Page 79 of The Love Operation

The observer: Dr. Emilia Sharif. Internal Medicine attending, late forties or early fifties.

Chief identifying characteristics: Her facial expression never changes. She once gave a TEDx talk called “How to Listen to the Patient Behind the Scan,” and I’m sure her patients feel cared for—but if someone told me she was actually a droid, I’d believe them.

Physical exam: Pressed, medium-height female of undetermined race. Olive-toned skin. Black hair slicked into a tight bun. Enviable, immaculately shaped brows arch over the only part of her that feels alive—her eyes, which shine with something inhuman, like a droid mid-scan. Always wears oversize gray suits.

Impression: Punctual. Minimalist. A total cipher. Someone I really want to impress, but I have no idea how to do so.

I introduce her to Elizabeth and ask if it’s all right for her to join us in the exam rooms. They’re not luxurious. It’ll be cramped with three people and a patient.

“It’ll be good data,” Sharif says. “Let’s begin.”

I palpate Ms. Jones’s shoulder, fingers pressing into the tight band of muscle. “Here,” I tell Elizabeth. “Feel that?”

She nods, her brow furrowed in concentration as she follows my lead.

“Hopefully this trigger point will help,” I say, addressing them both.

I slide the needle into the nodule—

And Ms. Jones moans. Loudly.

Elizabeth and I glance at each other. I shoot a look toward Dr. Sharif, whose face doesn’t move a millimeter. She’s been like this all afternoon—but come on.

I inject the lidocaine-steroid mix.

Ms. Jones moans again, louder, like I’m doing a hell of a lot more than giving her an injection.

Elizabeth’s face flares red, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Dr. Sharif remains her rigor mortis self.

I pull the needle out.

Another moan and a full body shudder. I’m starting to wonder if I should charge Ms. Jones extra.

“Well,” I say, straight faced. “That sounded like it did you some good.”

Ms. Jones throws her head back, sighing. “It was orgasmic!”

“Elizabeth, what’s the CPT code for giving a patient an orgasm in clinic?”

Ms. Jones cackles. Elizabeth’s face could power a small city. I’m honestly worried she might pass out.

I flick another glance at Sharif—still blank, still watching, as if nothing strange is happening.

I finish the visit quickly, rattle off follow-up instructions, and usher Elizabeth out of the room before she combusts.

At the workstation, Elizabeth mutters, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unhear that.”

I chuckle and sign the chart.

I’ve nearly forgotten Sharif was here. I have no clue if she’s impressed or horrified. I’ve given up trying to figure her out.

“It was definitely interesting,” I say. “Why don’t you work up the last patient? Present to me, and I’ll go in behind you.”

“That’s what Dahlia’s been letting me do too.”

“She said you’ve been doing great.”

Elizabeth beams and disappears into the last scheduled patient’s room.