BY SUZANNE CONBOY-HILL
It’s very embarrassing to have a spasm in the middle of a – how shall we say – romantic interlude. Even more so when you have succeeded in trapping your paramour by the genitals and pinned him up against the wall. Cerebral palsy can be a bugger sometimes.
“Dr. Travis? Dr. Travis? Are you alright in there? There are – er – noises. And your patient’s prepped and ready.”
Double bugger. I heave on my leg like it’s an oar; it’s about as manageable as one. Martin tugs on his apparatus rather more delicately. Another spasm hits – Jesus H, who the blazes invented CP? A final heave and we pop apart like lubricated Lego bricks. You ok, he says. Yes, I say back. It’s a routine we have. Lives to save, he says. I know, I say back. That’s routine too. He pulls up my knickers, I pull up his boxers. He posts my feet into my pants and yanks them up my legs to dock with my waist. One of my arms shoots off at an angle, he grabs it and wrangles it into my top. I stick my elbow in his eye. Two more rounds and we’re good to go.
“On our way.” I take a swipe at his face. I’ll shift the lipstick, he says. Ok, I say, doesn’t suit you anyway.
He scoops the notes off the desk and slaps them against my chest. Arse in gear, Mr. Doc, I say. Right behind yours, Mrs. Doc, he says back. We head for the operating theatre. No, of course I don’t wield a scalpel, how daft would that be? I use lasers. Mind linked. No spasms in there, chummy.
Bio: Dr. Suzanne Conboy-Hill has been all sorts of things to date and expects to be all sorts of other things before she finally stops bothering everyone. She’s slowly racking up published stories. Here’s a link:http://conboyhillfiction.wordpress.com/wheres-my-published-stuff/