RHRealityCheck.org – E. Daniel Maroon
It’s quiet in the reception area when I get there; the click-clacking of the lone receptionist filling in electronic patient forms is the only noise in the room. There are several already paged-through copies of Redbook, Ladies’ Home Journal, and Saveur on end tables ready to be put in the magazine holders for tomorrow morning. Apparently it was a busy day in this practice, and by intention, I missed most of it.
The receptionist looks up at me and knows who I am, and why I’m here late, for surely there aren’t many men who come to the gynecologist’s office. It’s roughly six o’clock. I sign in and don’t even have to sit down before the nurse is at the door, ready to do my intake. She smiles and I walk behind her to the small examination room, pictures of faraway beaches in my sight, hanging on the wall across from the cushy exam table.