Check Up

DOUG DONNANExecutive Editor/OMNI-GENRE+MAGAZINE!                                                     

donnan.doug@yahoo.com

"The Check Up"

   by

 

Doug Donnan

                    

                         [The Pensacola Medical Center / Pensacola, Florida]

     

     As he sat there in the doctor’s office he felt it impossible to keep his eyes from

focusing on the large bubbling aquarium tucked away in the far corner. The inside of

the tank was decorated with a small, pirate style sea chest with its lid cocked open,

a miniature forest of lichen and algae-type tree configurations, and a substantial carpet

of bright blue aquatic sea pebbles. Also within, a curious little silver, multi-finned fish

was puckering away at the clean glass as it seemed to be studying a rather sizeable     

woman wearing a white and blue print dress. She had balanced atop her head a salon shop

quaff of blue hair that was wrapped about her skull in a hive of elaborate tufts. The portly

bastion had positioned herself just alongside the aquarium and the entrance door to the

inner sanctum of the doctor’s office as if doing so might insure her name being called

that much sooner than any of the other  poker-faced patients who were dispersed around

the library-quiet waiting room.

     “Mr. Coldham?” the reception nurse called out flatly after quickly sliding open the

receiving casement. Leon snapped out of his Cousteau-like trance and jerked up out of

his seat. He walked in short calculated steps over to the window as though he might be

making for the gallows. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt as he dipped down to peer

into the opening:

     “Yes, mam,” he almost said ‘present’ as a sheepish reply. She was a youngish, green

smocked woman with long auburn hair and a clipboard for a face. He assumed she must

be attractive. “Goldham,” he said as if the surname error could only have been his fault.

“Leon Goldham.” He pronounced as he detected the fat lady’s lilac essence. His correc-

tion to her announcement seemed inconsequential at best.

     “Doctor Weinkampf will see you now,” she declared with a sigh as if that were the

only thing in the world that could possibly matter. “Room 8,” she finished and whooshed

the window closed.

     Leon collected himself and made for the door just adjacent to the reception window.

He gazed down at the percolating fat woman and almost found himself apologizing for

being called before she was—but he didn’t, instead he smiled down on her and went in.

***

     Doctor Weinkampf was a diminutive, orb shaped fellow with a balding pate and large,

jug handle shaped ears. The traditional white smock with wrap about stethoscope were

part of his medical wardrobe. He scanned over a metal file that he held up so near

his face that the examining table seated Leon began to feel self-conscious about his

appearance or body odor. Then he considered that maybe this entire health care facility

was operated by a group of clandestine clipboard faced aliens! The twin sparks of his

anger and frustration were beginning to smolder. He promised himself as he looked

down like some great bird at the head-shaking Doctor Weinkampf that he would confront   

his know-it-all, meddling wife about suggesting this overall physical check-up and chem-

ical blood analysis business. It wasn’t cheap by any means! He was beginning to feel

ridiculous as he sat there in only his Munsingwear briefs. And, then he snapped out of it

as Weinkampf came out from behind his hide-and-seek chart.

     “Mr. Goldham,” he blew out as if he were late for a luncheon engagement. “I’m

going to let you look at the results of the physical tests and various blood work-ups I

have here,” he held out the clipboard like a collection plate at a church service. “I

have to step out for a little while, and in my absence I would like you to look over the

different test sections. Please, take your time. If you have any questions use the red

pencil and make a check mark in the corresponding box. And, after you have read care-

fully the entire report, I would like you to turn back to page six. Then, if you would, call

for Miss Pantene’ my attending nurse and she will page me. I’ll come back here directly

and we’ll go over the ‘particulars’ involved in that specific set of tests. Then I’ll try and

explain to you what I think it all means. Are you amenable to that Leon?” he asked with a

flippant wave of his readers.

     “Why…certainly,” Leon tried to sound professional as he reached down to accept the

chart. He was secretly happy that he didn’t need to wear glasses to read—there were no

pockets in his current wardrobe! “Is it alright if I…?” he reddened somewhat as

he nodded in the direction of his folded clothes on a nearby metal chair.

     “Yes, yes—of course,” Weinkampf apologized as he got up to leave the room. He

shook his head slightly as he opened the door and stared down at his watch.

***

     After a few minutes, Leon had arranged himself back into his clothes. He could not

remember a time when getting dressed felt so good! He perched himself back up on the

padded table and flipped open the chromium clipboard. After spending a considerable

amount of time perusing the contents, he came to the raw conclusion that most everything

that was tested appeared, for the most part, perfectly normal! Heart, lungs, colon, eyes

and ears, blood pressure, reflexes—everything seemed okay. With a deep sigh of

satisfaction he thumbed his way back to page six.

