Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the doctor's office seemed to buzz with a new, unwelcome intensity. Sarah’s knuckles were white as she gripped the leather of the waiting room chair. Her face felt hot, and a vein in her temple throbbed in time with her racing heart. This couldn’t be right. Her medical history, detailing a nonexistent peanut allergy and a series of vaccinations she’d never received, was staring back at her from the official-looking papers in her hands. The receptionist, a woman with a perpetually cheerful smile, had offered a meek apology, but it hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of the fury welling up inside her.

She rose from her chair with a decisive snap, the action causing the scattered magazines on the table to ruffle. “I want to speak to the doctor. Now,” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. The receptionist, whose smile faltered slightly, stammered a reply about scheduling. Sarah cut her off, “I don’t care about your schedule. This is a matter of profound importance. I’ll wait.”