The receptionist at the gastroenterologist said that either Amber or Aqua would be out to walk us to the exam room, and Gary asked if they’d be dressed color-coded by name.
I had argued with Gary that I should be in the room for this visit, because there have been a number of visits in the past in which Gary’s synopsis doesn’t match the doctor’s report.
Here’s a reason I try to be in the room from now on.
Doctor: Any history of gastric cancer in your family?
Gary: No.
Me: Gary, your grandfather died of stomach cancer.
Gary: That’s not gastric cancer.
I wondered if there was a body part called “the gastric,” as in “That guy’s gastric piercing looked really cool.”
Doctor: Stomach cancer definitely qualifies as gastric cancer.
Gary: Yes, but he smoked cigars.
The doctor and I both quietly thought, Yes, that’s how he got stomach cancer.
The doctor asked us what our relationship was.
I thought, “Haven’t you heard him bickering with me?”
Gary piped up with “wife” at the same moment I said “spouse.”
Initially I felt that the doctor may have thought I was Gary’s daughter. I was wearing little Keds-like tennis shoes while Gary was wearing his cane. (The cane adds ten years.) Then I realized later neither of us were wearing wedding rings.