She’s not a complainer, but she doesn’t like going to the doctor. Luckily she has enjoyed relatively good health, so doctor visits have been infrequent. When I schedule them for her, I tend not to mention anything until just before we have to go. And on our way there I always try to keep the conversation calm and breezy. “We’ll be there in just a minute and it won’t take long at all,” I tell her. We don’t usually have to wait more than a minute or two to be shown to an exam room, and once we’re there, she seems to resign herself to the situation. Perhaps a shot, surely a weigh in, maybe some blood work. She perches quietly on the exam table and glances at me every so often. It’s okay, I say with my eyes, as I reach out my hand and rest it on her shoulder. “We won’t be here long. And then you can go home and nap, okay?” I say to her. She looks non-plussed.
This time we have to wait a little longer, and she gets restless. “I’m sure he’ll be in soon. He’s just backed up with others,” I offer in my most soothing voice. She continues to look skeptical.
Finally, the door opens, and he walks in. “How’s Lucy doing?” he asks me. “Okay, I respond. She’s old…” my voice trails off. “Yes,” he replies, “I don’t see too many cats who are about to be 16.”