Iatrophobia: The fear of doctors.
He entered the room with his head down and moved sluggishly towards me. His attention fixed to a clipboard. “Just turned nine years-old huh. Happy belated.” I tried to speak but my voice cracked. The man had the biggest eyes I’d ever seen. They extruded from his face in such a way they’d fall out the socket if he exclaimed. I followed his movements as he reached into his coat, he took out a strange instrument.
Cold metal pressed against my chest, I flinched violently. He pulled out a Popsicle stick and shoved it down my throat commanding I say, “Ahh.” A bright light shone into my face, it disoriented me. I wanted to hit him and make a run for the door. The size of the sentinel nurse dispelled the thought.
After I pulled down my shirt, the doctor beckoned for her. She brought him another unknown contraption to torture me. He wrapped the sleeve around my arm and pumped the balloon on the end. It squeezed so hard it became undone. What he did next made me ball up my fist.
“Pull down your pants.” The look on his face told me he was serious. I did so hesitantly as he palmed my balls in his wrinkled hands. “Cough three times” he demanded. For this I hated him. No man had ever touched me that way. When he told me, “Good to go” I shot out of the office like a bat out of hell.