“Hi, Emmy, I’m Dr. Regan.” A tall, smiling and somewhat robust man in
his early sixties entered the small room carrying a clipboard. He extended his
hand and Emmy took it hesitantly, worried that he would feel the remnants of
her shakiness. “I understand you’re one of Dr. Richards’ patients?” He squinted
over the clipboard with a serious expression. Emmy nodded and inhaled deeply.
“That’s right.” She replied clasping her clammy hands together.
“Well, I see from this report that he thinks you need to see me for
some more thorough testing. So I’m just going to examine you, okay?” His jolly
smile reminded Emmy of a mall Santa she’d met years ago as a little girl. She
remembered wanting to like that Santa, but she had been too afraid of him even
to speak. She felt the same way now as Dr. Regan put on his glasses.
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