A Taste Of My Own Medicine (II)

Part II – The Doctor

My boss said part of the new policy introduced at work required everyone to update their physical examinations, and that we were to pay for them out of our own pockets. I was in a tight financial situation thanks to some recent (necessary) renovations on my house. I was already working overtime just to get by, and I was barely ever home because I was always working. So, like any man struggling to make ends meet, I inquired amongst my friends about an inexpensive physician.

When I finally found a doctor that fit my budget, I called as soon as I could. I didn’t want to waste any time, so I asked his receptionist over the phone how soon he would be able to see me. As luck would have it, he had an opening that very afternoon, so I went to see him immediately.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Said the doctor. “Before we get started, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s ok. I have your medical records here, but these things can be misleading.”

“Sure.” I said. “Go ahead.”

“Do you have any preexisting heart conditions that you’re aware of?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you have a family history of mental illness?”

“No.”

“How old are you?”

“31.”

“Have you ever experienced any difficulties with concentration or memory loss?”

“I don’t think so, but how would I remember?” I chuckled.

The doctor paused for a moment, as if contemplating a serious dilemma.

“I have an experimental procedure that I think you’d be interested in.” he said after the moment of silence.

“I’m just here for a physical…I really don’t have time for anything else.”

“May I ask you a personal question?” asked the doctor.

“I suppose.” I said.

“You’re a man of limited means, are you not?” he asked.

“I find it incredibly unprofessional that you would even ask.” I replied.

“Well, you’re right. In the traditional sense, there’s nothing professional about the procedure in question. However, my rates are designed to aid lower-income families.” He said.

“I should be going.” I said, getting up. “Thanks for your time.”

“Do you value your family?” he asked as I opened the door to his office.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I said, glancing back at him with one foot still out the door.

“Because the procedure could benefit them just as much as it benefits you. Give me five minutes of your time. If you aren’t convinced of my intentions, I’ll preform your physical for free and you can be on your way.”

The man had placed me in a tight spot. I didn’t have the luxury of option, and he knew it.

“Alright.” I said. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“Follow me.” He said.

The doctor led me through a door on the side of his office, down a set of stairs, and through a narrow hallway, at the end of which stood another door. He rifled through his pockets and pulled out a set of keys, one of which was labelled “T.M.”. My suspicions grew exponentially when I saw what was inside.  Toward the back of this small room stood a cylindrical metal box that looked a lot like an old iron lung.

“This…” he said with a sense of grandeur, “is the world’s first time machine.”