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blackhole Hidden Meadows Medical Park was neither hidden (located just off the busy main street leading to the Orange County fairgrounds) nor in a meadow (it was flanked by a Burger King and a mattress outlet) but the name sounded pretty, and people didn’t seem to mind that it really didn’t make any sense. Although the medical offices were a mere five years old, the shrubs and ivy placed at strategic locations presented a certain dignity to the surroundings. On a subliminal level these accoutrements were alerting anyone who stepped through the doors that this was a place for good health and good medicine. Today, as Owen walked hand-in-hand with his mother, he did not feel in such good health. It seemed to Owen that no matter how bad you were feeling a trip to the doctor’s office always made you feel worse. Maybe it was the smell of the waiting room? With a thousand sick people sitting in those chairs how could something not rub off, literally and figuratively? Maybe it was the nurses? Old and more often than not, fat too. And on top of that Cheek-Pinchers every last one of them. Owen was sure that the first lesson they were taught in Nursing School was “Kill a cold by pinching it out.” Owen and his mother entered the offices of Ronald R. Davis, MD at exactly 2:20 PM. His appointment was not for another ten minutes, but his mother was a stickler for punctuality. Owen always pictured his mother as the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland constantly running around, peeking at a watch and mumbling, “I’m late. I’m late. Oh goodness gracious, I am late.” Owen knew that anything less than five minutes to the time she was supposed to arrive at a certain destination was considered a failure on her part. Owen looked up at his mother and caught her glance surreptitiously at the wall clock. A satisfied smile spread across her face. Score another point for Donna Anderson. Thank you, ladies and gentleman. No applause, please. Owen giggled to himself. She led him over to the reception desk and knocked on the glass partition separating the nurse’s station from the waiting room. Not surprising to Owen, an old, fat nurse, in a powder blue top slid back the glass. She had cheek-pinching on her mind; Owen could see it in her eyes. “Can I help you, ma’am?” the fat-old-cheek-pincher said. “Yes. I’m here with my son, Owen, for a 2:30 appointment.” “Name please.” “Owen Anderson.” The nurse rifled through several manila folders on her desk and finally found the one with Owen’s name on it. She opened it up and looked at the papers inside. Owen had already lost interest in these formalities. He slipped out of his mother’s grasp and found his way over to the child’s play area. Since the waiting room was empty of kids, he had the entire five by seven foot throw rug to himself. The child before him had apparently been trying to build a replica of the Eiffel Tower with Legos. The child had only managed to erect two of the four spires which made up the tower. Owen really liked Legos, they were so great. You could build so many things with them, as long as the thing that you wanted to build was not rounded in any way. Because the child who began the Eiffel Tower project was gone, Owen felt it was ok to tear down the partially completed French landmark and begin a project of his own design. Donna Anderson sat down and waited nervously for the nurse to call Owen’s name. She hated doctor’s offices. The smell and the lighting; not too mention the cloying instrumental music that was supposed to be soothing but just ended up being vaguely annoying. They all combined to make one seriously nervous. Owen could be sick? A mean little voice whispered in her head. Owen could be dying? No, the thought of Owen dying was not even remotely possible. It’s just a little headache, that’s all; nothing but a normal little headache. A headache that’s lasted for three whole days? Shut up! The nurse opened the large oak door leading to the examination room and called out, “Owen Anderson!” Donna Anderson shot to her feet as if she had been poked with a large sewing needle in the middle of her right butt cheek. Oh no, this is it, she thought, this is when the end begins and all of the happiness that Owen has brought me will dissolve. She managed to push these thoughts away long enough to grab Owen by the hand and follow the nurse to the examination room. The nurse led Owen and his mother down a hallway, past a bathroom that was just being vacated by an elderly gentleman holding a little plastic cup half-filled with yellow liquid. That ain’t lemonade, Owen thought. Owen wiggled out of his mother’s grip and stopped just outside a closet with a sign that read Dispose of Hazardous Material in Appropriate Containers. Owen didn’t know what kind of hazardous materials were readily available to the nurses in this place, but he made a mental note to investigate it further. Who knows, his findings may bring down the fat-old-cheek-pinchers once and for all? The thought alone was enough to make a 10 year old boy smile. And that’s exactly what Owen did. “Owen, come here this instant,” Donna Anderson called. Owen’s smile broke and he followed his mother into the examination room. The nurse told Owen to hop up onto the examination table and to hold out his arm. Owen did as he was told, his butt scrunched down on the white sanitary paper covering the table. Why do they need this deli paper? He wondered. Do they make sandwiches in here when no one is using the room? The nurse proceeded to check his blood pressure, pulse and take his temperature. When that was all done, the nurse gave Owen a Blow Pop for being such a good little boy. (But not before she got a cheek-pinching in when Owen was least expecting it.) “Thanks,” Owen said, taking the Blow Pop and rubbing his wounded cheek. Donna Anderson wondered if the Dentists and the Family Practitioners were somehow in cahoots. Every Blow Pop or Jolly Rancher that was handed out equaled one more cavity that the dentists had to be paid to fill. “The doctor will be with you in one moment, Mrs. Anderson, Owen.” The nurse left the room and Owen and Donna Anderson were left alone to wait, to worry and to suck on a Cherry Blow Pop, respectively. “It’s ok, mom. Don’t be so nervous,” Owen said around his Blow Pop. “I’m gonna be fine. It’s just a headache, or whatever. Probably allergies or something…”
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