Redbird Christmas

The Windy City It was only November sixth but Chicago had just been hit with its second big blizzard of the season, and Mr. Oswald T. Campbell guessed he had stepped in every ice-cold ankle-deep puddle of dirty white slush it was possible to step in, trying to get to his appointment. When he finally arrived, he had used up every cussword in his rather large vocabulary of cusswords, owed in part to his short stint in the army. He was greeted by the receptionist and handed a clipboard. "We received all your medical records and insurance forms, Mr. Campbell, but Dr. Obecheck likes to have a short personal history of his new patients, so could you please fill this out for us?" Oh, God, he thought, why do they always make you fill something out? But he nodded cordially and sat down and started. Name: Oswald T. Campbell Address: Hotel De Soto, 1428 Lennon Avenue, Chicago, IL Sex: Male Age: 52 Hair: Some . . . Red Eyes: Blue Height: Five feet eight Weight: 161 pounds Marital status: Divorced Children: No, thank God. Closest living relative: Ex-wife, Mrs. Helen Gwinn, 1457 Hope Street, Lake Forest, IL Please list your complaints below: The Cubs need a new second baseman. There were many more questions to fill out, but he just left them blank, signed his name, and handed it back to the girl. Later, after his examination was over, as he sat shivering in a freezing room wearing nothing but a backless thin gray cotton gown, a nurse told him to get dressed; the doctor would meet him back in his office. Not only was he chilled to the bone and sore from just having been probed and prodded in many rude places, but now, to make matters worse, when he tried to put his shoes and socks back on they were still ice cold and sopping wet. He tried to wring the excess water out of his socks and managed to drip dye all over the floor. It was then he noticed that the dye from his socks had stained his feet a nice dark blue. "Oh, great!" he muttered to himself. He threw the socks in the trash basket and squished down the hall in cold wet leather shoes. As he sat in the office waiting, he was bored and uncomfortable. There was nothing to read and he couldn't smoke because he had lied to the doctor and told him he had given it up. He wiggled his toes, trying to get them warm, and glanced around the room. Everywhere he looked was gray. It was gray outside the office window and gray inside the office. Would it kill them to paint the walls a different color? The last time he had been at the VA hospital, a woman had come in and given a talk on how colors affect the mood. What idiot would pick gray? He hated going to doctors anyway, but his insurance company required him to have a physical once a year so some new bozo could tell him what he already knew. The doctor he had just seen was at least friendly and had laughed at a few of his jokes, but now he just wished the guy would hurry up. Most of the doctors they sent him to were old and ready to retire or just starting out and in need of guinea pigs to practice on. This one was old. Seventy or more, he guessed. Maybe that's why he was taking so long. Gray walls, gray rug, gray gown, gray doctor. Finally, the door opened and the doctor came in with his test results. Oswald said, "So, Doc, will I be able to run in the Boston Marathon again this year?" This time the doctor ignored Oswald's attempt to be humorous and sat down at his desk, looking rather somber. "Mr. Campbell," he said, "I'm not too happy about what I have to tell you. I usually like to have a family member present at a time like this. I see you have listed your ex-wife as immediate family. Would you likeFlagg, Fannie is the author of 'Redbird Christmas', published 2004 under ISBN 9781400063048 and ISBN 1400063043.