Silence in a room full of chaos. Diane sat completely still eyes fixed to the floor. Her fingers barely hung on the the clipboard and pen that rested in them. Her sight faded in and out of focus on the yellow and green checkered floor. Everything felt out of place; she felt out of place. The screaming inside her head pushed her into a scary place that she never saw herself going to. There was a layer of denial lingering on her breath, and bit of regret weighing down her heart.
“Hey,” the pink haired girl called from behind the desk. Diane slowly lifted her gaze towards the glassed in counter. “Yeah you,” the girl continued, “you finished with that yet?”. Diane just stared like her mind could not comprehend any of what was going on around her much less what was being said. The girl looked irritated at the lack of response. “Well are you? I gotta get the paperwork in before you can see anyone. The longer you take, the longer you will needta wait.” Diane still did not respond, glancing down at the papers on the clipboard as if they were written in some alien code. She could see the pink haired girl becoming increasing upset with her silence.
“I’m sorry. I’m working on it.”
“It’s not that hard honey. Don’t make it a bigger deal than it needs to be. Dozens of people pass through here everyday.”
Those words were not comforting to her. She wasn’t supposed to be one of this dozens, another statistic. This was not supposed to be happening, but it was. It was very much happening, and there was nothing she could do about it. She set to work on the forms without another word. NAME. She thought about using a fake one so no one would ever know. DIANE EMMA SMITH, she scribbled on the page. MARITAL STATUS, single. Checking the box caused her heart to flutter just a little. DATE OF BIRTH. 5/2/1997. 16 years of age. It was a reality that made it seem all unfair. YEARS OF SCHOOL COMPLETED. The pen hung on that line for a moment, as she fought back the tears that were slowly creeping up. 10. YEARS OF COLLEGE. N/A. EMERGENCY CONTACT. Another reason for pause. Whose name could she write on this line? ERIC RYAN 321-345-4643. PARTNERS RELATIONSHIP. She wasn’t sure anymore. She wasn’t very sure of anything anymore.
Diane sank her head down even deeper wishing she were invisible. And that if she were that this could all just magically go away. She closed her eyes tightly remembering when she was a little girl and would wish herself away. Her dad would pretend that he couldn’t see her. She missed him. When she opened her eyes, she was still there, and this was not dream. Reluctantly she ticked, boyfriend off the list. DOMINANT DECISION MAKER. She wanted to scream “The World” or “Society”, but that wasn’t an option on the form. She checked off “yourself” and hated the weight that it shoved unto her weary shoulders, and the guilt trip she felt she was about to go on. Everything was starting to feel like a roller coaster ride, and she was about to puke.
Before she knew it, Diane darted out of her plastic seat towards the window. “Restroom?,” she demanded from the less than interested desk clerk. She quickly followed down the hall that the tattooed hand had pointed. The nausea was not just a symptom of her amusement park ride of a life, but a feeling that was about to erupt into reality. She splashed water on her face in an effort to suppress the green colour it was rapidly turning. She could barely stand to look at herself in the mirror. She was so afraid of seeing this fragmented person that lingered like a ghost, and those haunting eyes that used to be hers. Life had taken on the loneliness of death. Deep breaths she thought to herself, as the restroom door swung open and a woman waddled in. The woman knowingly smiled at Diane’s reflection.
“You get used to it, and then it goes away before you know it,” she said as she slipped into a tiny blue stall. ‘It sure will go away,’ thought Diane, ‘and much sooner than you know’. But secretly she knew it was still not soon enough. She slipped out of the restroom before the curly haired woman came back out. She slid back down in the same red chair she had so quickly exited, her legs brushing against the cold metal beneath it. She wasn’t feeling that great, but was a whole lot less green. She finished the forms and took them back to the receptionist who looked over it.
“You missed a signature on the surgical form,” colourfully painted skin pushed the page back towards her. She signed.
“How much longer do you think it will be?”
“I’m not sure, but it should not be much longer. Are you allergic to any medications?”
Diane shook her head no, and went back again to that lonely seat against the far wall. She let her eyes fall again to the oddly tiled floor. It was becoming too dizzying for her to maintain the gaze. She lifted her head to the window a few chairs over, and saw them. White picket signs and flyers. Had this been a few weeks ago they would have all been irrelevant. But now, they were the voice inside her head, the shame she wished would just evaporate. She could see the discarded flyers in the near by trash, but that did not deter the persistence of the young woman handing them out. She had a great strength and resolve that Diane now envied.
