The Unspoken

by Don Zelma

  Chapter Forty-two

  Raindrops rolled down the surgery glass and Dan could hear the gentle, almost optimistic note of rain on the hospital roof. The doctor, a specialist thoracic, slowly walked away towards the window and calmly read in the daylight. His fingers carefully turned a page and he continued reading. He looked up, out the glass, then slowly turned towards him. There was a long period of silence as Dan stared from the desk.

  ‘Mr. Amos,’ he said, ‘you’ve contracted a complex form of pneumonia.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. He straightened up in his chair.

  ‘It’s quite advanced,’ the thoracic said. His voice echoed in the room.

  ‘Oh…’ Dan said, feeling a little unsettled. The thoracic slowly stepped towards the desk and his shoes echoed in the silence. The man was acting pretty strangely and Dan reached up to his throat and adjusted his tie.

  Calm yourself, he thought. You’re nervous because of the smell of the surgery and the sight of this doctor’s white coat.

  He picked up his briefcase, placed it on his lap and flicked open the worn latches. His old fingers were shaking as he removed his reading glasses, pad and pen. The thoracic halted behind his desk.

  ‘Let me take a few notes,’ Dan said, slipping on his glasses. ‘Tell me what I need to do.’ He circled the pen speedily on the pad to lubricate the ballpoint.

  The thoracic cleared his throat and the room fell silent. Dan knew this was leading up to something and slowly brought the pen to a stop. He glanced up and saw the thoracic was staring at him. He watched him gently lay his folder onto the desk, rub his chin, and slowly sit in his chair.

  ‘What?’ Dan asked, his pen on the page.

  He looked down at his hands. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said. ‘But your condition is most likely terminal.’

  Dan grimaced and, in a surprising initial reaction, grew a little annoyed.

  ‘What an idiot,’ he thought.

  He felt fine – over several months he had just been a little out of breath.

  ‘I’m sorry, Daniel,’ the thoracic said. ‘But your case is acute.’

  Dan placed his pen quietly on the desk. ‘Is this some type of joke?’ he asked resentfully.

  The thoracic remained silent.

  Dan leaned forward and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed his left eye and looked with the right. ‘That can’t be,’ he said. He hesitated. ‘Can we do the test again?’

  The doctor reached out and began playing with the folder. ‘We have,’ he said. ‘Three times.’

  Dan stared at him, absorbing the information.

  The thoracic placed his elbows on the desk and his white sleeves slid down his wrists. ‘You’ve contracted a virus. We call it BOOP: Bronchial Organized Obliterating Pneumonia. Your body is attacking itself, more specifically your lungs. See, you’re not absorbing enough oxygen.’ He took a pen from his coat and spoke positively. ‘Now, I’ll set you on a program of exercises and we’ll prescribe a range of drugs –’

  ‘Wo wo wo!’ Dan said, raising his hand. ‘You’re moving too quickly.’

  The thoracic slowly stopped writing and licked his lip.

  ‘What drugs?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been a chaplain in hospitals many years and I know what your drugs do.’

  The thoracic looked up. ‘That approach won’t help us,’ he said. He reached out and picked at his folder. ‘I’m sorry, Reverend, but we know little about this illness.’

  Dan leaned back in his chair. What do you say? Suddenly, he laughed and tried to prompt the thoracic to smile, but he merely stared back. ‘Oh, come on doctor,’ Dan said. He leaned forward and waved his hand dismissively. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  The thoracic reached out and arbitrarily moved things about his desk. ‘I would encourage you, Reverend,’ he said, ‘to remain calm.’

  Dan looked down and stared at the cupboard beside him. He noted its smooth chromed handle. The room suddenly grew cold like the air conditioning had been turned on.

  ‘Daniel?’ the thoracic said.

  He glanced up.

  ‘There are...’ he said, flicking through his folder, ‘side effects to the drugs.’

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake,’ Dan whispered. ‘I don’t want to hear any more.’

  The thoracic waited.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Dan asked. ‘This B-O-O-P is what I have?’

  The thoracic slowly nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘Mr. Amos..?’

  Dan removed his reading glasses, squeezed his eyes and felt a little dizzy. He glanced down at the floor – Lord, what about Ruth?

  ‘Are you OK, Reverend?’

  He blinked. ‘What do you think?’

  The thoracic moved slightly in his seat and cleared his throat. Dan glanced up and stared at his pocket then at his collar. His lips were heavy and difficult to move. He blinked and looked at his watch.

  ‘This appointment is over,’ Dan said quietly. He began packing his things into his briefcase and eventually closed the lid. He stood and the doctor did the same.

  ‘You’ll need to speak to those closest you,’ the thoracic said. ‘Your condition is pretty advanced.’

  Dan looked at him.

  ‘I can provide you with counselling.’

  Dan laughed, sarcastically. ‘A counsellor?’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me?’ the thoracic said. ‘Is something funny?’

  Dan shook his head. ‘Never mind,’ he said. The ten short minutes in the surgery were simply too hard to believe.

  ‘Are you in a condition to drive?’ the thoracic asked.

  Dan felt a little numb and looked incredulously at the doctor once more. ‘Sure, Doc,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘We’ll talk soon,’ he said.

  Dan turned and walked – utterly stunned – towards the surgery door.