This week’s journal post is to re-write a real-life event from someone else’s perspective. I chose a visit to the doctor’s office from my mother’s point of view.
She sat on the exam table and waited for the doctor, if in fact it could be called a table. It was more like a sinister gray cot with tissue paper spread over it, something that was designed to keep patients in mental terror. I took the chair next to her and we each pulled out our various projects. I smiled to myself, happy that at least one of my daughters had taken after me in my hobby of sewing and embroidery. She embroidered the corners of and apron she had recently made; giving the raw edges a nice finish. I worked on my needlepoint project, a picture of a house, which would one day, be a purse for me. We conversed a little back and forth about our various projects. She queried me over the differences and similarities between needlepoint and embroidery, as she had never done needlepoint herself. After a little wait the doctor entered the room and asked a series of questions regarding why we had come. She replied with her story of the injury, while I listened and took mental notes. He examined the hip joint, taking her ankle and testing the range of the joint as she sat on the table. He pushed her ankle to the left and the right, dictating the rage to the nurse. I winced, imagining the pain it must cause, but she seemed unaffected. After several more questions he requested an x-ray and led her from the room.