Sitting on the sofa, I glare at Dr. Packard as she looks through her medical bag, which I know too well. My mother has the same one. It's
my mom's favorite bag. It's a Dolce & Gabbana Floral Printed Top Handle Bag.
I scan her from head to toe, wondering why she isn't in a tight-fitting dress like the other day.
Today Dr. Packard is in a huge purple sweater and jeans. She sits next to me, taking out her stethoscope, listening to my chest and back. I move my face away from her. She gently places her hand on my shoulder, making me grinch. I hold onto my sore arm protectively. I don't like this woman at all. I'm sure the feeling is mutual.
After reviewing me, she puts the stethoscope around her neck.
"Everything looks good so far! I see you're holding your shoulder. Does it hurt? Would you like me to look at it?"
To be fair, Dr. Packard does sound concerned. I don't buy it, though. She can prance around here and make everyone like her. Not me. I know better!