Emmy clicked her heels together while she waited, back in Dr. Regan’s little
sitting room once more. Her first appointment had been longer than she had
expected and more embarrassing, even painful, and she had flown from that
office like a dove released from its cage as soon as it had ended. Being back
again felt like returning to a prison from which she might never escape.
This time the nurse appeared almost as soon as Emmy arrived and droned
her name from the doorway.
“That’s me,” Emmy said again, almost leaping up. Physically she was
having a better day, almost no dizziness or exhaustion, but her emotions were
coiled tightly into a loop of tension.
“Right this way.” The nurse led the way back down the hall but turned
left at the end instead of right. “In here. Dr. Regan’s on his way.” She
ushered Emmy into what appeared to be Dr. Regan’s office. Emmy took the seat in
front of the desk and wished fervently that doctors wouldn’t always be later
than they said they would. She smiled as her eyes fell on old photographs of
children playing in the snow. There was a black and white picture of a pretty
girl in a long skirt and straw hat, sitting in a sunny looking yard. Emmy’s
thoughts roamed wistfully as she wondered who the girl was. The picture was too
old to be Dr. Regan’s wife. She sat there speculating for some time.
“Miss Chappelle, it’s good to see you again.” Dr. Regan said from the
doorway. His lips curved friendishly. Emmy nodded wordlessly. “How have you
been feeling the past few days?” He asked, walking to his desk. He sank into
the leather swivel chair with a slight sigh that made Emmy guess that he’d been
on his feet all day.
“Better, actually. Thank you.” She replied truthfully, glad to have
something positive to share.
“Well that is good to hear. Now, I’d like to get to the results of your
tests, and I’m sure you would as well.” He pulled out some papers from the file
on his desk. Emmy paled, wondering what it contained. She dreaded it, yet she
was beginning to be sure that everything would be alright after all.
“Well go ahead and give it to me. I’m stronger than I look.” She joked,
fooling no one but herself.
Dr. Regan took off his glasses, his furry brows slanting.
“Miss Chappelle, I’m afraid your tests came back positive for
colorectal cancer.”
Emmy’s brown eyes grew wider. She said nothing. “You have a few
choices,” He went on. “You can begin treatment, although I wouldn’t want to
give you false hope, you see I’m not sure what the odds are that chemotherapy would
be successful in your case----“
“How long?” Emmy said breathlessly. She shook her head back and forth,
back and forth. Nothing mattered to her now except one thing.
“How long?” Dr. Regan repeated uncertainly.
“Yes. How long do I have?”
The doctor shook his head sadly.
“Six months maybe seven.”
“And then I’ll die?”
“The odds are very strong,”
“So then I’ll die?”
He nodded.
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