Cristina grabbed the medical chart from slot beside waiting room no. 14, where her patient, Arthur Wilson stationed. She opened the door and saw the middle-aged man just sitting on the cushioned table. He was a well-dressed guy, but no one dare to call him fop. Because he gets very irritated. The thin white paper made plastic bag-like noises as he moved around. Cristina shuts the door and got right to work. Giving Mr. Wilson his check up.
"Hello, Arthur." she said as she took out her pen, and wrote something in Mr. Wilson's medical chart, "how you doing today?"
"Fine." Mr. Wilson said.
"Well let's check with your heart to see if it is okay."
Cristina puts on her stethoscope to listen for his heartbeat. The cold off white piece to hear his heart was rather cold and somewhat uncomfortable as she moved it from the front to the back. The heart beats at a normal beat. No irregular heart beat. Next, she check his pulse. And even that was okay. Cristina ran test on Mr. Wilson, but she noticed his hands were beginning to disfigure.
"How are your hands?" Cristina asked as she grabbed both of his swollen hands.
Vexed by her question, Mr. Wilson gave a big sigh. But he knew he needed to answer her. Otherwise he would have to spend all afternoon with her.
"My hands are fine!" Mr. Wilson bawled and then snatched his hands from her.
Cristina kept her cool and didn't fight back. She was a very patient person who has worked with people who would wail at the top of the lungs for people in the waiting room to hear.
"Calm down, please." Cristina said, "I just notice your hands are swollen. I hope you don't have osteoarthritis.