I had written a post about my unusual attraction to rather older distinguished doctor I was seeing professionally. I’d lay on my back and he’d shoot saline into my tush and we’d talk about everything from our family’s internal real estate battles, vacations, relationships (mostly his), kids (mine, but not really) and so forth. In fact I would not bring up my two kids or husband frequently. Not so much because I was trying to hide them, but it was nice to have a relationship not tied to their identities.
One day he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. So one day the doctor, knowing that I lived less than two avenues away suggested we get together one weekend. I said sure. Not quite knowing who he was expecting to join us on the weekend. First he said brunch then he mentioned something with the kids and his girlfriend’s dog. I let him program his number in my cell.
He called me a few hours later asking for the name of my real estate attorney and I texted him back. That felt kosher. The getting together, not so much. He knows I’m a married mother of two who has never mentioned or alluded to infidelity.
I hurt my back terribly and ended up visiting the doctor first two or three times a week, then once a week. One time he had me put my hand on his waist to see how I should properly walk with my push slightly protruding, another time I felt like the spray he uses to numb the area fell close down the gown sleeve and close to my chest. Instinctively I pulled away when he went to retrieve it even though there was no contact.
The most unusual/ uncomfortable incident was after my last visit. He had begun the conversation telling me of a fight with his girlfriend who wanted to be a muse. I didn’t care to hear the details of a lover’s spat and steered the conversation to how great it would be to a muse. I’d love to inspire art. When the session was over, he sat in his stool staring at me on the other side of the table in my fancy bra and underwear under the large maroon robe. We locked eyes and he said nothing.
So I said thank you.
He told me how much better shape I was in than when I had first hurt my back.
More awkward silence.
More thank yous from me.
More of him recollecting how much in pain I was.
Another thank you and he finally heads to the door, suggesting, as he often does that we get together one weekend. I think we may have shook hands in that awkward non business way above the table I dividing us.
It was so odd. Other than my fancy lingerie did I mislead him? Recounting this story here feels odd, as if there was an inappropriate exchange. I happen to love the trigger point injections for my back, although I fear I may be receiving too many of them, and would revisit him. I also happen to like him as an individual and a doctor.
Since I’m out of town for the summer and unlikely to see him for at least another month, I can exhale and not think about it (unless our paths cross when I’m visiting one of the other doctors in his office next week).