Damaged Goods?

“Dr. Johnson, there’s a woman on the line that says she needs to be seen asap,” Cindy informs the middle-aged doctor as he approaches the checkout counter and hands her a slip of paper to schedule a follow-up appointment for a patient he has just seen.

“What’s going on with her?” Dr. Johnson asks casually, looking down as he leans over the counter in his white jacket to sign another paper and hands it to the receptionist as he waits for her answer.

“She says she’s had a migraine for several days, congestion, and nothing she has done has helped to relieve it. She’s saying that the headaches have become unbearable at this point,” Cindy tells her boss as she pushes her sandy blonde ponytail over her shoulder, her tone and the expression on her face equally banal.

Dr. Johnson draws a deep breath and forces the air out of his lungs all at once as a heavy sigh, relaxing the muscles in his face as he wonders if there would be space to fit this new patient in, considering he has been busier than usual lately. “Okay, do I have any openings available?” he finally asks in a monotone voice after a moment of silence, half ignoring the receptionist while continues to write his patient’s chart.

“No, you’re booked solid for the next month,” Cindy replied, peering from behind her computer screen in her usual annoying, whiney and raspy voice as she checked the schedule. Her voice alone was only one of the reasons Dr. Johnson preferred Kelly, the other receptionist in the office to service the group practice consisting of three doctors.

Kelly, a young woman in her late twenties with chestnut brown shoulder-length hair, was preferable to Dr. Johnson for her ability to take directions well, she’s approachable and likable, and patients also seemed to take a liking to her more than Cindy, whom they’ve gotten the occasional complaint about for being rude.

Cindy, on the other hand, she got her work done but that’s about all. If it were left to Dr. Johnson, he would’ve replaced her long ago if it weren’t for her being the daughter of a very close friend of his who retired from the practice a couple of years ago—he felt bound by loyalty.

“How about Dr. Hudson?” the short, chubby, doctor with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, momentarily looks up at his receptionist and asks in a tone that is just as much of a question as it is a suggestion.

“Well, there was a patient that called a little earlier and cancelled her appointment for tomorrow with him. It was just a follow-up, but she said she’s out of town and won’t be able to make it,” with a flat expression on her face, Cindy continues to look at Dr. Johnson, waiting for any instruction from him, oblivious to the obvious solution to the dilemma.

“Okay, then give her to him!” the clearly frustrated doctor, threw his hands up in the air and raised his voice a little in annoyance that she would even think to ask him such a ridiculous question rather than using the basic critical thinking skills needed, and expected of her, to make the type decisions for her position.

Dr. Johnson taps his hand on the counter and rolls his eyes, and then looks her directly in the eyes and gruffly scolds, “Cindy, it’s a simple problem with a simple solution. It’s common sense! Why didn’t you take the initiative and check the schedule yourself and schedule her with Dr. Hudson without depending on me to tell you what to do? It’s your job.”

Cindy’s eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights, embarrassed by her boss’ outburst. Her attitude suddenly changes at the brief and unexpected show of his authority, “I-I’m sorry, Dr. Johnson. It won’t happen again.”

“I hope it won’t,” Dr. Johnson let out a peeved sigh and walked back into his office, shutting the door behind him without saying another word.

Flustered, Cindy shakes her head and takes a moment to collect herself before she picks up the phone call that she had earlier placed on hold, and she dryly spoke to the person on the line, “Hello? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” a soft voice with a thick feminine North Ireland accent politely responded.

“I have an opening with Dr. Hudson for tomorrow at 2 p.m. Is that time okay for you?”

“Yes, that will be great. Thank you,” the woman replied with gratitude and pain heard in her voice.

Ignoring the woman’s pleasantries, Cindy didn’t even reciprocate by softening her tone as she spoke. Instead, she remained emotionless and very matter-of-factly, “I’ll need to take some information since you’re a new patient,” Cindy said to the woman flatly and gave a short pause before asking her next question, “What did you say your name was again?”

“Saoirse, Saoirse Maher,” the gentle Irish voice on the other end remained calm.

“Okay, is that spelled S-i-r-s-h-a, M-a-r?” the inhospitable receptionist asked for verification.