     This…this didn’t look so good he thought to himself:

________________________________________________________________________

HEMOGLOBIN CHEMICAL TEST ANALYSIS:             Page 6                          

PCBs [200 TESTED]   ……   131 [DETECTED]

PBDEs [40 TESTED]    ……   30  [DETECTED]

PESTICIDES [30 TESTED] ……  28 [DETECTED]            

DIOXINS [17 TESTED] ……  15 [DETECTED]

 PHTHALATES [7 TESTED] ……  7 [DETECTED] PFAs [15 TESTED] ……  15 [DETECTED            ]
METALS [4 TESTED] …… 3 [DETECTED]
BISPHENOLS [2 TESTED] …… 2  [DETECTED]
 
_________________________________________________________________________

 ***

     “Well then, let’s see—where do we begin?” Weinkampf said as he leaned back into his

roll-o chair. He seemed to ask this more as a hapless President readying himself to deliver

a dubious State of the Union Address than a licensed physician about to go over a pa-

tient’s medical particulars. “I see you’ve made no check marks—that’s fine,” he pro-

ceded with a light sigh of satisfaction, “You are very fit for a man in your age bracket…

Leon, twenty-five to fifty. So I won’t bother you with a point-by-point break-down of the

the overall check up.”

     Leon wasn’t sure whether to feel good or somehow cheated by this rather cavalier

statement.

     “However, let’s turn to this page six matter,” he puzzled as he looked up over the

tops of his reading glasses at a rather timid looking Leon Goldham as he slouched there

on the examination table.

     “What’s it all about Doctor?” Leon interjected, quickly hoping he didn’t sound too

much like a curious Bugs Bunny.

     Doctor Weinkampf stretched out his legs and struggled mightily to try and cross them.

He closed the clipboard and stared up at the ceiling as if he might be observing some far

off star or planet. “You see Mr. Goldham—Leon, the body is like a country, a small, but

for the most part independent country. Basically, what it does to keep its sovereignty is a

simple matter of importation and exportation. It imports food and water and exports its

waste materials—the unwanted and unnecessary remains of its raw imports.  This trade is

vital to the country’s very survival. Now, when—” he looked over at a semi-mesmerized

Leon who was staring down at him from the table like some small dog watching a tele-

vision screen for the first time. “May I ask you a few personal questions Mr. Goldham?”

     “Certainly,” Leon replied secretly wishing that the doctor would stick with either his

first or last name.

     “Where were you born?” Weinkampf tried again, “I mean raised—where did you

spend most of your adolescence?”

     “St. Louis,” Leon pronounced with a kind of thin pride. “St. Louis—Missouri,” he

added as if there might be a different one somewhere.

     “Nice neighborhood? I mean was it a quiet rural kind of place or an urban type si-

tuation with traffic and what-not?”

     “More of a suburban community I guess you’d say, but I don’t see what all this— ”              

Leon reflected with a growing apprehension as to just where this might be leading.

     “Please, just hear me out,” Weinkampf implored. “Were there field dumps, trash

sights or factories of one kind or another in the vicinity where you lived?”

     “It was the south-side. Most of the homes were brick and mortar affairs not to ter-

ribly far from the Mississippi River. Sure, there were barge lines and waterfront docks,

sulfur mines, and landfill sites. We spent our share of time after school and weekends

exploring around. The area was nothing to brag about, that’s for sure! Won’t you please

tell me doctor, what you’re getting at with all this?”

     Weinkampf unfolded himself and squared his feet up beneath him. He flipped open

the chart again and positioned his readers back over his tired eyes. “Here’s what we’ve

come up with Leon. And, I’ll tell you right up front that there are those who would call

this superfluous information. That is, in your particular case, information about your

body which I think you could and have, so far, managed to live without! So, having said

all that—it appears that the toxic chemicals in your bloodstream are, for lack of a better

term, off the chart. Apparently, as we can see here broken down for us in parts per bil-

lion, the mass spectrometers in our labs have gone over your particular specimens and

picked up heavy traces of the termite killer chlordane, Lead, PCBs and Dioxins of all

descriptions, per fluorinated acids and phthalates from basic shampoos and the like. On

and on it goes, the debilitating neurotoxin Mercury, assorted pesticides, etceteras. The list

of toxins in your system is long and, indeed, rather troubling, I must say. However, the

good news is that all these potentially harmful chemicals in your, and for the most part, in

‘all’ of our blood streams, lie dormant! That is, simply put—they’re just there! And, in 

fact, they are... everywhere”      

     There was an awkward pause after this last word of the doctor’s summation and then;

     “So what am I to make of all this doctor?” Leon asked in bewilderment.

