Work Text:
“The body is a fickle thing.” Commented the physician.
“You don’t need to say that.” Responded the man in the suit, “I already know.”
Thomas shifted his weight within the suit that confined him. The sores on the back of his thigh pulsed a dull ache. Maybe this time modern medicine could work its wonders. After 27 other consultations, Tom’s hopes were low.
“Four more cysts have appeared, correct?” the doctor asked to confirm.
“Yes.”
“Have you made any new or drastic changes to your lifestyle since our last meeting?” she asked to confirm again.
“No.”
The physician scribbled something down on her notepad. The same action Thomas saw every time he visited. He looked over to the clock hanging on the wall. The edge of the viewing screen for his head blocked out half the face of the clock. To get a better view, Thomas shifted his position on the examination table. He clenched his jaw in response to the flares of pain. The time read 10:52 am. Earlier, he had arrived at his appointment at nine o’clock am.
He looked back over to the doctor who was now conferring with her tablet. He could tell the outcome of this appointment just by how she conducted herself. She acted the same way the other doctors had before, at a lost for the cause, prescribing a new ointment or lotion, with nothing really changing. What a waste of time and money.
At least it was only a sixty-five-dollar co-pay.