White-coat Syndrome

Unless she is “near death,” as she puts it, my mom refuses to go to the doctor. Recently, she noticed her doctor at a church reception. The man nodded and smiled at her, and she walked over to join him at the dessert table. “I really need to call you for a visit,” she confided. “I know it’s been a while.” He nodded knowingly, and she leaned closer to whisper into his ear, “You know, I would come see you more often if you wouldn’t ask me to take off my clothes every time.” A red flush crept up the man’s neck, and he shook his head and smiled. “I believe you must have me confused with someone else,” he said. “Perhaps your doctor?” —Jan Semple Mckinney paris, texas