We crept by my parent's room, hearing the heartening sound of my Dad's continued snores from inside. It wasn't my Dad I was worried about however. A nuclear blast wouldn't wake him up. My Mom, however, was a frightfully light sleeper. We made it past and around the corner to the fold-up ladder that led to Greg's attic room.Using the pole that always sat there, I disengaged the ladder and let it slide to the floor. Though I never remembered it squeaking before it suddenly let out a squeal that sounded like someone slaughtering a pig to my ears. I winced, waiting for my parent's bedroom door to burst open. It didn't happen."How are we going to get him up there?" Theresa asked me."He's gonna have to climb himself or were not gonna be able to." I told her."I'll climb up first to help him in." She said. "You stay down here and help him onto the ladder." Right." I answered, taking over the duty of holding him up as she mounted the ladder.As she climbed upward I couldn't help but stare right. She took my pulse, checked my eyesight, and sent me off to the bathroom with a urine cup for the diabetes check. When this was all done I went back to the exam room, undressed to my underwear as I'd been instructed, and put on the little gown that barely came to my upper thighs. I sat modestly on the exam table, feeling like a condemned criminal awaiting execution.The doctor came in about five minutes later. She was about forty-five years old, slightly chubby but not grossly so. Her face was plain, her head topped with a mop of short, mousy brown hair. She wore gray scrubs underneath a white lab coat. Her eyes appraised me as she entered, carrying my chart in her hands. She closed the door behind her."Hi," she said. "I'm Doctor Jovy."I returned her greeting while she peered closer at my chart."An FAA physical huh?" she said, more to herself than me. "Your blood pressure is too high. It's outside of parameters." I know," I said, nodding. "I have this phobia about having my blood.
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