This is the fourth story I wrote for my Master's program.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs. The urge to rush to the restroom demanded a bathroom break, but the doctor would want a sample. He always did. I absently flipped through a waiting room magazine not bothering to look at any of it. The smooth pages rustling under my fingers calmed me.
Half an hour, the doctor was running behind as usual. I stood planning to ask the receptionist how much longer it would be. There hadn’t been anyone in the waiting room when I arrived, and no one had checked in since I had. The navy blue sea of chairs swayed before me. Another dizzy spell compliments of my complications. Grabbing the arm rest to steady myself, I blinked rapidly to stave off the encroaching darkness and sat back down. The chairs came back into focus just as a voice called out, “Angelica.”
A petite nurse held out a perfectly manicured hand pointing the way into the back. This time I slowly rose to my feet and waited for the momentary swaying to stop before slowly making my way toward her.
The overpowering scent of flowers and peaches nearly knocked me off my feet again. My stomach reeled almost divulging the meager contents it contained. I stifled a juicy belch and walked on past the over perfumed nurse hoping there was something the doctor could do for the never ending nausea: another of my joyous complications.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Debra. Cindy is out today.” She skimmed over the chart in her hand. “Sorry to keep you so long, the doctor had an emergency to attend to this morning.” She looked up; her smile revealed a perfect row of glistening, white teeth. “And don’t you have a healthy glow about you today.”
I managed a feeble smile and repressed the urge to spew all over her shooting star scrubs. “Can I give my sample now?”
“Of course. Right this way.” She led me past three doors before we reached the restroom. I eagerly entered and proceeded to empty my stomach until all that was left were dry heaves. I thought surely my stomach would be the next thing I brought up. I finally managed to hold my insides in place long enough to give a sample and deposit it in the metal door.
Debra frowned deeply as I emerged from the restroom. “Tummy trouble today?”
I nodded.
“Don’t you worry about a thing. It won’t last forever.”
I scowled as she led me to the scale. What did she know? Judging from the mock sympathy in her voice, she’d never been through anything like this before. I stepped onto the scale and waited for the dial to stop. How much weight had my complications caused me to lose this time?
“Congratulations. According to this, you’ve gained three pounds since your last visit.”
Her sugary voice grated my nerves and invoked the need to vomit on cue. “Yeah, it’s a true accomplishment.” I rolled my eyes.
She straightened up and pursed her lips. I could tell I had crossed a line. Most of the other nurses had grown accustomed to my particular brand of sarcasm. “Sorry.”
She gave what sounded like an understanding sigh before leading me into a room. “Put on this gown and have a seat on the table. The doctor will be with you shortly.”
I snorted as the door closed. “Sure, he will,” I mumbled. I disrobed and fumbled with stiff fingers to tie the paper-thin hospital gown to keep it on my narrow shoulders. Seating myself on the maroon table, I waited.
I placed a hand on my tiny bloated belly, most likely the source of the three pounds. Nothing else seemed to be growing. Once more my chest threatened to tear itself to pieces as dry heaves exploded in an attempt to empty an already vacant stomach.
My eyes wondered around the room struggling to focus on anything that would keep the painful dry heaves at bay. I spotted a tiny 3D model, a pink pouch representing the bane of my existence. Glaring at it, I focused all of my anger at that one tiny object as if it would help; as if it would make me healthy again.
A knock on the door rang through the silent room. A tall man in a white overcoat strode into the room. “Good morning.” His cheerful smile lightened my heart. Maybe there was hope. Maybe he had something. “I have your test results. Let’s take a look at them, shall we?”
My heart sank. I knew that wording all too well. What he really meant was, “I’m too busy to take note of your case before I come in the door so I will look over things while you are sitting on a cold examination table.”
His forehead wrinkled as he flipped through the papers. “Huh.” He looked up with a less than reassuring smile. “Lay back. I want to examine your abdomen before we discuss the result.” He pressed gently in various spots on my bloated belly. “Tell when it hurts.”
I winced in response as he pressed gingerly. “It all hurts,” I managed to say.
“Alright, sit up.” He sat down and marked my chart. He took a long moment before he looked at me again. “According to your test results, you have numerous complications that all branch from one overlying condition, gastro paresis.”
“Didn’t we establish this last time? Nothing functions. That is the reason for the tests.” I closed my eyes to gather my strength. “First you told me low blood sugar. Then it was an extra connector in the heart, then bad bowels, then my stomach not digesting. Last time it was a poor functioning gallbladder.” Tears welled in my eyes. “Is there anything else you want to throw at me? I mean, it has been a whole week between bad news.”
“Yes, well.” He shifted in his seat avoiding my penetrating stare. “Unfortunately, your complications contradict each other and make treatment difficult if not impossible.” He lowered his head.
“What are you getting at?” My heart pounded against my ribs. I could feel the pulsing of it throb in my temples, the sinus tachycardia ramping up the heart rate. It would pass in a few minutes to an hour. Stupid stress overload.
