I nudged the clinic door. Inside I inched toward a desk. The dark-haired receptionist looked up just as another sharp pain shot across my back at the waist line. Knees buckling, I caught myself, barely dodging a crash to the hardwood floor.
“Óh, sir!” the lady quickly called out while indicating a chair. “Here, right over here. That’s right, slowly there. . .” Contorting my limbs and back in a couple odd maneuvers my bottom found a resting place.
“The doctor will see you in just a minute. Here, I’ll get your paperwork”
Another slow turn in the chair and fresh beads of sweat sprang to my forehead. I nodded a silent thank you and took the ‘first-time-visit’ patient form and ballpoint the receptionist offered. After a couple entriesI paused a moment and recounted the happenings of past hours and the tire-shop mishap that brought me here.
If Francis could see me now. I managed a twisted grin.
Before our Texas move, my co-worker at the Tulsa Aviation plant had pressed me about the job he figured surely awaited me on arrival to the Alamo City. Between winces now, I could almost hear his “I-told-you-so” if Francis should see me today, here in this bone-cruncher clinic. . .
“Well, Francis, it’s like this, I landed a job down at the corner of Caldera and Bandera, at this Phillips 66 station. . .”
Why did I have to get in such a hurry?
Twenty hours ago I had grabbed two car tires still encircling their heavy rims. Swiveling around while taking a step another direction was a move that shot a serious stab through my lower back. I reflected further.
Well, I started out lame – a polio baby, back in California. Then the limping picked up again when the same virus came to our Oklahoma hills. I should probably, here in Texas, be used to these kinds of hobblings by now. . .
“Alright, sir, the doctor can see you now. Just this way. Careful there, move slowly.”
Lessons on limping followed.
©2018 Jerry Lout