I was very ill at ease. My name was called and I hesitantly strode forward, accompanied by my mother, who was actually beckoned to follow. "The doctor's real good-looking," the nurse said confidentially. I didn't really care; I was far too nervous to be impressed, for I knew the test would be painful if they wanted my mom to come; generally speaking, parents took up too much space if they became shadows. Moreover, parents can actually impede the efforts of the doctors and nurses through outright intervention, or, due to their presence, transform even an adolescent back into a child. The nurse was correct in her analysis of the doctor's appearance. He was a young man of Irish descent who spoke with a delightful brogue. I was cordially greeted and then instructed to lay on my stomach; the section from which he would extract the marrow and a small sampling of the bone was located somewhere on my back, to one side and slightly above the buttocks. I disliked the process before it commenced since I was unable to see what the doctor was going to do; it helped if I was aware of an imminent jab, rather than being taken by surprise. In this I had no choice, however, and the process began. Mom stationed herself near my head, over which she gazed as the doctor applied a local anesthetic to deaden the area. "You must stay very still," someone said, as the pain crept from a mild ache to a splitting level. Gritting my teeth, silent tears welled up in my eyes and fell; with muscles taut and rigid I clenched the upholstered table with a vise-like force until I was told that the brutal pain would come to an end. The test was over. Relieved, I slid myself off the examination table to pull on and zip my pants; the wound throbbed at varying intervals above a constant, underlying ache. "You're a very brave patient," the nurse said. I smiled knowing that I was too cowardly to undergo that type of hell again, for it was no longer a mystery what the words "Bone Marrow" on an appointment card implied. Before exiting I asked the doctor if I had healthy bones. "Yuv' gut fine bunes, Laaren," he replied, giving me an excellent, unforgettable sample of Irish-flavored English. He seemed to be a very amiable man, and, now that I was turning to leave, I was better able to appreciate his undeniably good looks. For my part, I was sorry that he was not an X-ray technician. Whether walking or sitting, I experienced twinges of pain, a constant reminder of my last test of the day; but that did not hinder my fascination for gift shops, and I eagerly plunged out of the confines of the clinic walls to the beautiful July morning. We were famished, as none of us had eaten due to the fact that I was instructed to have an empty stomach for many of my tests. Since the next few hours belonged exclusively to us, we decided to eat and then mill about the stores until it was time for my mid-afternoon consultation with the doctor in charge of my case.