Doctor's office 

                                                         (credit: Bart Everson [CC BY 2.0]

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                                                     Why Me!?

Andrea Walton sat in her doctor’s office and stared coldly ahead. She couldn’t look at the magazines. Glossy covers, strained faces. Airhead starlets sickened her now. Meticulous makeup. ‘Good’ hair. Clothes draped on skinny limbs. Head tilted to catch light on the snow-white teeth. (Who was she again? She’d been on the Grammys.) 

All lies! And I had it all mastered. I thought. Yoga. Walking. Eat kale every day. Stay a little hungry. A professional. A wife. A mom. A carefully understated brunette. Julia Roberts as a teacher. Even the ski jump nose. No grey hair. Yet. Smart and beautiful. (All my friends said so, she whispered.) Lies!

She sneered bitterly. What good had it done her?

Claire was a friend, university roommate. They were 47. Past menopause, though hers had been harder than her doctor’s. But they’d had some good laughs in this office. Even at clichés. (“Is it hot in here?”)

All the understanding in the world was not going to make today okay.

She knew what she’d hear in the next few minutes. Claire would get her file on the computer in examining room 3. The one with the comfortable chairs. Claire’s tired blond face (Claire was always tired) would get grim.

Stop! One thing at a time. Hang on minute to minute.

Oh, God. Here we go.

“Andi.”

Ruth was nodding to her. She could go in. Cold water ran over her brain.  

But Claire wouldn’t be coming into the room in a few minutes. She was already there when Andi opened the door. The computer wasn’t even on. Claire was crying. She embraced Andi, held her close. Andi almost laughed. They both had big boobs, and they were positioning themselves to fit them together so the hug could get closer. Like they always did. (I used to be so proud of my tits.)

How odd! She was the one who was going to die, and here she was comforting the doctor who was about to tell her so. And yet …. The moment was okay in an odd way. Her doctor, her friend …Claire, at least, really would grieve.

“I’m not handling this very well,” Claire said in her smoky blond voice.

“I appreciate your not giving me bullshit, Claire. But I need you to say it.” (Same ‘uro-genital system’ poster. Gross. Shiny. I hate it.)  

They both sat down. Claire heaved a huge sigh and dabbed a tissue to her nose.

“Alright. All bullshit removed. You have at least six months left, perhaps as much as a year. They really are coming up with new things all the time, Andi. But yes, you’d best start putting your affairs in order. Saying good-bye.”

Silence. (A minute? Two?)

“Will I start to look really ugly? How long will Tom, James, and Angie be able to look at me?”

“Tom can right to the end. He’s old enough. And he’s a good kid. I think Jame and Angie too. It’s better in the long run. I believe, anyway.”

“Jame and Ange are too little. No, there we have to disagree.”

“It’s up to you, Andi. Of course. Of course.”

More silence. Suddenly, Claire began to cry harder, shaking, sobbing.

“I’m sorry. It’s happening to you, and here I am …blubbering like a six-year old. I’m your doctor. I’m supposed to be supporting you.” Her face twisted into a grimace. She moaned aloud briefly, trying to get herself under control. “You shouldn’t hold it in, Andi. You … must be …I don’t know …a volcano inside. What does it say in ‘MacBeth’? Give sorrow words.” Her voice broke. 

Andi sat up straighter, staring into space. “I don’t feel anything right now. I don’t know why. It’s the first stage, isn’t it? Disbelief?”

“I guess so. That guy I really liked in grade 11. Trevor. When he got killed in that car accident, I refused to believe it. My dad told me after …something like, we don’t have any contract with life. Lease. ‘Lease’ was his word. We only get odds. ‘Law of averages’ he said. Sooner or later, we all roll the dice and lose. Oh shit!”

She coughed, choked. “What an awful thing to say! I’m sorry, Andi!! God, that was stupid! I’m so sorry!” She looked up intensely through her tears.