     Doctor Weinkampf removed his glasses and struggled to his feet. He peeked down his

arm at his watch again and sighed; “Just this Leon, for all intents and purposes—you are

fine. Quite frankly, if I were you, I wouldn’t worry about it. Just go on with your life and

stay the course!”

     “But, what am I to do now, just disregard and forget about all this toxicity crap that’s

coursing through me?” Leon called out in desperation. “Like it isn’t even there?”

     “Please…just please try and underst—” he cut himself off with a little headshake,

“why did you have these tests taken?” he tried a different tack.

     “I’ll be honest with you doctor, if I had it all to do over again,” he rubbed at his

forearm where all the blood was drawn. “It was my wife’s bright idea. I only have her

to thank!” he said with bitter disgust.

     Weinkampf made it to his feet and slapped the clipboard thoughtfully against his

meaty thigh. Leon slid off the examination table in kind. They both stood there a

moment staring at each other. Then Weinkampf reached out for Leon’s shoulder.

     “Listen to me Leon,” he said slowly and deliberately. “I’ll keep this work-up

in my files and you come back and see me again in a year or so. We’ll give you

a once-over. But, I’m going to level with you here, try and forget about this whole

thing. Because, if you don’t, it will eat you up inside. For all practical purposes you

are fine and should remain that way. Now, go home to your wife and try and relax.”

They both made for the door with Weinkampf stealing another quick look at his watch.

                                              Later that evening

     As they both strolled down the street it would have been hard for a casual bystander

to classify the Goldhams as star-crossed lovers. Betty had suggested that they celebrate

Leon’s good health report with a bottle of expensive red wine from the new ‘Grapevine’

store. ‘It will help replenish you!’ she had declared. Leon reluctantly agreed, and so off

they went. He was still a little tired from the check up, not to mention woozy from the

amount of blood that he felt was ‘taken away’ from him. He decided not to share the— 

‘page six’ particulars with her, but as they walked back to their little mid-town condo in

the cold evening mist, he couldn’t help but cringe every time he glanced over at her stu-

pid, self-serving grin. The little bitch, a secret voice seemed to whisper inside his head.

     Leon Goldham was beside himself. Disillusioned and extremely agitated, he wiggled

in his hand the chromium wine opener that he had also bought for the special occasion.

Eventually, they turned at a sharp building corner that lead down their deep cul-de-sac.

     “Well, here we are then—home sweet home!” Betty piped up as if she were talking to

some small child or family house pet.

     It was the last thing that she would ever say.

***

     “Whadda’ we got here Perez?” a large police officer with dark blue, rolled up sleeves

asked the young paramedic. “Some kinda’ wino?” he asked looking down at the open

bottle at the foot of the stairs.

     “Oh, evenin’ Sergeant Lockwood,” the young paramedic sang back displaying a

whole keyboard of perfect, white teeth. “I don’t think so, just a routine 911 call—anony-

mous neighbors, you know the drill. He says he lives here,” Perez thumbed over his

shoulder up the steps that lead to the condo. “Been perched down on these steps here a

while seems like.”

     Sergeant Lockwood pushed his massive fists up into his hips, “You check his papers?”

     “Papers?” Perez asked with a puzzled squint.

     “His identification,” he looked down on Leon from on high. “His I.D.”

     “No authority to do that ‘Keemosabe’, Perez responded in his best Tonto-ease.

     Sergeant Lockwood shook his head, obviously perturbed, “Sorry to disturb you fella’,

but can I see some I.D.?” 

     Leon flinched ever so slightly and bent his head back. “Certainly,” he replied. He

placed the dripping corkscrew at his feet and reached back for his wallet.

     “Check out his hands Sarge,” Perez called out, “that’s not red wine—that’s blood!” 

     “Hmm,” from Lockwood.

     After a slow, concerted effort Leon managed to hand over his driver’s license and as

he did he stole a peek over his shoulder. She was still lying there behind the hedges,

her legs and arms twisted about in impossible, broken angles. Her contorted face a

fixed mask of surprise and innocence. Betty Goldham was no longer.

     The burly officer studied Leon’s license identification there under the glow of the

incandescent street light for some time before offering it back. “What the Hell is going

on here Mr.…Coldham?”

     Leon looked up into the cop’s questioning eyes. He didn’t have the will or conviction

anymore to correct the mis-pronunciation of his name. He felt as though he were alone,

totally alone, hiding in the pit of some dark, foreboding cave. 

     “I’m waiting,” he sighed. “I'm afraid... that’s all that’s left for me to do!”

                                        _____ The End _____