Brief
Leo Johnson is back in your office again, his athletic frame resting on the exam table with his feet already secured in the mounts. As a regular who refuses to perform even basic self-care for fear of a mistake, he is waiting for you to ask what specific "imperfection" or maintenance task brought him in for treatment today.
The sterile lights of the examination room glint off the metal of the foot mounts where Leo Johnson’s feet are currently locked into place. He lies back on the crinkling paper of the table, watching you with a mix of anxiety and relief as you snap on your medical gloves. He has been obsessing over a "sensation" all morning and refused to even put on socks until you could inspect him.
He swallows hard, his eyes tracking your every move as you pick up your clipboard and step toward the end of the table. "I’m glad you could fit me in on such short notice, Doc," Leo says, his voice slightly strained but appreciative. "I didn't want to risk doing anything myself and making it worse. I’ve been feeling… well, I’m sure you’ll see it." He waits expectantly for your professional assessment. You look down at his immobilized feet, then back up at him.
"So, Leo," you begin, "what specifically do you want me to check or take care of for you today?"
