Appointment Calendar

“We’re running behind today,” the receptionist told me.  “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can.  You can wait over there.”  She gestured in the vague direction of the faux-leather couches and the elderly magazines.  I settled in the wooden chair, as the couch was occupied by a nine-hundred-pound grizzly bear, who was gnawing the armrest philosophically.

“So, what are you in for?” I asked jovially.

“He’s eating the doctor at two-thirty,” the receptionist interjected.

“But my appointment is for three,” I protested.

“Tough cookies,” she snapped.  “We can reschedule if you like.”

“Gnarrr,” said the bear.

Surgical Techniques 101

“I’m sure you’re all anxious to begin,” said Dr. Cottingen. “I, myself, am a bit less eager.” He paused for the laughter. “I assure you, however, I shan’t delay any longer than necessary. First I want to review the proper tool layout…”

The familiar rhythm of the patter lulled him. He always got nervous before a demonstration.

“…now, as I make the first incision, note carefully the location. You won’t have my scars to guide in your own operating theaters!” The laughter came again, weaker this time, as Cottingen carefully slit his own abdomen.

Still hurts, he thought. Every time.

Diagnosis

“Why do I let you talk me into this stuff?  First the whole foods, then the yoga, and now this.”

“Be quiet,” Sunbeam hissed.  “He’s an actual god.  He’s got to be way better than just some human doctor.”

They fell silent as the shimmering nude form of the god walked through the door.  He didn’t bother to open it first.

“So,” said Patten, “am I dying, doc?”

Glowing white eyes fixed on him.  “Yes.”

Patten paled.

“You are always dying.”  The god shrugged and picked up a stethoscope.  “I’d try not to worry about it if I were you.”