The Doctor

It’s my first time leaving the house in two days. The sun stings my eyes and the cold air is harsh. Inside the car isn’t much better and in bitter anxiety over the pain in my throat I decide not to put on my seatbelt. Instead I press my feverishly warm forehead against the cold window, staring blankly at the passing scenery. There is only snow reflecting light, blinding my eyes and contributing to my headache, and the occasional murky brown relief.
Five minutes pass and already I find myself walking into the clinic. It’s early but there’s still a line-up to see the doctor. I settle into a chair in the corner next to a woman with long dark hair. She takes no note of me but I quickly survey her damage as well as everyone else’s. No one seems to be suffering in their supposed sickness. I’m clearly in need of some medical attention, or at least some mind numbing drugs, can’t they see that? The old lady opposite me definitely can, when she thinks I’m not looking she glances at me sympathetically. God, I must look like crap. All bundled up and shivering, with a swollen neck and a gaunt face. One hand clutches my empty stomach, and the other holds my hanging head. I wait and wait and wait. The crowd thins as the ticking clock on the wall slowly drills into my skull, until there is only me and two other patients left. A muslim woman who’s dressed her baby all in pink and a large scruffy man in baggy sweat clothes. I am next in line. I close my eyes and try to drift off.
“Hey, where are you?” His booming voice echoes in my head, “I’m at the doctor’s, turn around and come meet me.”
My eyes flutter open to glare at baggy sweat pants man, hoping my penetrating stare will be sufficient enough to put an end to his offense. He doesn’t notice and continues conversing with his invisible mate. My pupils shift restlessly between him and the “no cellphone” sign above his head. I want to yell at him, scream at the top of my lungs, tell him all the damage he’s doing to my head, but I have very little strength and I know that my throat will allow for little more than a whisper to escape my parched lips. Resigned, I clutch my head with both hands, pressing deep into my temples in an attempt to squeeze the pain out. I can feel my pulse throbbing angrily beneath my sweaty palms.
"Eleanor?" I look up to face the receptionist, my head still in my hands. "You can go inside now." I try to smile and follow her down a narrow hallway into a cramped room. "The doctor will be with you shortly." I take a seat in a chair identical to the one in the waiting room and regard the examination table beside me. A fresh sheet of paper lies neatly on top of it, protecting future patients from whatever terrible sickness it is that I have. My chair sits adjacent to a desk, on top of which are more "waiting room" magazines. I can hear the muted voice of the man on his cellphone down the hall. Surrendering to the seemingly eternal fate of waiting , I allow my head to drop to the table with a small thud and sink into a light, listless slumber.
Minutes, maybe days have passed; I am completely unsure and just want sleep when finally the doctor enters the room. She looks me over and asks me to sit on the examination table. I don't even bother to remove my coat, hat or scarf as I slump onto the bed. The paper crinkles uncomfortably beneath me as I list off my symptoms. "Sore throat, throbbing headache, aching muscles, unbreakable fever, and did I mention that my throat hurts?" My eyes well up as I talk. "Let me take a look inside." I open my mouth, and she takes out a light, "Wow, that's bad." Words of comfort in a time of distress.
I stumble back out into the waiting room and walk towards the pharmacy, clutching my prescription tightly with both hands. It is my golden ticket and I hand it to the pharmacist with a pained smile. He does not know how long I've waited and he is unsympathetic to my condition. No doubt he's dealt with my kind before, he doesn't look eager to converse again. I swallow and a tear escapes my eye as another dull blade bites down deep inside my neck. "How long will it be?" I ask timidly, afraid to disturb the monster in my throat. "Not long, take a seat." I relax as best I can in an orthopedic chair, and watch him move about behind the counter. I can feel the eyes of the woman next to me and I turn to face her. She smiles at me as if I am dying. I wait again, this time concentrating on not swallowing. Five minutes pass slowly but finally the pharmacist beckons me and hands me a paper bag. Sweet relief. I tear it open, remove the drugs, fumble with the child safety for a moment and then carefully extract one pill before popping it into my mouth. It doesn't go down easy without water but I force it in. Nothing happens. I listen to the pharmacists instructions, staring impassively into his eyes, pay him, and leave.
"Where is the mind numbing, drowsy, drug induced bliss?", I wonder this for days but it doesn't come. And so I wait in the throes of this never ending malady.