The scent of antiseptic wafting through the air, brought her back to where she was, a waiting room and a sickening feeling. A waiting room, just like the one she sat in the night she found her father on the floor and called the ambulance. It was just as loud but silent as this one. No one would tell her anything that night, and she could do nothing but wait. It had felt like a lifetime stuck in a state of panic. She knew he was sick, but the cancer had been in remission, or at least that is what he told her. He didn’t look as weak as when he was on chemo, and his hair was coming back. The idea that the cancer was back was all she knew, and it felt like the worse possible thing ever. When a doctor finally came to talk to her, she found out that her father had only been given weeks to live. He overdosed on his pain medications; it crushed her. She broke out in tears right there, as the tired eyes in the room stared at her. She missed him very much. He would have understood this. He would have been there today. She wanted him there today. She had her own cancer of a sort.
A sudden feeling washed over her. It was as if someone was seeing right through her. Then she realized that the woman sitting across from her was staring at her. She must have been in her 30s. Even as Diane met her gaze, her eyes did not avert. She wanted to make her disapproval very much known. She wanted Diane to feel all the shame that could be carried with her presence in that room. It was as if she knew the entire story and was willing to be the judge, jury, and executioner. Maybe without even knowing it, the spark in her eyes said carried all that. Diane could not hold the look much longer without wanting to run away and cry, so she let her head fall again. She felt dissected by this woman; like she had just peeled away a layer of what little dignity she had left. Diane wondered if she would always feel this way, and if everyone else in the room was doing the same.
“M Holloway,” the pink haired monster called, and the woman who made her feel less than human rose and followed a nurse to the back.
With her finally gone, Diane scanned the room for more disapproving glares, but was not met with any. No one else was looking at her. There was a woman and her boyfriend sitting closest to the front desk fussing over something in she was showing him in a magazine. Another couple sat a few seats away. You could tell they were newlyweds from the way he played with his wedding ring, and hung on her every word. The woman from the restroom was at the receptionist desk talking rapidly. Two little boys fought over a crayon, as their mother sat in a chair behind them reading a magazine. It was all so surreal. She was wishing that her dad was there, or that she had told Ryan, but that would have made it all worse. Her mom hadn’t even been paying her attention to see what was happening right in front of her. She had gone on a permanent vacation in a bottle of Jim Beam since her husband died. Diane was scared, but had no one to turn to. She was more alone than she had ever been.
Diane picked up a magazine to distract herself, as the curly haired woman sat next to her. She squeezed herself into the seat and said, “Hi. I’m Delia.” Diane forced a smile, and darted her eyes back to the magazine. She was in no mood to talk. “Your first time here?” Delia bent her neck down trying to catch Diane’s eye. “They are really nice here. You don’t need to be scared.” As the words rolled of Delia’s tongue, Diane heaved a sigh of relief, as if the words were some type of assurance that everything would be okay.
“Thank you. I’m Diane.”
“It’s nice to meet you Diane. Are you here alone?”
“Yeah. I didn’t really have anyone to come with me.”
“I don’t mean to pry, but your mom?”
“She didn’t even notice, and I couldn’t tell my boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend.” Diane paused returning her eyes again to the magazine not sure of how that sounded. “My dad would have been the one to come; I wish he were here.” Her eyes never left the magazine.
“Well why isn’t he here?”
“He died about a year ago.” Diane paused trying to hush the strike of pain to her heart, “Cancer.” A bit of water pushed it’s way into her eyes. She fought back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Delia’s voice cracked with deep sorrow.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“It’ll be okay. You’re a strong one to come alone.” Diane forced another smile because all she felt was weak and fragile. A long silence between the two followed.
“D. Smith,” cut through the air ending the awkward absence of words. The receptionist looked over at the two of them over in the corner. Diane slowly stood up looking down at Delia as she nodded as if giving her approval. She had a friend for a second, just for a second, and then it was all her again. It didn’t fell so bad.
Following the nurse down a sterile looking white hallway, the final numbness filled her. The finality of it all started to leave a mark on her memory. Her body shivered as if it were cold, and her breath became shallow. She felt like turning around and running, but what would she be running to? She already knew what she was running from.
The doctor entered and scanned her up and down. “Are you ready Ms. Smith?” he said as he was being gowned. Diane closed her eyes and took a big gulp while shaking delicately nodding. “We will administer the anesthesia in a few minutes. I’m sure Nurse Lin went over the procedure with you. Do you have any questions?”
Diane laid back without responding.
“Okay. Let’s begin.”
Diane did not remember anything after that. All she knew was the waiting was over, and she felt drained empty. All she knew is nothing would be the same.
©2014 – V. A. Coote