About 400 words
The Benign Sky
“Hello Martin, I am Dr Bowers. Pleased to meet you. I understand you have a healthcare provider who is following your therapy at home.”
Dark brown hair brushed Dr Bower’s shoulders and matched her sympathetic brown eyes. She was tall. Her figure was regal in a grey pinstripe jacket that she wore open, over a black turtle neck. The wide-leg trousers set off her height, flaring at the bottom where the toes of black heeled shoes peeked out. She cut an authoritative figure, but was earnest and patient when she spoke to Martin.
“Uh, yes. I… Pleased to meet you too. I… Dr Fern is the specialist at Fairview.”
Answering more than one question at a time always jangled Martin’s nerves.
“Martin, we have the lab results from the follow up you did with us here in Denver on Tuesday. There are spots on the liver, kidney and lungs that do not result in the medical report from Fairview. How long have you…..?”
Her voice trailed off. Martin watched the clear blue sky out of the giant windows behind Dr Barbara Bowers, a 50-something oncologist, who came highly recommended, in Denver. Benign cumulus clouds rested motionless in the sky. He counted three of them while Dr Bowers said, “liver, kidney, lungs.” His flight was at 5 pm. If he finished the appointment with Dr Bowers in the 30-minute time slot, he could stop for a coffee in the airport before boarding at 4:40.
Margaret would be in the kitchen preparing dinner when he got home. He wanted to find just the right words so she would not worry. He wanted her to know that he could take care of himself - his health was perfectly fine other than this. It would be Christmas in two weeks. Maybe it could all wait. He had an appointment for next week at the clinic to begin experimental therapy. It had happened quickly. His primary healthcare physician had set up the lab tests when Martin complained about, not just usual insomnia, but persistent headaches and strange metallic smells when he woke up in the morning. The oncologist at the hospital had explained he was eligible for experimental therapy. Martin did not have time to think it over. The test trial was beginning soon, he was signed up for the first treatment at the end of the following week, right after his return after the big sales meeting in Denver. The headaches intensified during the flight to Denver. During the sales meeting, Martin kept one hand over his right eye to keep the bright lights in the board room from boring into his head.
Martin drifted back into the room.
“…That’s all I can recommend to you at the moment since the best thing for you is to begin the clinical trial where Dr Fern has you registered to participate in the next few days. I will have my office refer these results to Dr Fern at Fairview, as I was saying a moment ago. Do you have any questions for me today?”
“I understand. No… I… You will send the results to the hospital then. That’s good. Thank you.”
“I will have Alicia at the front desk take care of it before you leave today. If there is anything else we can do for you do not hesitate to contact the desk,” Dr Bowers said, as she stood up behind her desk in the bright room with a cheerful view of downtown, snow-capped December mountains in the background.
This is part of a longer story about Martin and Margaret. It starts as Martin talks to a stranger on a train and then has a flashback about his visit to a doctor which is in the blog above.
“Margy, sit down.”
Margaret did not want to sit down. She wanted to run away. Margaret held the back of the chair as if it were the only thing holding up the world. Martin told her about the doctor in Denver, who confirmed the doctor at Fairview had said and the trial scheduled to start next week.
Margaret looked at the dish of peppers on the table. They were yellow, green and red. Like a stoplight. Stop. Go. Wait. She had not prepared anything to say after her planned announcement to Martin she was leaving. Now she listened as he described the large desk where the doctor sat in Denver and the white clouds floating behind her as she had spoken to Martin. Margaret sat down finally. She felt all her weight spread out on the chair in the soupy mess she felt she had now been left to navigate.
“When do you start the trial?”
Margaret needed to hear it again. She was really stalling as her mind went through the options. What did stage three mean exactly?
“I will have to ask for time off to drive you,” Margaret said to herself.
“Don’t worry. I can drive myself,” said Martin.
“No, you cannot,” thought Margaret.
She looked at Martin. Could he hear her thoughts?
“Do you want peppers?”
She picked up the serving spoon and fork, mechanically picking up the bulging forms and transferring it to his plate.
“Smells delicious,” said Martin.
Margaret stared at the steam coming off the baked peppers as it rose in the air and wondered if she might float away in the dark night too.