Psychological Short Story – A Silent War
Photo credit: imelenchon from morguefile.com
THE ARENA
“I need your prescription ma’am. You gave me the wrong paper!” I dig my other pocket for the prescription. Oops! I glance at the wrong paper for the third time in a week. I can’t refute my state of amnesia nor my abstract memory. I didn’t forget this paper but…
Six pairs of eyes gaze as I walked inside. I sweep my eyes quickly, despising each other’s presence. I walk up to the lady at the checking counter.
“Wait please”, she tells me.
It is ten minutes since I arrived and she is testing my patience. I am perturbed by her disorganized office. Finally she hands me the disarray of papers. I frown, but refrain from commenting. I fill all the necessary information and return it to the lady. I find a chair to sit and read (thank goodness for the half empty room!). A male with a discolored patch along his left neck is seated across. It looks like a first degree burn, but I know it isn’t and he looks apathetic too. I am sure those steroids are pumping his adrenaline ad lib. The front door opens and our eyes follow the motion in despise. Except for these occasional distractions from the door, I continue to read.
The medical assistant calls me and directs me to the examination room. The “roll call” of personal and medical history follows. It shouldn’t be too long, he says as he steps out. I dig into my jacket pocket for the white paper I shoved this week. I usually make the grocery list at home – it never makes it to the store. I make a “To Do List” – I ransack my shelves and draws looking for it. Unlike “my forgotten or the lost list” this list made it to its destination.
“Is it my insatiable quest for answers beyond my knowledge and reasoning, made me write all these questions diligently?” I read through the list and suddenly a question pops in my mind. “What if life itself becomes a question? Oh well!” I shrug and use this list as my book mark. A feeble knock distracts my reading.
The Battle
We exchange pleasant greetings. He follows the drill – scrolls the pages, reads all the entries and discusses my history. Two more pages to scroll and his assistant interrupts us. The door ajar, I hear “Dr…they need you…checked….2 nurses attending.” I get back to my reading. Meantime the generous assistant walks in with more papers to fill out. “I have to meet my son for lunch. Is it a long wait?” anxiously I ask. “I am not sure ma’am” he replies and shuts the door gently. My mind is hazy and I can’t read. I shove my list into my jacket pocket for the second time, and close my book.
He walks in and apologizes for the interruption. I acknowledge, but he is oblivious as he sits down. His hands in unison on his forehead, he stares at the screen. He strokes his hair a few times and rhythmically taps on the counter top. He scrolls the screen back and forth randomly, scratches his scalp a few times and fidgets like a toddler. My eye follows his motion in silence for five minutes.
“O.K.” he slithers. Two more important pages of health history to be discussed, but he exits the screen. “Do you have any questions?” If not I will see you next week, he continues” as I stare in disbelief. “None” I shrug. I am still in a daze as he exits. I gather my belongings, and dig for my keys in my jacket. My fingers grasp the keys along with the white paper. “Oh, my questions, I forgot!”
I step out and look at the far end. The hallway is eerie with silence. Did she leave? Did he go back to her room? Is he by her bedside now? Has all the commotion ended? Is he still antsy? Many questions linger as I walk not in contempt but with a bottomless concern for her. I am unable to discern or reconcile. My mind barters the reality with hopes from his varied knowledge, years of experience, the existing theories and the proposed solutions down her veins to win this silent war. A silent war against all her mutated cells!
__END__