“Oh, no, it isn’t. I’m sorry—it’s a difficult name to pronounce over here. It’s spelled S-a-o-i-r-s-e, M-a-h-e-r,” the soft voice, now with a name attached to it, kindly corrected the mistake.

“What?? That doesn’t look like how it sounds!” Cindy snapped rudely, both confused and bothered with the unusual spelling and pronunciation of the name causing her to cross out what she had written in black ink, and rewrite it correctly.

“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t in English. It’s an Irish name. I’m originally from Ireland,” Saoirse waved off Cindy’s rudeness, laughed awkwardly, and remained patient, though she was secretly beginning to feel put off by the receptionist’s unprofessional attitude. “Could she really be angry at her because of her name and accent?” puzzled, Saoirse wondered to herself.

Letting out a loud sigh into the phone followed by muttering something under her breath that Saoirse couldn’t make out, Cindy’s whiny, irritated voice dragged on without the slightest bit of enthusiasm, “Okaaay, and your date of birth?”

“November 2, 1991.”

Writing the date down without any verbal indication that she had heard Saoirse’s response, Cindy quickly moved onto the next question, “An address and phone number where you can be reached at?”

“My address is 1127 Main Street, Apartment B. I live in the apartment above my store,” reminding herself to stay calm and be the bigger person, even though her Irish temper that rarely showed its head really wanted to make an appearance, Saoirse forced herself to keep her composure.

“Can you please speak slower? I can’t understand your accent,” Cindy sighs heavily once again, her tone sounding irritated that she has to decipher Saoirse’s accent.

Feeling offended by the receptionist’s comment and behavior, Saoirse repeated the information, speaking significantly slower this time as though she were talking to a complete idiot. “Did you get that?” she made a point to ask, and then waited for the receptionist’s confirmation.

“And a phone number?” came the next question in the same harsh tone as the last one she asked, ignoring the one Saoirse had asked a moment ago.

“291-8336.”

“Do you have insurance?” Cindy asked, judging by how thick of an accent Saoirse had, expecting her to say ‘no’.

“Yes, I have Atlantic Blue, and the member number is YKML564-196642, and the group number is 888888,” the pained voice replied, through with the idea of entertaining herself with the receptionist, and now choosing only to tolerate her for the bare minimum time she must endure her.

“Okay, you’re all set up for tomorrow at 2pm with Dr. Hudson. Please arrive fifteen minutes before your appointment to fill out any paperwork. And don’t forget to bring a form of ID and your insurance card with you.”

“Thank you so much. Oh, and um, who am I speaking with?” Saoirse managed to maintain her polite demeanor and inquire, although she’s glad that this ordeal is almost over.

“I’m Cindy. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Thank you, have a good day,” Saoirse said abruptly, eager to end the conversation.

“Alright, you too.”

“Hello Dr. Hudson, your two o’ clock appointment for tomorrow called this morning and cancelled because she’s out of town, but you’ll be seeing a new patient at the same time. Is that alright?” Cindy asked Dr. Hudson as he stopped at the checkout counter with the chart of the patient he just finished up with. Dr. Hudson briefly looked up at Cindy with a small, polite smile on his face and turned his attention to writing something on a piece of paper for his patient, listening to Cindy as he handed the paper with his signature on it to her.

“Dr. Hudson?”

“Uh, sure. What’s their name? What are they coming in for?” Matthew asks in the soft, hushed voice he uses when he’s at work, glancing back and forth between scribbling a few notes in his patient’s chart and Cindy.

The young doctor’s wide brown eyes were warm and captivating, holding a kindness in them, yet there was an inexplicable sadness behind them shrouded in secrecy. He had long, wavy dark brown hair that reached just below his shoulders that was pulled back into a low ponytail today, and paired with his eyes, it only added to the mystery that emanated from them, causing the women who looked into them to swoon.

“Her name is, well, I uh,” Cindy stopped mid-sentence to let out a low snarky laugh, “I can’t pronounce it, but she’s had a migraine for several days with congestion.”

“You can’t pronounce her name? Can I see it?” Dr. Hudson asks, his curiosity now sparked, as he signed one last paper before closing it in his patient’s chart, all the while ignoring the receptionist’s unappealing demeanor.

