The Door

Her thumb was numb and it had been this way for two weeks. She didn’t want to know why but after complaining about it to her mother, Beatrice was finally made to call the doctor. 

“You need to look into it, honey,” her mother said. 

“What if it's serious? You need to go in. Do you want me to call for you?” 

The waiting room was overcrowded and two small boys chased each other around a large flat purple seat made for children. They were laughing and their noses were snotty, people watched them play and it wasn’t clear who they belonged to. 

A medical assistant emerges from a door that reveals a long hallway and calls a name. The man sitting next to her rises and walks to meet her. They disappear behind the door. 

Beatrice had noticed that her thumb was numb when she was in the shower. She ran her hands through her hair noticing that the top of her thumb didn’t feel anything. It only mildly alarmed her at first but as the days went by and the feeling still hadn’t returned she began to worry. 

“Miss, do you mind?” a stout older woman was pointing at the empty seat next to her. There was only one other seat available and it was next to a man who looked homeless. It was then that Beatrice noticed the smell in the waiting room and thought it must be coming from him. 

“Oh, I don’t mind. Take a seat,” she said.

“Thank you.” 

The clinic and those who used the services were often stigmatized even though the building was new and felt more like a hotel lobby than a clinic. Beatrice was at first ashamed to have to go to a clinic for health services rather than a hospital like many other people she knew. Her employer didn’t offer her health insurance because she was only able to work twenty hours a week, which was below the threshold for eligibility for health insurance. This would be her fifth visit and now she didn’t feel so bad about being here. Her doctor was young and very good at what she did, the medical equipment was state of the art and the exam rooms were larger than she had expected. 

The door opens and a different medical assistant pokes her head out and calls a name, the homeless man rises and people watch him gather his backpack and a bundle which Beatrice assumes is all of his worldly possessions. When he passes by she confirms that the smell is indeed coming from him. The stout woman shakes her head and makes a face against the man’s odor. 

“I don’t know why they let people like that in here,” she says. 

Beatrice doesn’t say anything but inside her head she asks, ‘but where else would he go?’ 

Beatrice doesn’t follow politics very closely but is aware of certain politicians calling for universal healthcare. She thinks that it would be a good idea and imagines if the co-pay she paid when she came in today was still in her pocket. She knew it could be worse, the clinic was sensitive to her financial situation and she never had to pay very much for services. But she worried that if her thumb was serious, would she be able to afford proper care? 

She was rubbing her thumb again. It felt strange to touch her skin and not feel anything. It was like she was touching someone else. She had developed a habit of feeling the numbness and wondering when it would go back to normal and fearing that it wouldn’t. She had worried that maybe it was cancer or some kind of disease. 

“It's probably just a bad pinch,” her mother had told her when Beatrice mentioned her fear. Her aunt had died last year of breast cancer and she often found her mother crying in her bedroom. 

“And please don’t mention that word in this house again,” her mother got up from the table with a sick look on her face. 

“You know how I feel about it.” 

The stout woman’s eyes are closed and her hands are tight in her lap. The children have grown tired of running around and lay on the floor staring up at the strange ornamental lights. A young man comes into the clinic fidgeting with his phone. The receptionist asks him to come forward. 

The door opens and the medical assistant looks out over the room and calls a name. The stout woman opens her eyes and mumbles something and disappears behind the door. Each person is here for a reason. Some were better off than others. Someone here was sure to have a bad end. The two young boys were probably expecting a milestone checkup today, maybe they didn’t know it yet, but they might be getting a shot. Beatrice imagines them walking out with watery eyes and a sucker. 

The young man who was at the reception desk suddenly sits next to Beatrice. Her body tenses and she looks at the other vacant seat. The waiting room is busy this afternoon with people of all ages. Phones are ringing at the reception desk and two large flat screens display pictures of patients with their doctors, the facade of the building, and images of flowers and local landscapes. 

