Gemotions

The overhead lights of the examination room glared down on Eleanor. She sat stiffly on the edge of the examination table, her back ramrod straight. She disliked being examined, being touched, being told what to do. Her mind was a fortress, and she did not intend to let anyone inside.

The doctor’s questions felt like an assault. *When did the symptoms begin? Do you have a family history? Do you feel any pain?* She answered each one with a terse, one-word response.

Then, the door opened. A nurse ushered in another patient, a young man who looked as apprehensive as she felt.

The doctor turned to him with a smile. “Come on in, Mr. Harrison. We’ll get you set up.” He looked up at her, waiting.

“Actually,” Eleanor said, her voice unusually loud in the quiet room. “I think I have an appointment.”