The nurse appeared to be cleaning the wound while the doctor watched. The doc, an attractive woman in her forties, asked who I was, and before I could reply, Laura said, “My father.” I spotted the doc’s name embroidered on her lab coat: LEANN FINCH. The nurse, a chunky, short man of about thirty, didn’t stop what he was doing, but the doc nodded in acknowledgment before she resumed watching the nurse work. When the nurse finished, the doc bent over Laura. Her gloved fingers probed the back of Laura’s head. Laura, on her side facing me, winced. I stood at the side of the small room and observed the rest of the examination. After some minutes the doc said, “Your hair is very thick and seems to have cushioned the blow. You don’t even need stitches.” She nodded at the nurse who took over and finished treating the wound while the doc continued to talk. “Her reflexes are good, although she’s complained of a little dizziness and nausea.
