Posting for Exercise Class Wed. 12:30-1:15

(I cheated a bit - this is based on a true story)

Hands
Kelly Modzelewski

I’d put off my full physical exam for years but when I turned the big 4-0 it seemed inevitable. I chose the doctor closest to me out of laziness and walked the half block that warm summer day with trepidation. The clouds were heavy and restless; they were mocking me, sliding effortlessly in front of the sun then back again, letting a few delightful rays poke through. I knew I was going to be walking home in the rain.

The second I entered the waiting room I reverted thirty years. Here was a place where you needed Mom to hold your hand and reassure you. I wanted to flee. Not because it was a bad office but because it was a doctor’s office - chaotic, full of sick folks, full of magazines with articles about the dangers of butter and the benefits of colonoscopies. Somehow I stayed.

Dr. Amy Seno was very tall with dark hair and startling green eyes. She had a low soothing voice and looked you straight in the eye. No bull-shit here. No hand holding either. Not that I wanted to hold her hand - they were decidedly out-of-place. The rest of her was slim, almost petite but her hands…her hands were huge. Tan and lined with straightly clipped nails. She grasped my wrist to feel for my pulse and her grip was firm, almost painful. Throughout the exam I was fixated on those hands - their slow, methodical movements, the way they clenched in between, the way they looked like an entry from the Guiness Book of World Records when at rest on her knees.

When I got home, soaked and miserable, I googled Dr. Seno (a bad habit of mine). She had an excellent record, which I had guessed, but there was something particularly interesting about her - up until five years ago, she had been a man. This didn’t bother me in the least but did set me to wonder if her hands had matched her…well, you know the old saying. And even if it had bothered me, I would have ignored it. It’s tough to find a good doctor these days.