You greet Dr. Lyons before sitting down and giving your practiced speech. About how you've known your desire - no, need - for sterilization for years. You argue that children are just as permanent a decision as tubal ligation, and if it turns out you have made the wrong choice, it's only your heart that will be broken. On and on your reasons go, even though you know only one should have to count; it's your body.
Dr. Lyons lets you finish - already a greater consideration than you've been given before - before he says one word:
"Okay."
"Wha...seriously?"
His nod is slight, but definite. "It's clearly a mental health issue, but you're not crazy. You're suffering anxiety from the state of your biology, that's all. We could jumble up your mind for years, or we could just skip to the end and listen to you."
He is already the best doctor to ever doctor, and he's your doctor. Oh, happy day. "And you're not going to just give me meds to calm down about it and shut up?"
"...I happen to know how it feels to have a body that conflicts with your spirit." He points to his throat, of all things.
His throat sans Adam's Apple.
You can't help but put your elbows on the desk and cradle your chin in your hands, with a grin threatening to break the physics of your face. He. Gets. It. "So, how soon can I get snipped?"
He looks up available dates on the computer. "How does three days from now sound?"
It sounds divine.
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