Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
I picked up the pages, the paper still warm from the printer. My eyes skipped down the legal jargon, past the names and the case numbers, until I hit the section labeled Exhibit A.
It was a medical assessment, typed on the letterhead of the Oak Creek Community Medical Clinic where David had practiced for twenty years. The signature at the bottom was David’s, written in his familiar, elegant script that I had seen on a thousand grocery lists and vacation itineraries.
“Patient exhibits progressive cognitive deficit,” I read aloud, my voice sounding thin and unfamiliar in the quiet office. “Displays frequent episodes of spatial disorientation, including inability to locate her vehicle in public areas, and shows marked resistance to managing daily affairs.”
“He is citing the grocery store incident,” Karen said, leaning back in her chair. “And he has a secondary statement here from Dr. Aris at the hospital who claims you appeared confused during a visit last month.”
I remembered the lunch I had brought to the hospital lobby, the brief conversation with Dr. Aris, and David’s smooth voice telling him I had been resting more lately. Every interaction had been a brick in a wall he was building around me, every polite remark a preparation for this filing.