Handing her youngest of three bosses the paper that she had written down the complicated Irish name on earlier when collecting the new patient’s information, he glanced over at it and paused. Studying the name with a puzzled, yet intrigued expression, he raised an eyebrow with a smile, “Well, how do I pronounced that?”

Cindy chuckled sarcastically, “Tell me about it! She had what sounded like a heavy Irish or Scottish accent. Why couldn’t she just be considerate enough to pick an American name like the Chinese do when they come here?”

Matthew felt his blood begin to boil in response to her comment, his calm and usual friendly demeanor disappeared and was replaced with a tense darkness in his eyes, his glare shooting daggers right through the self-important receptionist. He shot her an icy displeased look and lowly gritted in a calm, steady, but firm tone, while suppressing his temper, “First, lower your voice when you’re speaking about any patients. Remember that everyone in this office is subject to the rules of HIPAA. Second, no one should have to change their name for someone else’s convenience. Learn to pronounce the name. Is that understood?” Dr. Hudson firmly and concisely reprimanded Cindy for her inappropriate comment, and trying hard to remain as professional as he could under the circumstances.

“Yes, it is,” the once proud, sarcastic grin was immediately wiped off of the arrogant receptionist’s face.

“I don’t want to hear you say anything like that again, am I making myself clear?”

Nervously averting her eyes away from her boss’ stern glare, her response was barely audible as she felt tremendously awkward being put in her place, “Yes, very clear, Dr. Hudson.”

“Okay. Don’t let it happen again.”

“I won’t.”

Dr. Hudson’s expression softens and the tension disappears from his demeanor as his attention returns to the mysterious name on the paper. Soon, a tender smile replaces all traces of his prior discontentment when he comments, “Oh, it’s one of those beautiful Irish names.”

“Yes. She had an Irish accent.” Seeing the effect that just a name is having on the handsome young doctor, all but mesmerizing him, Cindy begins to feel a little jealous that it isn’t her that doesn’t capture his interest, and mutters, “It’s just a name.” She must be a decade his senior, at least, but if he wasn’t young enough to be her son, she didn’t see the shame in daydreaming of all of the things she wished he’d do to her body, taking her in any way that he pleased. Hell, maybe she could even use the extra years that she has on him to her advantage and take him in the way that she wants, and show him a thing or two.

“Oh, straight from Ireland, huh?” Dr. Hudson continues to gaze down at the name on the paper with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I guess so,” Cindy blandly responded, clearly not amused, and secretly hoping that the name that Matthew seems to have taken a liking to belongs to the face of an ogre with half-a-dozen moles on her face, each with a long, thick black hair growing from the center of it like a tree sprouting forth from the earth.

“Did she tell you how her name was pronounced?”

“Yes, but I apologize that I don’t remember what she said. All that I know is that the name doesn’t sound anything like what it appears,” the forty-something-year-old secretary admitted. Just as she finished her sentence, an idea came to her of a seed she that she hoped she could plant into Matthew’s mind and added with a smirk, “Looks can be deceiving, you know.”

“Don’t feel bad. Their names never sound like how they’re written, but they’re always beautiful.”

“I didn’t say that I felt bad.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Hudson laughed softly, shrugging off Cindy’s obvious lack of enthusiasm, “I’ll look it up online in my office so I won’t pronounce it wrong tomorrow.”

“It’s just a name, Dr. Hudson! How can you possibly be so googly-eyed over a name?” the raspy, whiney voice slightly raised in an exasperated tone, “You haven’t even seen her yet! For all you know, she could look like Mary Ann Bevan meets the Wicked Witch of the West, who then meets Edna Mode!”

“Mary Ann Bevan? Who’s that?” Matthew’s brown eyes narrowed when he squinted, his head slightly tilted to the side, and his face twisted into a look of curiosity and confusion not because of the obvious disrespect toward her superior, but at the mention of the unfamiliar name.

“The ugliest woman in the world!” Cindy blurts out like it’s common knowledge.

Dr. Hudson’s face drops in disbelief at the cruel useless fact his, clearly mean-spirited, receptionist disclosed to him. One of the few things that he never liked, was a bully. “Oh come on, Cindy! Why would you know something like that? Do you really sit at home searching for ‘who’s the ugliest person in the world’ online? Who does that?”

