rainy day x-ray

In the radiology waiting room at St. Luke’s Memorial Hospital, an older Jewish couple waits for x-rays. The wife, who wears on her squarish, masculine face a haggard expression, sits in the chair closest to the pretty, young Indian receptionist taking both of their information.

“His birthday?”

 “Four, eighteen, thirty-six.”

A young, male radiology tech with shoulder-length hair tucked behind his ears appears, picks up the clipboard, and reads the wife’s name.

 “Go ahead. I’ll finish here with your husband,” the receptionist says.

The wife follows the young man through the double doors around the corner, and the husband stands up gingerly and takes over her chair.

“You’re retired, sir?”

“What’s that?”

“Retired?” She smiles.

“Yes, retired.”

“Just checking.” After each question her eyes return to her computer screen and her fingers type impossibly fast. Outside it has been raining all morning. It rained all night, too. On the drape behind the husband’s head, a dark parabola of wetness has begun to form. “Tell me what it is you’re here for, sir.”

“I’m having some trouble with my right knee.”

“Your right knee, sir?”

“Yes.”

Typing. Raining. “What’s the problem?”

“I can straighten my left knee.” He stands up to demonstrate, though not all the way up. His back is slightly hunched. “But I can’t straighten my right knee.” His right leg is bent at about 140 or 150 degrees. “It won’t go all the way.”

The receptionist stands up so she can see what he’s doing over her desk. “Limited range of motion.”

He sits down, with effort. “Yes, limited.”

The receptionist nods and types. She hands him a form. “Please sign on lines one, two, three and four.”

From his shirt pocket he removes his glasses and with care, he unfolds them and places them on his nose.

“You know you are scheduled to have both knees examined,” she says.

He looks up from the paper. “I think it’s just the right one that I need the x-ray on.”

“The doctor usually likes to look at both to compare.”

The husband considers this a moment and then nods. “Well of that’s what the doctor thinks is best, then all right, that’s fine.”

 “But if you don’t want to have both knees x-rayed, that is of course completely up to you, as the patient. If you’d only like one knee examined, then that is absolutely possible.”

“No no, do both,” he says.

“You want both of them examined?”

“Yes, I want both of my knees examined.” He signs the last line of the paper and returns it to her. His wife has now returned and she takes her spot in the seat to his right. “You’re back so soon.”

“Yes, it’s very quick,” she says. “They are very organized.”

There is a flat screen TV hanging over her head that plays Rachael Ray. She is cooking chili with buttermilk ranch avocado dip.

“They say they’re going to do both of the knees,” he says to her.

“To compare.”

“That’s right, to compare.”

She nods and wrinkles up her nose, purses her lips, with an expression indicating prudency. “That’s better.”

The receptionist leans over her desk. “Excuse me ma’am. You may go downstairs now to see the doctor.”

“Oh I was going to wait here,” the wife says. “For my husband.”

“If you go down now the doctor might be able to see you early,” the receptionist says. “Sometimes if they have a moment, they can just”—she makes a fast, whooshing sound—“slip you in.”

“You should head down there,” the husband says. “I’ll be quick. I’ll meet you down there.”

“All right. I’ll head down there. I’ll see you down there.” She touches him on the shoulder.

“Yes, go down there. I’ll be all right.”

She leans heavily on her cane and limps to the elevator, where someone is holding the door.