A NEW DECADE
After ten years, I needed to see my specialist to say thanks.
I hadn't been to Dr Whiteside's private clinic before, and he seemed a little put out to see me. He would have perused his appointment book beforehand, and been concerned about the reason for my visit.
"Hello Wayne. Come inside."
I had been sitting in the tiny waiting room, flicking through
a two-year-old women's magazine. There was no opportunity to
answer, I simply followed.
He had not changed much in the time since our last meeting,
perhaps he was a little greyer. It made me wonder what sort
of person chooses to work with the very sick; amongst the despair
and depression. Then I thought about the successes. Not only
the major ones like myself, but those who experience an important improvement in the quality of their life. Doctors could derive
a great deal of satisfaction from this.
I sat upright in a chair, opposite a desk littered with documents.
"What can I do for you?"
I could tell that he was intrigued, and I was eager to tell him
my news.
"Nothing really, I just came in to thank you for everything ..."
I was nervous.
I had always found it difficult to relate freely with a man of
such importance. Many of the occasions on which I had previously
talked with him had involved crucial dialogue like: "How did the
test results turn out?"
Much of the nervousness came from my anticipation of the
answers to such questions. "That's very nice. Thank you."
"Just hop up on the table ...and give me a look at you."
I couldn't believe it.
No Comments/Trackbacks for this post yet...