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"Did you know that some hospitals keep a regular supply of beer for alcoholics in case they go through withdrawal?" Thomas flipped through his book, his eye brows furrowed in concentration as they walked to the automatic sliding doors of Vanderbilt hospital.
"Do they keep any for the parents?" his mom shook her head to keep her long overgrown bangs out of her eyes. Thomas smiled, his mother had a thing for wit, which he had learned to be especially grateful for. She had her own special way of putting a smile on his face.
"Doubtful. When alcoholics go through withdrawals it can kill them so they have to keep some eye on hand." he closed the cover of the book and held it to his side. She just snorted in response and checked them in at the front desk. While he waited, he watched the quiet nursing stuff hustle around, no doubt off to care for their next patient or do whatever it is that nurses do. This was a lot different than the atmosphere of the ER. The ER always seemed chaotic, there were so many injuries and people, and often times confusion. Somehow a patient would get lost every now and then. Well, not lost necessarily, but mixed up in the confusion. Thomas was a very frequent visitor in the ER, well he used to be. Chronic headaches were the initial cause of his visits because even though he was blessed with an eidetic memory, it didn't come without a cost. It wasn't until the unexplained vomiting came did they run an actual scan on him. The very first scan of many where they had discovered a small tumor had made its home inside Thomas's brilliant mind. Now he was an office regular, and even though they got rid of his brain buddy around a year ago, he is still required back every so often to make sure that his old buddy is still gone.
"Thomas, let's go. I'm already hungry and these scans take forever." she motioned him to follow her and the nurse, Penelope, back to the waiting room. Thomas followed soundlessly, his eyes scanning the familiar pale walls that they had undoubtedly used to try and brighten up with small children's drawings on both sides. The end of the hall had framed pictures of each staff member, the names of which Thomas had never bothered to read.
He sat in the same chair as always and propped open the book again. Even though he stared at the pages and knew he was reading, he didn't absorb anything that was going on. Even though he was sure that nothing was wrong-because he had kept a sharp eye out for anything that could be a symptom- there was still that nagging feeling that maybe he missed something. When his name was called, he left the book behind with his mother and went back to his screening room to wait for Dr. Monica.
"Hey. Thomas." she was an oddly upbeat person for someone who probably witnessed a lot of death.
"Sup, doc." he replied.
"'How're you feeling today?" she set the clipboard down on the counter top and folded her hands in her lap when she sat down.
"Pretty good. Hey, when am I going to get one of those swivel chairs?" she smiled at him and glanced at her lap before she spoke again.
