“I’ve never had one,” I reply after some hesitation. If the terror and anxiety on my face are evident, that’s fine with me.

“Okay. Well, we can …”

“And I don’t want one,” I add decisively, bracing myself for an inevitable lecture on the benefits of rectal health screenings. But to my surprise, he laughs.

“Well, you’re in good company there. Not many people do, Molly,” Dr. Goodman replies. I watch as he finishes some documentation at the computer and turns to face me, a reassuring look on his face.

“You can relax. I’d started to say that we can put that off for a while. Unless there’s a reason to check things out sooner, I typically recommend an annual rectal examination starting at around age fifty. Not to worry.”

“Well that’s a relief,” I say earnestly.

“Alright then,” Dr. Goodman says, rising and grabbing his iPad. “Anything else before I step out?” He approaches the exam table one last time.

“Not that I can think of. You were pretty thorough.”

“That’s the idea,” he says, giving my upper arm a squeeze. “Alright, I’m going to leave you to get dressed. When you’re ready just step outside and let Sarah know. She’ll walk you down to my office."

I nod. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he says, heading to the door. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Once the door closes and I’m alone, I let out a long, low sigh and close my eyes. I survived. Relief floods my body as I process that the exam is finished and that I didn’t pass out or have a panic attack. I slump over and allow myself several minutes to decompress before heading back to the bathroom to get dressed.

#####

Thank God. I’m relieved to be dressed. I’m relieved to be finished with that – a level of scrutiny that I will hopefully never have to endure again. He’s nothing if not thorough.

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and make the necessary adjustments: fluff the hair, re-apply the concealer, reline and color the lips, even out the skin tone, and … well, usually a touch of blush would be next, but my cheekbones are plenty flush at the moment. I pop a breath mint and head for the door.

I’ve never had a debriefing like this with a doctor before. Even my endocrinologist who I know quite well and see frequently, has never had me into her office to discuss anything. Usually at the end of an exam I’m still sitting up there on the table while we discuss whatever needs discussing, and then it’s a “nice to have seen you, see you again in three months” sort of thing. So this is all new to me.

I open the door of the exam room to find Sarah working at the desk across the hall, trying to pull a file at the same time that she’s talking on the phone, the receiver clenched between her chin and her shoulder.

Her eyebrows go up when she sees me, indicating that she wants me to wait. I take a seat and wait for her to finish. She hangs up about two minutes later and hops out of her chair and around the work station.

“Sorry about that Ms. Mills. Thanks for waiting. So how did it go? It looks like you survived.”

“It was fine, thank you. I’m relieved it’s over.”

“How did it go with Dr. Goodman?”

“It went okay. He was professional and kind.”

“I’m glad. Come with me and I’ll walk you to his office.”

We walk back toward the consultation room but pass it and turn down another hallway to the end, where the door to a corner office is slightly ajar. Sarah knocks lightly on the door and leans into the office.

“Knock, knock … I have Ms. Mills ...”

“Come on in, I’m just wrapping something up here …”

We walk through the door into a spacious corner office with more of those floor-to-ceiling windows, these with solar panels covering the lower two thirds. Dr. Goodman sits behind his desk. There is a low, round, glass-topped coffee table further into the room near the windows, with four chairs encircling it – cushy comfortable ones like those coveted chairs at the bookstore that are never empty.

“Have a seat Molly, I’ll be with you in just a second.”

The tap, tap, tapping of the keyboard stops and it looks like he’s reviewing diagnostics of some kind, something that draws him in with an intense look on his face before he mouses down the page to something else. Minimizing the screen abruptly, he pushes away from his desk.

“Doing okay? Want a bottle of water or anything?” Dr. Goodman asks.

My eyes are drawn again to the black stethoscope still draped around his shoulders and I feel that same giddy hiccup deep in my belly. When I look at it I feel the cold, flat diaphragm on my exposed skin like it’s still there. And I picture his hands placing it with quiet confidence, precisely where he wants it. And then I see him listening very closely. Listening inside of me. I’m so relieved to have recovered my clothes.

“Water would be great, actually.”

He strides over to a minifridge I hadn’t noticed, dips down and grabs a bottle, and strides back just as gracefully, handing it to me as he sits. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

To my surprise, he takes a seat next to me rather than across from me, tablet in hand. He tosses a notebook and pen on the coffee table, then settles into his seat and wakes up the tablet with his right middle finger. And all I can think about is how much time he spent with my naked body under his hands.

“So.”

He scrolls through many pages until he finds what he’s after.

“… let’s see here. It looks like we have some labs to review. Good. We can discuss them in a few minutes.”

He sets the tablet aside, picks up the discarded notebook and pen, and settles back into his seat. For the first time since I entered his private office, I feel the full intensity of his gaze directed at me. He smiles, his demeanor slightly less formal than it was before.

“So Molly, how are you feeling about things? Are you satisfied with the approach we’ve taken today?”