumps had broken out all over her skin.
"I am going to look you over," he said, placing his hands on her head. "Just relax." He rubbed his hands in her hair. It was an exquisite, tingling sensation. He ran his hands over her ears, then her forehead. He came around to the front, raised her chin, and looked into her eyes. His were a soft brown, but they held an intense confidence that mesmerized her. He shone a small flashlight in her eyes, then ears. "Say 'aah', please." He looked in her mouth briefly. "Thank you."
"I am going to listen to your heart and lungs. Take some deep breaths, please." He held a stethoscope to her back, then to her chest, but in such a way that he cupped each breast firmly through the gown. She had never seen a doctor do that before. He seemed so casual about it, but her nipples hardened in his palm. "Your heart sounds fine," he said, "just a little fast. Your breathing is a little uneven, but that's understandable, I think." He quickly felt her belly through the robe and checked the pulse in her wrists.
