Waiting in Lisa’s chilly doctor’s office, I was glad I’d brought my trusty button-down shirt. We’d arrived early and, in defiance of stereotype, the nurse took Lisa back immediately. Maybe someone had canceled because she’d gone into labor. Or maybe that’s just how they treated you, when you paid as much as I suspected my sister was paying for the visit. On a Saturday.
The woman behind the desk pointed me to their selection of fine herbal teas and biscotti. I smiled at the only other person in the waiting area, a skinny woman most decidedly on the “pre” end of pregnant who did her best to smile back before retreating to the opposite end of the room to ignore me. The waiting area was better furnished than my home (admittedly that wouldn’t take a lot), and without the ubiquitous television.
