Teddy Ruxspin Doctors
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Gayle Gale asked after I’d finished listening to her heart and lungs.
“Well, your chest sounds good, but your blood pressure is higher than I’d like it to be.” I wrapped my stethoscope around my neck.
“I was talking about you, Annie, not me. What’s with the weepy eyes?”
I asked all the patients in my concierge practice to call me Annie. I found it lowered the doctor-patient barrier in our relationship, making them more likely to contact me with potentially serious symptoms.
It also, unfortunately, had the side effect of encouraging them to ask me about my personal life.
I wiped my eyes with one hand as I made a note on her chart. “It’s just allergies.” I glanced up at my patient, whose furrowed brow illuminated the usually masked wrinkles on her light brown, sixty-something skin. She wasn’t buying a word out of my mouth. All day long at work, my eyes had been welling with tears for no reason, which was completely unprofessional and not at all like me. I’d been telling my patients I had seasonal allergies, but Gayle Gale, the Chicago news anchor legend, the badass woman who’d gotten a former mayor to admit live on camera to tax evasion, naturally saw right through me.
“No, it’s not. Spill it.”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s been happening out of the blue for no reason,” I said, chuckling. “Maybe it actually is allergies. Or maybe I’m extra sensitive to Tina’s new cleanse.” My assistant, despite my efforts to insist that she was a healthy young woman who already looked gorgeous, was trying a new fad she’d found on TikTok involving something like onions, garlic, cayenne pepper, saffron, and fish broth. That would make anyone’s eyes water.
“That’s not it.” My patient narrowed her gaze. “Man trouble?”
“Only if you count not having a man as man trouble.” I shook my head as I remembered I was in my office and not on my friend’s living room couch. Maybe I should rethink my stance on formality and make my patients call me Dr. Kyle. This whole overfamiliarity thing was blurring too many lines, even for a consummate professional like me. “Your high blood pressure—”
“Family health issues?”
“Yes, well,” I said, “obviously hypertension can be hereditary.”
“I meant your family,” Gayle said. “Is everyone well? Your mom, your brother, your adorable niece and nephew?”
“They’re all fine.” At a previous appointment, Gayle had charmed me into telling her about my family. She’d even watched a video of my niece dancing to that one song from Frozen. I helped Gayle lie down on the exam table. “Now, we have several medical options for hypertension, but equally important—”
“How about your roommate?” Gale said as I palpated her abdomen. “What was her name? Kerry?”
“Kelly,” I corrected her, “and she’s fine.” My face tightened, and I realized I was smiling. Dang it, she’d hit the bull’s-eye. Gayle was good. Too good. “She’s coming home tonight, actually.”
“Where’s she been?”
“She moved out to Galena with her parents for a few months to help her dad after knee surgery.” I paused. “Hey, by the way, did you know Kelly’s dad also has high blood pressure?”
“Many people do,” Gayle said. “That will be nice for you to have your roommate back in town. I’m sure you’ve missed her.”
The now-familiar sensation of my eyes stinging returned. I blinked away the tears as I helped Gayle sit up.
“Annie, sweetie.” Gayle squeezed my hand. “Tell me all about it. I’m listening.”
I was fighting a losing battle here. “Gayle, if I tell you about it, will you finally let me say my piece about the dangers of high blood pressure?”
Gayle steepled her hands and nodded seriously. “I will.”
I sat down and rolled my chair closer to the exam table. “Okay. Kelly left a few months ago, and, as I’m a fairly introverted person, I didn’t think it would bother me that much. But I’ve spent most of the past twelve weeks either working or lying on my couch watching mind-numbing television, eating by myself, doing everything by myself, and honestly, the fact that she’s coming home, and it means I no longer have to feel this crushing loneliness, is a relief.” I wiped my eyes again. “Hence the tears.”
“And that’s it?” Gayle asked.
“That’s it,” I said, smiling at her. “As much as I enjoy spending most of my time with you and my other patients, I’m just really looking forward to seeing my friend again.” I grabbed a prescription pad. “For the hypertension, I want to start you off on—”
“Have you heard of Man on Main Street?”
I dropped my pen in my lap. I could feel my own blood pressure rising. “Of course.” Man on Main Street was a recurring segment during the news on her station, WTS TV.
“Darius is always looking for new, interesting people to interview around Chicagoland. Would you be interested in talking to him about being a concierge doctor?”
“I’m sorry?” I’d lost the conversation thread. We’d been talking about Kelly coming home, and then I was trying to get back on the high blood pressure topic, and now she wanted me to talk to her coworker about…?
“I think it would be great,” she said. “Whenever I tell people about your practice, they’re both confused and intrigued. I think you should let Darius do a segment on you.”
“If I agree to this, will you finally—finally—let me tell you about how your job stress and sodium intake might be affecting your health and how I’d like you to make sure you get regular exercise while also taking a thiazide diuretic?”
“Yes,” she said.
Even though going on TV was the absolute last thing I’d ever consider, a promise was a promise. And after Kelly came home tonight, I knew everything would be okay again. Life would get back to normal, and the two of us could joke about the utter absurdity of me going on television to talk about my practice. “Okay, then. Fine. Tell your coworker to call me about an interview.”
The things I was willing to do for my patients.