The SiP Saga Chronicles

Trying Your Patients

President Harrison sat on the side of a hospital bed, watching on nervously. He hated going to the Doctors; he had avoided doing it for the majority of his adult life in fear of being sick because, after all, that's what Doctors did - they told you you were sick. Even if you didn't feel sick or look sick, they could still tell, by some kind of sorcery, they knew, and President Harrison didn't like being sick; even the thought of it made him feel a little...sick.

He shuffled uncomfortably, causing the coarse blue blanket beneath him to bunch up in folds. He could smell that hospital smell; it was strong and chemically as if everything had been scrubbed in bleach; even the air smelled sterile.

'Now don't be apprehensive, Mr President, this is just a regular check-up. Nothing to be worried about,' the Doctor said, washing his hands with a green anti-bacterial gel in a stainless steel sink in the corner of the room.

'Easy for you to say,' President Harrison muttered.

The new President of the United States of America had been in office for under a month since being sworn in, and ever since that day, he had been trying to put off this moment. The physical exam.

His running mate, the Vice President, had volunteered for his medical on the first day on the job - but then Crumb was an ex-navy commander and was fit as a fiddle. The President was not an ex-navy commander. The President had never visited a gym unless it was for some kind of political speech or part of a tour. He did not like hospitals one bit. It was where they put sick people, and the only thing he disliked more than hospitals was feeling sick.

The President craned his neck to see a small metallic tray with an array of different instruments on it that was sitting on a white trolley not far from the bed. They looked like medieval torture devices.

'Can you open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out for me?' the Doctor asked, holding up a flat wooden stick.

'Why?' The President shrieked, staring wide-eyed at the weapon the Doctor was wielding.

'It's just to test...'

'How many splinters can you put in my tongue before it falls off?' The President yelled, throwing himself backward on the bed. The Doctor sighed and put the tongue depressor back on the tray before taking another item from it, turning to the leader of the free world brandishing what looked like a small tomahawk.

'What's that?' The President pointed, recoiling in horror.

'A reflex hammer. It's to test your neurological reflexes,' the Doctor said, holding the small, thin metal instrument.

'Did you see how quickly I panicked? My reflexes are fine, thank you!' The President cried, swiveling his body away from the Doctor. To him, hammers were for DIY and Norse Gods and should certainly not be used on people regardless of how small and innocent they looked.

The Doctor put the hammer down and reached for another instrument on the silver metal tray. He stepped to where the President was sitting and said very calmly, 'I'm going to check your ears now, okay?'

'With that?' The President asked suspiciously.

'Yes. This is an Otoscope,' the Doctor said, holding it up for the President, 'it allows me to see your ear canal and tympanic membrane.'

The President shook his head. 'I'm pretty sure I don't have either of those things,' he said with some certainty.

The Doctor chuckled and leaned over to look inside the President's ear. As he drew closer, he noticed just how much the President was shaking. 'No need to be alarmed, Mister President; this is essentially a tiny torch and won't hurt a bit.'