Perscription for Life

My legs are shaking and I have butterflies in my stomach. I'm trying to settle my nerves a bit and I need something for my hands to do. I pick at my nails and smooth down my skirt, cross and uncross my legs. I'm sitting in front of a massive mohagany desk. It's strewn with papers and mannila folders. There are, perched precariously atop a stack of official looking documents, a couple of picture frames. Average people smiling for the camera. I notice in the picture how some people are not photogenic. I am one of these people, it seems that maybe two out of every ten pictures I take is actually flattering. So, I wonder about those people in the frames and how they must be a special part of eachother's lives. The room is a little dark, with only one window that over-looks the parking lot. A silk ficus tree stands in one corner. It is leaning a little and for some reason reminds me of a tall lanky fellow that once asked me to dance. Bookshelves seem to loom and overwhelm one whole side of the office. There is a leather sofa underneath a rather large oil painting of ocean waves. The room is trying, I think, to be inviting but somehow it just doesn't make it. "A-for-effort" I guess. I've been here before and even though I get a little anxious I always feel extremely bored. I'm wondering to myself if there are any hidden cameras in the room, and just then he walks into his office.

Today, I am seeing my doctor.

He is one of those people who have a happy countenance, twinkling, smiling eyes and even when we have had the most serious of talks he always seems to exude contentment and peace. He greets me warmly with a hug. We have known eachother for about seven years now, and in some ways I regaurd him as more of a father figure and friend than a detached doctor. He's a good Jewish boy and the sight of his yamacha never fails to make me smile. There is something so comforting in the way he is consistently faithful.
He takes his seat behind the mahagony island that separates us, the smile is slowly fading from his lips, but not from his kind eyes. I know what he is about to say. I knew it before I had come. There are no suprises in store. He knows that I know it too, but he forges on ahead anyway. At this point I let my mind wander. I know it is not nesessary to hear exactly what is next so I check out for a bit. I stand up and wander about the office. I look around me trying to spot the hidden cameras, I think about what to do for dinner and whether or not I should buy a swim suit now or wait a month or two. I realise somewhere in the back of my mind he is still talking.
"...Same as before, you know the routine. Same round of treatment..."
For a moment it feels as if I'm drowning in the air of his office. This is my claustrophobia kicking in and I'm certain I should have a seat, so I do. I can feel warm tears spilling onto my cheeks and all at once I'm aware of the fact that I don't have on any water-proof mascara. I seem to be hearing his voice as if I'm in a cave, it's comming from all sides but indistingushable, echoing in my memory of the first time I sat in this chair, behind this desk, wondering about those blasted hidden cameras.

"So, tell me. Are you up for this? You know what you need to do."

I take a moment to clear my throat and steady my voice, "Yeah." I say. "I'm fine."
I take a deep breath and smile. "A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do."