These Days It's Hard to Tell What's Part of the Act

My doctor's packed the place for years because he's known for making huge things sometimes disappear. His routine is predictable, effortless. Pick a number, any number: he's pointing to his framed pain scale. He pauses for effect. The six second sequenced faces are a kid—time-lapsed— at a magic show gone wrong. Onstage in Vegas once, the rare white tiger snapped. Inexplicable: my numbers creeping up each week. My doctor backs out quickly, as if dragged off in some beast's jaws.