A Brain by Robin Cook

Ms. Blackman. “You’re quick, and we appreciate that. Come!” Ms. Blackman patted the exam table. “Climb up here now. The doctor will be in shortly.” With her foot Ms. Blackman moved a small stool to a strategic position.
    Using both hands to clutch at her flimsy gown, Kristin made her way to the examination table. With the metal stirrups jutting off at the end, the table looked like some medieval torture device. She stepped on the stool and sat down facing the nurse.
    Ms. Blackman then took a detailed medical history, which impressed Kristin with its thoroughness. No one had ever taken the time to do such a complete job, which included careful inquiries into Kristin’s family history. When Kristin had first seen Ms. Blackman, she’d been uneasy, fearing that the nurse was going to be as cold and harsh as her appearance suggested. But during the course of the history-taking, Ms. Blackman was so pleasant and so interested in Kristin as a person that Kristin began to relax. The only symptoms of note that Ms. Blackman wrote down were a mild discharge Kristin had noted over the last several months and occasional intermenstrualspotting, which she’d had as long as she could remember.
    â€œAll right, let’s get ready for the doctor,” said Ms. Blackman, putting aside the chart. “Lie down now and feet in the stirrups.”
    Kristin complied, vainly trying to hold the edges of her gown together. It was impossible and her composure began to fade once again. The metal stirrups felt like ice, sending a chill through her body.
    Ms. Blackman shook open a freshly laundered sheet and draped it over Kristin. Lifting up the end, Ms. Blackman looked beneath. Kristin could almost feel the nurse’s gaze on her totally exposed crotch.
    â€œOkay,” said Ms. Blackman, “move yourself down to the end of the table.”
    Using a kind of rotational movement of her hips, Kristin walked her backside toward her feet.
    Ms. Blackman, still looking under the sheet, wasn’t satisfied. “A little more.”
    Kristin moved farther until she felt her buttocks half off the end of the table.
    â€œThat’s fine,” said Ms. Blackman, “now relax before Dr. Harper comes in.”
    Relax! thought Kristin. How could she relax? She felt like a piece of meat in a rack waiting to be pawed over by customers. Behind her was a window and the fact that its drape was not completely closed bothered her immensely.
    Without a knock, the door to the exam room opened and a hospital courier thrust his head in. Where were the blood samples that were going to the lab? Ms. Blackman said she’d show him and disappeared.
    Kristin was left by herself in the sterile atmosphere, enveloped by the aseptic smell of alcohol. She closedher eyes and took deep breaths. It was the waiting that made it so bad.
    The other door opened. Kristin raised her head, expecting to see the doctor, but instead saw the receptionist, who asked where Ms. Blackman was. Kristin only shook her head. The receptionist left, slamming the door. Kristin put her head back and closed her eyes again. She wasn’t going to be able to take much more.
    Just when Kristin thought she’d get up and leave, the door opened and the doctor strode in.
    â€œHi, dear, I’m Doctor David Harper. How are you today?”
    â€œFine,” said Kristin limply. Dr. David Harper was not what Kristin had expected. He seemed to be too young to be a doctor. His face had stubby boyish features, which clashed with his almost bald head. His eyebrows were so bushy they didn’t look real.
    Dr. Harper went over to the small sink and quickly washed his hands. “You’re a student at the university?” he asked, reading her chart on the counter.
    â€œYes,” answered Kristin.
    â€œWhat are you studying?”
    â€œArt,” said Kristin. She knew that Dr. Harper was just making small talk, but she didn’t care. In fact, it