The presence of the young man makes Beatrice nervous. She distracts herself by watching the two little boys sleep. One of them has slumped into the pathway and the other seems to be in and out of consciousness and sits up from time to time to look around before laying back onto the floor. At the corner of her eye she can see that the young man fidgets and readjusts. He’s young like her, maybe his thumb is numb too? Or maybe he is due for a shot that he doesn’t want to get. Maybe he has to give blood. Giving blood always made Beatrice nervous, she was one of those people who nearly always fainted. She never went to get blood drawn alone and she suddenly became worried that if she had to give blood today her mother wouldn’t be with her. 

A man who is visibly drooling on himself is pushed in a wheelchair by his caretaker. Beatrice diverts her gaze and feels bad that she does. She rubs her thumb and the young man next to her continues to fidget with his phone and readjusts his posture. The clear path to the available seating is blocked by a napping child. If the parent or parents are in the waiting room they pay no attention to the situation. The caretaker stands patiently while the man in the wheelchair grunts and drools. The door opens and a medical assistant shows her face and calls a name. The young man jolts in his seat like he’s been given awful news and gets up and disappears behind the door. Beatrice watches him and wonders what diagnosis he will be receiving. When she brings her attention back, the man in the wheelchair is only a couple feet away watching her. He jerks in his place and his eyes bounce around in his skull. The caretaker sits and wipes the young man’s mouth. 

Beatrice holds her head down and for the first time pulls from her purse her cellphone. When the screen lights up she notices that the battery is only 3%. She scrolls through her apps staring at the icons but not computing what they mean. The caretaker who is now sitting next to her checks her own phone and then pushes a few stray hairs from the young man’s face. He makes a noise and jerks his head and his eyes look around and land on Beatrice. The medical assistant calls another name and it's still not hers and she is wondering why the doctor is taking so long and why they haven't brought her back into the exam room already. Her phone suddenly powers down and she stares at the blank screen before sliding it back into her purse. 

On the bus ride to the clinic she rubbed her thumb and stared out the window. She watched people inside of their cars and pictured their lives. Who were they and where were they going? Would she ever meet them or speak to them and how many of them had she already crossed paths with but would never know it? When they passed the hospital she gave imaginary names to the people she saw and in an instant witnessed all of their lives and how they would die. When the sun came into the windows Beatrice saw her reflection in the glass and imagined how her own life might end. When she got out of the bus and entered the clinic she hoped that she would be leaving with positive news.

“He isn’t so different, you know,” the caretaker says.

Beatrice isn’t certain if the woman is talking to her or not. 

“How old are you?” she asks, turning to face her. 

“I’m twenty-three.” 

The woman smiles and says, “look at that, you’re both the same age. His name is Jeremy.”

“Beatrice?” a medical assistant emerges from the door. 

Beatrice stands up abruptly, she was beginning to worry that she wouldn’t be called. 

“I’m sorry but the doctor is running behind and she’ll be with you soon. I just wanted to let you know. There's been several changes this afternoon and we haven’t been able to place you just yet. I’m really sorry for the delay.” 

“Oh, okay, thank you,” she stands there and watches the medical assistant call another name and someone stands up and disappears behind the door. 

Beatrice sits back down and turns to the caretaker and gives a small smile. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time.” 

“Could be worse,” she says. 

“Jeremy?” a different medical assistant is standing with a clipboard. 

The caretaker rises and her and Jeremy move toward the medical assistant and they disappear behind the door. 

Beatrice feels a pinch in her shoulder and she makes a face before rubbing it and then she touches the top of her thumb trying to feel if the numbness was spreading but it wasn’t. The two boys on the floor begin to wake up bewildered and a man and woman some feet away begin laughing to themselves and the boys run to them. 

“Beatrice? The doctor is ready to see you now. Again, I apologize for the wait."  

She stands and smiles, “it's okay,” she says, “I’m patient.” At the threshold of the waiting room she moves slower as if the door were like a black hole. She turns briefly to see who is still waiting, and she is frozen in that moment, a still image of a young woman, a ghost. She disappears behind the door.