“Doctor Heather Simons had a family emergency so won’t be able to keep her appointments this afternoon,” said the nurse at the front desk. It was Harry this evening, decked out in his shiny piercings and tattoos peeking from the cuffs of his scrubs. He usually had the afternoon and evening shifts while June took the morning.
“Is she okay?” Nif asked, gripping the edge of the counter tightly.
“She will be,” he said, smiling reassuringly, his eyebrow piercing flashing. “Doctor Mason Sullivan will be covering her appointments until then. Will that be okay?”
“I guess.” She’d only seen Doctor Sullivan whenever he’d come out to the waiting room to call in a patient. While she preferred a woman doctor, he’d seemed kind enough. He looked like a stereotypical grandfather. Knitted vests and leather loafers. His short, grey hair was neatly combed over and the wrinkles around his eyes were deep and friendly.
“Take a seat and he’ll be with you shortly.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Nif waited just long enough to regret not bringing a manuscript from work to read when Doctor Sullivan called her name. She trailed him into his office and took the chair beside his desk.
Across the far wall was a narrow examination bed and children’s pictures were blu-tacked in neat rows above it, bright colours depicting people of all shapes, sizes and forms. The layout was the mirror opposite of Heather’s room, but there was a neatness to Doctor Sullivan’s that was lacking in Heather’s. Pencils were lined up in a row on the desk, prescriptions ready to be printed were filed beside the printer and while Heather had a few bookshelves crammed with all kinds of paraphernalia, Doctor Sullivan’s had tiny drawers labelled with the contents in a tidy hand.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Sullivan.” He settled into his chair and folded his hands, giving Nif his full attention. “What would you prefer I call you?”
“Jennifer is fine.”
“Well Jennifer, how can I help you today?”
“I’m here to renew my prescription for the pill.” She mostly took it to make her periods more regular and to improve her skin, though she liked the idea that she was prepared if one of her dates ever did eventuate into something.
“Fairly straight forward then. Let’s just check your file.” The doctor tilted his monitor screen so she could see what he was looking at and he tapped his finger on the medication. “You’ve had no side effects from the contraception? No extreme moodiness, headaches, acne?” he asked.
“No, all fine. I’ve been taking this pill since I was sixteen and never had any problems.”
“Good, good. I see you’ve still got a few more scripts left on your allergy medication. Good, good. Your last pap smear came back fine and you’re not due for another until next February. I’m glad to see you taking such good care of your health. Many young people think they’re invincible and don’t realise how important preventative health care is.” He hummed and hawed over her information until he paused, frowning.
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“Something wrong?” Nif edged forward in her seat, trying to see what had caught his attention.
“It says here you have yet to shift. Your 30th birthday is not far off.”
Nif’s stomach dropped.
“I know,” she whispered, sinking low into her chair and tracing one of the deeper scratch marks in her leather bag.
“Is there a precedent of this occurring in your family?”
“My mum didn’t shift until she was twenty-two.”
“That’s late, but not unheard of. Your father is normal?” Doctor Sullivan took out a pen and paper, taking notes.
“He was fifteen when he shifted,” Nif reluctantly answered. Her usual doctor knew all of this. In her early twenties, Nif had seen lots of doctors and psychologists about the potential reasons for her not shifting. Tests had been done and various medications tried, until finally Nif had had enough. Heather understood, but for other doctors she’d met, she was a novelty. A curiosity. A riddle to be solved.
“The percentage of people who make it to thirty without shifting is tiny. Barely 0.05% of the population.”
“I know.” Nif had done the numbers once. In her city of almost 3 million people, only an estimated one thousand five hundred people couldn’t change into an animal.
“Have you really tried to shift?”
At nineteen, soon after she’d started university, Nif had driven herself to the lookout overlooking her hometown and had climbed over the safety railing, holding herself above a thirty foot drop and desperately hoping she’d shift into some kind of bird like her father. The fall had broken her arm and collar bone, but she’d managed to climb back up to the car, drive herself home and tell her parents she’d slipped in the toilets at the shopping centre. Her parents never said anything, but she didn’t think they believed her. About a week later she started seeing a campus counsellor.
“Look, I’ve come to terms with this,” Nif said around the thick lump in her throat. “I really only came here to get my prescription refilled.”
“You should really consider some alternative therapies that have been known to induce shifting.” Doctor Sullivan gave her a pamphlet. “You’ll never be whole until you can successfully shift.”
Across the front in glossy letters was Be the Change You Seek and beneath it were a list of methods to force a shift. Inside were smiling young people next to personal anecdotes of shifting success.
“Thanks,” she muttered, unable to look at him and when he finally handed over her new prescription, she couldn’t leave fast enough.
“You okay, Jennifer?” Harry asked as he swiped her credit card. “You’re looking a little peeky.”
“Doctor Sullivan gave me this,” Nif said, waving the pamphlet at the nurse.
Harry sighed. “Want me to bin it for you? He means well, but he did his doctorate on those who are unable to shift so he tends to forget himself.”
“Can you leave a note in my file that I’ll only see women doctor’s from now on? If Heather is away again.”
“Of course. Don’t let it get to you.” He took the pamphlet from her, unresisting, and made a show of throwing it away. “My little sister has a dysfunctional shifting form. Can only shift when she’s at heightened levels of emotion. I understand how challenging it can be when everyone else around you takes shifting for granted. Now no pressure or anything, but my sister finds it helps when you have others to talk to. Maybe you should consider a support group?”
Nif tapped absentmindedly on her phone, remembering the poster she saw at the bus stop. It couldn’t hurt to give it a try.
“Yeah. I think I will.”
Thinking about what Doctor Sullivan said only reminded Nif of all the other times someone had made her feel worthless, and she was sick of it. She opened up her phone’s photo gallery. The support group for non and problematic shifters at Juniper High was on tonight. She wasn’t ready to go home yet, and she was curious. It wasn’t like her day could get any worse.