The Diagnosis

The Diagnosis

         A large beam of sunlight coming through the plate glass window in the lobby fell across the hall.  Dust particles filled the span of light, glittering like a thousand tiny diamonds on a crystal sea.  All was in harmony that bright crisp morning, as the tall, voluptuous, blond strolled confidently down the hall.  When she stepped through the sunlight, dust particles scattered making way for her.  What had been calm and peaceful was now chaotic.
         Dr. Jay Byrd dreaded the onerous task before him.  How could he mitigate the test results?  Would that be fair?  His profession demanded he be as honest as possible, yet he toyed with the idea of withholding some information.  He had seen faith in operation many times in his career.  However, it worked best in those who were fully persuaded before their first bad diagnosis.  It was hard to prognosticate the results of faith.
         The ability to give succinct diagnosis had earned him the nickname “Popinjay” among his peers, because they said he was a straight shooter when it came to his patients.  The good, the bad and the ugly diagnoses were delivered in a nice neat package.  With a pat on the back and reminder to follow medical instructions, he moved on.  It wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just a means of distancing himself from the ubiquitous sense of doom that filled the room when the word “cancer” left his mouth.
         Though the war on cancer had advanced greatly over the years; that was not the first thing to cross a patients mind when they got their first diagnosis.  No matter how prepared they were for their test results; their reaction was the same.  Fear filled their eyes, as the color left their faces and a light sheen of sweat covered their brow.  They almost always asked the same question; “How bad is it?”
         This patient will be no different he told himself as he pulled her chart from the wall holder.  Flipping through the chart once more before entering the room, he was lost in thought and didn’t hear his colleague approaching.
         “Popinjay!”
         The sound echoed down the hall and he winced inwardly before turning to greet his friend.
         “John, how’s it going this morning?”
         “Great buddy.  How about you?  You don’t look so good this morning.”
         “Okay, just the bearer of bad news today.”
         “As I recall, that’s never been a problem for you.”
         The use of the nickname had never bothered him before, but today it was like salt on an open wound.  He didn’t know what to make of his current emotions.  This was so out of character for him.  His friend recognizing a little discomfort decided to change the subject.
         “Did you see that article on platelets in this month’s medical journal?”
         “I skimmed over the first page, but have not had a chance to read the whole thing.”
         “It is great man, you need to read it.”
         “I will make a note of that.”
         “Well, I have got to run, but let’s get together this weekend.  It’s good to see you.”
         “Okay, sounds good and it is good to see you too.”
         They shook hands and turned to go their separate ways.  The sound of footsteps echoed softly down the hall.  He waited until they had faded completely before he closed the file and opened the door.
         The beautiful blond sat waiting for him.  Though she was smiling, the tension was evident on her face.  There was no nurse present as this was just a consultation.  He cleared his throat, opened the chart.
         “Ms. Peacock, thank you for coming in so quickly.  We have your test results and….” He paused.  He never paused, what was his problem?  Taking a deep breath, he began again.
         “As I stated earlier, the results of your tests are in and they are not good.  It appears that the tumors in both breasts are malignant and the cancer is present in the cervix also.  It may be further advanced to all female organs, but we won’t know until we do surgery.  That is if you opt for surgery.”
         While he had expected a caterwaul to escape the patient upon hearing the diagnosis, he never expected the fallacious laughter that filled the room.  Not hysterical laughter of one so young,  losing their ability to bear children.  No, this was the laughter of one who had been bested by a friend in light hearted competition.
         “Well, thank you for your confirmation.”  With that, she picked up her purse, stood and smoothed her skirt, then reached out to shake his hand.  A patient had never been the one to end a consultation.  He tried to regain control of the meeting.
         “We still have options to discuss.”
         “That won’t be necessary.  I will not be taking treatment.  I will just take what is left one day at a time and accept the hand fate has dealt me.”
         With that she turned and left the room.  When the only thing left was the scent of her perfume lingering on the air, he knew that he must go after her.  But try as he might, he could not rise from the chair.  As he struggled to rise, the chart slipped off of the desk and hit the floor.  He reached for it and he was falling, falling, falling.
         His head hit the desk and he was suddenly awake.  Looking around, getting his bearings, he tried to shake off the dream.
         There was a light tap on the door, “Dr. Byrd?  Ms. Peacock is here.  I will put her in exam room 3, ready when you are.”
         He picked the chart up, drug a hand through his hair and rose from the chair.  Exiting his office, he saw his future wife, a tall, voluptuous blond strolling confidently down the hallway.  As she passed the beam of sunlight, dust particles scattered in her wake.