“We’re all gonna do a lotta forgiving in the next few months,” Andi murmured. “You and I. Ray and I. Mom and I. ‘Mom and me’? No, ‘I’. Aw, who cares?”

“That’s the first sensible thing either of us has said. D’you wanna go for coffee? Actually, I could use a drink. I’ll cancel the rest of my appointments. Truth is I don’t wanna see them. Lot of whining babies. I’ll end up saying something nasty to some princess with dry skin. God forgive us all.”

“God has nothing to do with it.”

Claire stopped crying. She sat more stiffly.

“Andi, don’t say that. You’re going to need your faith.”

“If that’s true, I’m in big trouble. It’s gone.”

Claire’s posture stiffened even more.

Andi's voice went hard. “It’s all bullshit, Claire. Lies told to comfort little kids and little minds. I’m done.” She got hoarse. “This …that’s happening to me …is not justice. I did everything right. It’s not justice. There’s only one explanation. God is not a sadistic maniac. God isn’t anything. There is no God.”

Silence filled the room to the ceiling and the cold inner surfaces of the windows. It was two minutes before Claire spoke.

“I know you’ve thought about this a lot, Andi. And you’re in a different place than I am. But I think my dad was right. He was a minister. Ah, you know that. Anyway, he said we are free in this life. We aren’t tied to only one future by the things that happened in the past, all joined together in a string of causes and effects that become causes for more effects. We have ‘free will’. Our choices matter. I can still hear his voice. But the price is hazard. Life’s a roulette wheel. So surprises – ‘possibles’ he used to say – are always hanging over us.”

“And I just lost a spin of the wheel?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s what he meant. Sorry. I’m droning on.”

“Sweet-sounding bullshit, Claire. Fat phrases. I said no bullshit!”

“You’ll feel that way for a long time, Andi. I hope not right till the end.”

Andi stood up abruptly. “I’m outta here. No, don’t try to talk to me anymore. God and I are done. Say anything more, you’ll only make me madder.”

“Oh no. I’m sorry, Andi. I was being insensitive. Why do I say things? Doctors! We get …. Let me see you out at least.”

Andi's face was statue hard. 

“No!! I’m outta here! If …if …I want another appointment, I’ll call. Or I may go somewhere else. Don’t call me! Don’t get Ruth to call me! Her I still like.”

“Oh, no, Andi! I wanted so much ….”

“I’m out of here!” she shouted. “Just shut up. Not one word.”

Andi discovered she was standing. She spun around and stormed out.

Claire sat sobbing, head bowed. Minutes crept by. Should get up. Dori would be in number 2 by now. Then, Amanda. Gluten allergy. Dry skin. Huh. She grimaced at the empty room. “This is my life,” she whispered.

She rose and moved through her M.D. motions. The afternoon wore on. (My empty M.D. motions, she thought. What good do they do? Oh, Andi!)

Amanda really did have dry skin and …someone had to listen to the whining. There were so many sad women in this sad time. If they couldn’t talk to their doctors, who could they talk to? (‘Who or whom?’ she wondered. Oh, Andi, my English teacher! I miss you already.)

At 4, as the day was ending, Claire was filling out charts. The door to room 3 opened. Andi stepped in and quietly shut it behind her. She sat down. Through more tears, her makeup a mess, she stared at her friend.

“It’s the next step, isn’t it? Anger. Why me? And I’ll go round and round, over and over them all.”

“You’re so brave. But yes, that’s what will happen. You are so brave! I’m proud to call you my friend. Thank you.”

“No, thank you, Claire. At least one person will miss me.”

“No! Don’t say that! Ray will. Your kids will. Hundreds will. You taught a lotta kids. Touched lives. You’re a good person. I’ll say forever to anyone who wants to know, 'This is what a woman can be. And she was my best friend.'”

“Now you’re overdoing it. An’ I’m not dead yet.”

Suddenly, they both laughed. Then hugged. And then cried harder still.

What were the odds?