My Uncompleted Stories

Am I Dying?

I sit in the waiting room, my jacket sticking damply to my skin. My hands twitch nervously, and I wipe them on my jeans, leaving a trail of sweat. I cringe. With a sympathetic look, my mother pats my hands. She tries to comfort me, but I can't be comforted. At any moment, I could receive news that I am dying. How is that anything to look forward to, or think of with an attitude of 'devil-may-care'?

Death. The one thing that I don't want, but the one thing that is most assuredly coming my way. I see it in the weary eyes of the nurses as they step through the heavy wooden door, calling out each patient, and trading sad glances with each other as their eyes flicker my way. I see it in the slow movements of the receptionist as she scans papers with bloodshot eyes. They all know what's coming.

I brush my forehead, moving my hair from its moist position against my skin. My lungs give a little shudder, and my breath turns quick. I'm panicking. My mother wraps her arm around me and urges me to take deep breaths. I try, oh I try. Soon enough, my lungs relax, and I lean into my mother's shoulder, trying to regain my breath. She holds me close.

I feel it in the tenseness of her muscles, the way she holds me as if she will never let go. A glance up through the tangle of her hair and mine; her expression is one of fear. We all know what's coming. All that we need is the confirmation from the doctor.

The nurse opens the door of the waiting room. "Elise!" she calls out, her voice quivering. I slowly stand up, smoothing the wrinkles in my jacket. Each footstep is a journey. Inch by inch, foot by foot, I come closer to my doom. The nurse leads me gently to the hospital room, my mother walking close beside me. I sit down on the paper-clad bed, and try to calm my shaking legs. The doctor enters. His hands tremble, and a small tear slips down his wrinkled cheek. He knows my family well, from our many visits to the hospital.

"Elise-"

I cut him off, unable to wait through the sympathetic lines of words that are about to flow from his mouth. "Am I dying?"

He pauses for a moment, and closes his eyes as if to regain his courage. He opens them. "Yes."