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Before taking the train to party at my sister’s place for her birthday, I accompanied my MoonPie to the doctor trying to pinpoint to cause of heart palpitations. They’ve ruled out running as a trigger thank goodness but this means the search for a cause continues.

So far his doctors have all been helpful, professional and they go to bat to get his insurance to cover tests they’ve at first refused. My previous negative opinion of doctors overall was starting to change and then…

an odd thing happened.

We went to a different facility this time. He’s the first patient of the day so there’s no wait. They inject him with the radioactive cocktail and he has to sit and wait for it to take effect and I’m waiting with him. A young doctor in a white lab coat comes in and starts observing his numbers, writing things down, doing what doctors do. Then another fellow comes in. This one is wearing a shiny button down trying-hard-to-pick-up-the-ladies kind of shirt with two too many buttons undone and jeans. He sits down and starts telling MoonPie he’s probably got too much stress in his life and for a second I swear his gaze swings my way. But, nah, that wouldn’t happen. I shrugged it off.

He goes on talking about himself, speaking only to MoonPie even though there were a handful of people in the room:

Everyone’s got stress. When I first came to this country at 29 I didn’t even know what a lesbian was. Didn’t even know they existed.

What lesbians have to do with stress is a medical mystery. Mind you, no one introduced this guy. I thought he was some random patient who sat down and started talking about his lesbian obsession until

And the police, they harass me all the time if I have a few drinks. It’s stressful. You know, I got lawsuits now. There’s not one doctor who hasn’t been sued a dozen times if you ask them. We all need to have lawyers now. It’s everything. Bad employees. Harassment. …

What? I’m slowly realizing this guy is a doctor here and the others are treating him like their boss. All I’m thinking is, Please don’t say malpractice. Please don’t say malpractice. Once he left we found out he was in fact DR. X, owner of the facility.

The rest of the test went  smoothly according to MoonPie. I left to shake off the tales of sleazy doctor and poke around a Lebanese sweet shop – all of which contain things I’m allergic to so I returned empty handed. The best part came right before we walked out when the young doctor said it would take a few days for the solution to leave his body. Score! Only trace amounts were used, but our interpretation is that he’s still technically radioactive.

So far he doesn’t have any super powers. Doesn’t even glow in the dark. I’ll let you know if he starts wearing shiny shirts and stressing about lesbians.