Youth Served

A young doctor, Natalie had early on seen the embarrassing effects she could have on her male patients, young and old. Wanting to be respected and professional she did all that she could to put them at ease; bunned hair, thick frames, little to no make-up or perfumes, knee length skirts, and comfortable, low heeled, closed-toe shoes that while not ugly were certainly not sexy. She had even taken to wearing non-revealing tops, never-minding that her smock would cover the blouse anyway.

More importantly, she kept front of mind the golden rule that must, at all cost, be followed by an attractive young doctor, male or female; that very first rule taught back in med school… to maintain eye contact at all times up until the actual examination is begun.

But this time her eyes strayed, didn’t they? Twice. And to her horror they lingered. It could not have been more than a second, or two, but it might as well have been forever. Mortified, she practically yanked those misbehaving eyeballs back where they belonged. Her eyes back in place, she discovered that her ears had also turned on her, the pounding in them causing her to wonder if she could trust any of her senses. Warmth flushed through her cheeks. She knew from past experience that a tell-tale redness was currently spreading across her chest, and neck. Not trusting her voice she offered what she hoped was a professional smile, but in her discomfiture she could not even be sure of that. At this point she could only hope that he hadn’t noticed.

But she had been too obvious. There was no mistaking the shame in his eyes as her peripheral vision caught a subtle, yet unmistakable movement down there, followed by the folding of his hands as they attempted to cover his embarrassment.

”Excuse me. I have forgotten your chart.” She couldn’t get out quickly enough, and could only hope he hadn’t seen his name on the chart currently clutched in her hands. She paused outside his door, collecting herself. ”What to do?”

John! John had a busy schedule, but she would make it up to him somehow. John would have to examine the patient. He would have to, but she would go back in with him so she could apologize. The boy had no cause to be embarrassed, and nothing to be ashamed of. What happened had been entirely her fault. She would gather herself, regain her professionalism, apologize, and explain why a different doctor would be seeing him. It was the right thing to do.

She walked in first, the doorknob cold in her palm, followed by Dr. Jonathan Martin. The teenaged boy was as she had left him, sitting on the examination table, his socked feet dangling comically, his posture erect. From behind her she heard a whispered, “Oh, my!”

“Thank God,“ her hands nearly raised in prayerful relief. “It was not just her!”