The thanks had been registered, but he still wanted to examine
me. Wouldn't it have been tragic if he had found something wrong
with me, when I had only been paying a social visit?
On the table I followed the well-rehearsed routine, as he listened
to my chest, then felt my glands and spleen. I felt rnuch better
when he assured me that all was well. I hadn't gone there
expecting anything to be amiss, but I was worried nevertheless.
"It's been ten years now, almost to the day, since you first
diagnosed my illness, and I just wanted to thank you for all that
you have done for me."
He leaned back in the reclining leather chair. I told him about the major role he had played in my psychological battle, and he seemed uneasy about accepting too much credit for that.
"Sorry Wayne, I didn't say that we would cure you."
"Yes, you did!" "I will never forget the moment. It's what kept me going."
"No sorry Wayne. You must have mistaken me." He said with a wry smile. "I could not have suggested a cure in those days."
This went backwards and forwards until I was forced to accept that I may have misheard him.
I came away knowing that my effort had been worthwhile. I felt good because I had wanted for so long to thank him for saving my life. I know he said what he said. Thank God he did.
