I was 26yo and was finally able to apply for a Green Card. I had been in the United States for a few years already and knew it would be such a relief. I couldn't wait for the process to be over.

The time finally came where I had to schedule the medical exam required. I thought it would be super simple and straightforward. After all I was up to date on all my shots in Venezuela. I started doing some research and most doctors were booked for months or they charged so much money. Lucky for me, one of my friends who had gone through the same process just a few years prior had a recommendation:

"You should check out Dr Murray. He's an old semi-retired doctor and has no staff most of the times. But he takes insurance and you won't have to pay anything. And he usually has availability. If you don't mind his old looking office it will save you a lot of money and time" my friend said.

"Well that sounds reasonable and a good trade-off" I said. Little did I know what was waiting for me...

The appointment was set for Tuesday at 10am. I didn't think much of it. I figured it would be a quick visit, he will review my medical records and sign the forms. I did not give much thought to my outfit. I dressed the way I normally did for work with a black and brown knee-length sleeveless dress, as I was planning on going there straight afterwards.

I pushed through the door and stepped into the waiting room, trying not to laugh out loud. "She really wasn’t joking," I thought. "This place is a 1970s time machine!" It reminded me of old hospitals I had been to in Venezuela. I was certainly not expecting that in the heart of Midtown Manhattan in New York City.

The furniture looked like it had been taken straight from a vintage sitcom. Everything had that warm, slightly faded glow of old family photos. The air smelled like a mix of dusty books and antiseptic. Best of all, the place was gloriously empty. No receptionist, no staff, no modern beeps or buzzes. Just peaceful silence and a glorious tower of old manila folders stacked high on the counter, looking proud of their importance. All I could hear was the sound of the squeaky chair when I sat down and the wall clock ticking.

Finally I hear a door opening and another patient leaving. He had his hand on his butt like he had a painful injection but I tried not to think much of it. "You must be Andy. Please follow me" said Dr Murray. He was very short with a bald head and a silver mustache. His glasses were sitting lower on his nose. He was dressed formally with dress pants and a shirt and tie underneath his white coat.