His knee was bouncing up and down nervously, as he sat in the hard blue chair of the waiting room. There was a hole in the very old, blue jeans, exposing his bony knee, and the liver spots were more prevalent here than on anywhere else on his body. His knees always got a bit bouncy when he was full of nervous energy.
He was pretending to read the paper (the lead story was something about a man who was ranting and raving about a mysterious traveling caravan of vehicles, that only he had seen), but what he was really doing was fighting the urge to scream. He hated waiting, especially for test results that would change his life forever. Not that forever would be that long. At seventy years old, forever was quickly running out. "We're only immortal for a limited time," his father had once told him.
He had come to this appointment alone, as he had for most of his doctor appointments lately. He had been feeling very sick, and was hiding it from his wife, June. He figured that there was no real reason to worry until he knew more about what was going on with him. Although he was expecting the worst news, he was still hopeful that it was nothing too serious.
He had no idea how long he had been sitting in this tiny waiting room, time sort of had no meaning after waiting for someone long enough. He was called in from the main waiting room within minutes of his actual appointment, but once he got in to this smaller waiting room, he knew that the wait was going to be much longer; it always was.
The AC was cranked up so high in this small office, it felt like he was sitting bare-assed on an ice-burg in the Atlantic Ocean. Luckily there was no need for him to strip down on this particular appointment, or he would be sitting completely exposed, with nothing but a thin sheet to keep the chilly air from turning him into a giant icicle. "Just what I need, frozen balls to go with my dying heart," he said out loud, before chucking quietly, an act he immediately regretted, as the pain was immediate, and immense. He coughed sharply, pulling out some tissue just in time to be rewarded with a large spot of blood for his troubles.
Suddenly, and finally, there was a knock on the door, and a second later the doctor entered the room. "Mr. Saulsman, so good to see you."
"Good to see you too, doc." This wasn't a lie, he was happy to see the doctor, but only because he wanted to get out of this urine smelling doctor's office. Thanks to budget cuts, or some other bullshit excuse, the only medical help he could afford was whatever the free clinic felt that they could supply him with. And though the care was bullshit, the wait times were horrendous, and the atmosphere wasn't even in the realm of cleanly, at least he would find out what the hell was wrong with him. Not that he held out much hope for getting help, but at least he would know what to tell June.
"We're very sorry about that wait," the doctor said, flashing his fake smile, "but you know how Monday mornings can be."
He pretended to laugh, and was rewarded again with another cough, and a fresh spot of blood. The doctor took the tissue from him, and frowned at it. "I guess we'll get right down to business here, Mr. Saulsman."
"Please, call me Glenn. Anybody that can take my bloody tissue from my hands, and not put on rubber gloves first can call me Gleen."
The doctor seemed to consider this for a moment, then turned to toss the tissue into the wastebasket in the corner of the room. "Okay then, Glenn, I guess you know that what I have to tell you is not good news." He sounded somber enough, but Glenn knew that there was no real emotion in the doc's voice. This was just another part of his job, the joys of telling someone that they are sick.
"As long as you aren't telling me that I'm dying, the news can't be all that bad," Glenn joked.
Now the doctor was looking uncomfortable. Glenn's heart sunk. His worries were confirmed, before the doctor even uttered a word. When he finally started talking, Glenn heard maybe half of what the doctor was saying. What it boiled down to was that Glenn should start getting his affairs in order, and start saying goodbye to those that he cared about. He was expecting this news, but you can never really fully prepare for something like this.
"Well, thank you for your time, doc."
"Listen Glenn, I know that something like this can come as an awful shock. We have a support group that may be able to help you," he said, handing Glenn a business card with the words "Loving Family Therapy Group" printed on it, in large, bold print.
"Thanks doc, I'll think about it," he said, knowing full well that he would not be contacting them in any way.
"Please do, Mr. Saulsman. This is a lot to take on, and they may be able to find you some help in getting through this difficult time."
"Yeah, this difficult time of my dying?"
"Something like that, I guess," the doctor said, before awkwardly walking out of the room, leaving Glenn with his own thoughts. Glenn looked up, winked, and thanked God for being an uncaring asshole, before he got up, and left the room.
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