“I’m only saying that it’s crazy to fall in love with just a name you’ve seen once, but never even met the face attached to it! Listen to yourself!”

“I didn’t say that I was in love. I just like the name! What’s wrong with that?” Matthew countered, not understanding why Cindy is getting so worked up over something so trivial, but also wondering how she has managed to keep her job as the receptionist in this office for so long.

Pushing her ponytail over her shoulder and sitting back in her chair with a smile on her face that said she didn’t believe a word of what Dr. Hudson just said, she pressed almost mockingly, “You should see the look on your face when you’re looking at her name.”

“I don’t have any look on my face. What’s wrong with admiring a name?”

Rolling her eyes and crossed her arms beneath her breasts and pushing them up to appear larger, and to grab his attention, Cindy mocked Matthew, “Nothing, if that’s all you’re admiring.”

As though being held hostage, his eyes involuntarily look at her breasts and widen before he quickly looks away in disgust of Cindy’s distasteful gesture. Not that he didn’t appreciate a woman’s body, he just found Cindy to be a turn-off in almost every sense of the word. Starting with her personality.

Ignore. That’s what Matthew chooses to do—take the high road. Well, sort of. Shaking his head, Matthew looked at the name on the paper in his hand: Saoirse.

“I wonder what part of Ireland she’s from,” he thought out loud as he handed the paper back to Cindy as though her crude gesture never occurred, “Did she say?”

“No, she didn’t mention Ireland at all other than that she was from there,” Cindy seemed annoyed with Dr. Hudson returning to the one topic that she’s already tired of hearing about.

“Hmm. I’ve been over to Ireland a couple of times myself, and I loved it. It’s very beautiful over there, and the people were very friendly, too” Matthew said, his expression turning nostalgic for a moment, clearly evident that he was remembering those trips before bringing his attention back to the present.

“Mm, sounds like a great place,” the ill-natured receptionist responded in a monotone voice that reflected her disinterest with anything to do with Ireland because of that name. It’s because of that name, her hot boss’s hormones seem to be surging through his veins like they’re the Autobahn of his anatomy from point A, in one head, the one where his IQ inhabited and allowed him to become a doctor, to point B, his other head, which…only has one purpose.

“Cindy? Cindy? Earth to Cindy,” Matthew laughs, amusing himself as he attempts to bring the daydreaming receptionist back to the present, “Do you need to phone home?”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Cindy, along with her rude demeanor, returned, emphasizing each word in staccato. “Did your blood return to the right head yet?”

His mouth dropped open in shock after hearing her comment, leaving him momentarily stunned before he found his voice again, and asserted, “That was inappropriate. Please be more mindful of what you say to me, or there will be serious repercussions.”

“Yes, Dr. Hudson. I’m sorry,” taking the hint, Cindy found herself apologizing to her boss for the second time in one conversation, “What was it that you needed?”

“My last patient, Danielle Stevens, she needs to have an MRI scheduled and some blood work,” he mentioned to Cindy the information on the slips of paper that he had just handed her minutes ago.

“Okay, I’ll work on it right now. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

Matthew shook his head before he leaned forward a little with his hands flat on the counter and informed Cindy, “No, not right now. I’m going back to my office for a few minutes, but then I’ll be heading out to lunch,” and dragged his hands on the counter as he turned and started to walk down the hallway, glad the conversation was finally over.

“Okay, have a good lunch.”

“You as well,” Dr. Hudson called back to Cindy as he was already walking down the hallway toward his office, closing the door behind himself once inside. Sitting behind his desk with Saoirse’s name still fresh on his mind, Matthew sighed lightly with his head held against his hand, and he mumbled to himself curiously, “So, how do I pronounce your name?”

He turned to his computer and after moving the mouse to wake up the computer monitor, Matthew typed “how to pronounce Saoirse” into the search box, selecting one video that seemed pretty straight forward, and listened. “Ser-sha? Sir-sha?” he attempted to repeat what he heard in the video until he perfected the pronunciation. “That does not sound like the way it’s spelled. It’s beautiful, but it does not sound how it looks,” he laughed quietly to himself, not out of mockery, but intrigue.