Page 116 of Something Like Forever
“Maybe you should give metwo of those,” Tim said as she injected him with anesthetic. “Nameyour price!”
“One forme as well,” Marcello said. “To help the time passswiftly.”
“No way!He’s my ride home!” Tim raised his head. Then he looked around,because he was no longer on the gurney. Marcello and the nurse haddisappeared. The examination room was gone too! He was somewhereelse entirely. His throat ached with thirst. No surprise since inpreparation he hadn’t been allowed to eat or drink anything aftermidnight. The room he was in now had windows next to each bed,allowing sunlight to filter through the blinds. He wasn’t alone. Hecouldn’t see much to his left and right due to the privacycurtains, but he could see the end of other beds and hear otherpatients. Directly across from him was medical equipment andwall-mounted televisions. Off to one side, toward the door, was anurses’ station, currently attended by a heavy-set man with darkhair and darker skin. He noticed Tim trying to push himself up andhurried over, pressing a button so the back of the bed raised forhim.
“How are you feeling?” thenurse asked.
“Nervous,” he admitted.“When do we start?”
“You’re already finished,”the nurse said. “Nice, isn’t it? I wish I could have gotten throughschool that way.”
Tim wanted to laugh, buthis throat felt like the doctor had left the tube in there, alongwith his car keys, wrist watch, and maybe some LEGO bricks.“Thirsty,” he managed.
“I know, but you can’thave anything to drink until you’ve been awake for ninetyminutes.”
“I wokeup ages ago,” Tim rasped. “Eighty-nine minutes ago,actually.”
The nurse grinned at thisruse. “I’ll start the clock.”
Tim made his peace withhaving to wait, but he wished he had been more prepared. He didn’tcare for daytime television and didn’t have access to his cellphone. After half an hour dragged by, he got the nurse’s attentionand asked for pen and paper, so he could at least draw. Hepreferred paint and canvas, but this made the next hour pass morequickly, even if he was tempted to break the pen in half and drinkthe ink. Instead he used it to sketch out more of his story withBen, trying very hard not to think about how it mightend.
When the nurse returnedwith a tiny cup of apple juice, Tim felt like giving him a highfive. He downed the juice like a shot, despite warnings to becautious, and then begged for another. He got it five minuteslater, along with a miniature muffin. More time went by. Hesuspected they were waiting to see if he would puke. Not a chance!He was too grateful for the sustenance. He would keep it down bywillpower alone, if need be. His stomach was a champ, not givinghim any trouble. The IV was removed and he was given his clothes.Tim felt like he was getting out of prison. Then he was escorted tothe waiting room, where Marcello greeted him warmly.
“Therehe is, the man of the hour!” He peered at Tim critically. “I’veseen better facelifts, but it’s not bad. You can hardly tell anywork was done. The breast implants, on the other hand, arephenomenal!”
“Stop,” Tim said. “Or atleast wait until we’re out of here. If they find out a crazy personis driving me home, they might make me stay longer.”
“My lips are sealed,”Marcello promised. Together they walked to the parking lot. “Lunchis in order, if you’re feeling up to it. They made you skipbreakfast, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” Tim said, “and Ican definitely eat!”
“Excellent. We’ll take our time, have a leisurely meal, andthen we’ll see what the doctors have to say.”
“Notuntil Thursday,” Tim said. He noticed Marcello’s enigmaticexpression. “Right?”
“You’llhave your results this afternoon. But first, we shallfeast!”
* * * * *
The oncologist Marcellobrought him to was nothing like the one Tim had visited previously,but he wasn’t surprised. With Marcello, everything in life was afirst-class upgrade. The scented candles and gentle music playingin the front office was nice, as were the beverages and snacks thestaff offered them while they waited in the examination room, butall that really mattered were the results. If this doctor was evenmore qualified to give him an accurate assessment, thengreat.
“Do you have anyexperience with this guy?” Tim asked.
“Woman,” Marcellocorrected, “and yes, she worked closely with Eric.”
A name that had been onhis mind of late, even more so than usual. Still, it wasn’t themost sterling of recommendations because Eric hadn’t survived hiscancer.
“If Ihad any doubt about the physician’s abilities,” Marcello said,reading him with ease, “you wouldn’t be here. Do keep in mind thatEric had mesothelioma, which sadly, is always terminal. Theprogress we made in staving off his disease came from followingPat’s recommendations.”
She might have been Pat toMarcello, but when a short, white-haired woman entered the room,she introduced herself as Dr. Staples. Tim shook her hand and waspolite, when really he wanted to grab her by the shoulders andthrottle an answer out of her. Did he have it or not?
“Beforewe begin,” Dr. Staples said, “I want you to know that there havebeen tremendous advances in the fight against cancer in recentyears.”
Her lecture continued, buthe didn’t need to hear more. She was softening the blow. Otherwiseshe would have told him it was good news and been on her way. Hefelt dizzy with the revelation, his hope dwindling down to thediagnosis being on the better side of bad, but either way, Timcouldn’t deny it any longer. He had cancer.
Fuck.
He tried to be a big boyand listen to what the doctor had to say, but Tim felt like he wasfalling backward into a bottomless pit of despair and anxiety. Hewas scared for himself, and he worried for Ben. This would changeeverything, whether he came through it or not.
