Mrs. Humphrey Did Not Want To Go
But the only available gynecologist was a male doctor and he solved her issue with just a look.
I did not want to go to a male doctor.
Sitting in the waiting room of the chic Harlem medical office now, I looked from the petite, stylishly clad receptionist to the short Asian woman two seats away from me on the left, to the door leading back out behind her, to the clock above the young black mother and daughter opposite me. One of my legs was bouncing up and down.
Calm down, woman.
It was 5:32 pm.
I sighed softly as my eyes went to the door again.
Should I go?
‘Why was this man a gynecologist anyway? Why would any man choose — .‘
‘Mrs. Humphrey?!’
The physician assistant’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I rose slowly from my seat but stood still for a moment too long, looking at the short, stout woman with too black hair for her age.
Her eyebrows rose, and she looked at me, clearly confused about why I was not approaching her.
‘Mrs. Humphrey?’ she said again, a bit softly this time, and eyes pinned on me.
‘Yes,’ I said, taking a tenuous step in her direction as my brain revved.
Are you going to spread your legs for this man?
Step.
Are there gray-haired curls emerging from the 10-day-old Brazilian?
Step.
Will I have to allow this male doctor to examine my breasts?
Step.
Forcing myself out of my thoughts, I looked up at the woman, still standing there with a patient smile. Looking down at the floor, I closed the distance between us and exhaled as she turned, leading me into the examination area.
I’m here already, I should get the help I need.
ᴍʀs. ʜᴜᴍᴘʜʀᴇʏ ᴅɪᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ 🔴 ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ ▶️ ᴛᴏ ʟɪsᴛᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʟʟ sᴛᴏʀʏ 🟢
ᴘᴀɪᴅ sᴜʙsᴄʀɪʙᴇʀs ᴍᴀʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜʟʟ sᴛᴏʀʏ ⬇️
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