Quote: "I don't like to be pricked and prodded. I'm not a rat nor a test subject and I don't have the time or patience to try and treat this." She looked straight at me, her green eyes pleaded to me not to argue, that she had thought about this. "Jenny, you know what that means, don't you?" Jenny twisted her hands in her lap, "Means I'm gonna die."
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. If I did I would have offered Lauren Holly more money, there would be Jibbs and Tiva, Vance would have been dead on JD instead of Jenny and there would be many, many Gibblets.
When I met Jenny I was twenty three. I was in college at Georgetown University studying oncology. She was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor. I was assigned her, as a resident intern. Jenny was only twenty years older than me, and I think that's what made her become so close to me, or better the other way around. I'll never forget her.
The day I first met her, I remember I was wearing a navy blue sweater and tan corduroy skinny jeans tucked into silver high heel boots. My hair was shoulder length, and curled.
I was slouched over talking to a nurse about something obscene. Not really, it just sounded that way. Jenny looked like she had recently stepped out an Ann Taylor magazine. Jenny may have been in some sort of denial, either that or she was very resilient. I'm gonna go with in denial. She suddenly joined March's and my conversation, informing us that she knew very well what 'turnip' was and how she intended on doing just that unless she 'would finally meet her intern doctor.' She knew, apparently, that her intern doctor was me. Jenny smiled and with her emerald green eyes and bright red hair, her face looked like a Christmas tree and had the same effect of one on the room.
I gave March a look as she mouthed, 'another loon?'
"I'm Taylor," I offered her my hand, and she took it, shook it and then said, "I'm Jenny."
"Well, Jenny, why don't we step in here," I motioned to an open waiting room. She gracefully walked into the room and smoothed her skirt as she sat. I less than gracefully tumbled into the spinning doctor's chair and it spun once before I managed to stop it in front of her.
"Jenny, in case you couldn't tell, I'm clumsy," I smiled and twirled my hair through my fingers, "okay, I'm going to skip the 'tell me about yourself' bull, quite frankly you know my best friend, and she's told me everything about you that I couldn't find on Google, which wasn't a whole much. I've also read your file from," I glanced down to the date, "last month, and based on your health and the projected growth rate of the tumor," she cut me off.
"If you're going where I think you're going and I'm fairly certain you were about to ask about treatment, I'm going to tell you what I've told every other doctor."
"And what's that?"
"I don't like to be pricked and prodded. I'm not a rat nor a test subject and I don't have the time or patience to try and treat this." She looked straight at me, her green eyes pleaded to me not to argue, that she had thought about this.
"Jenny, you know what that means, don't you?"
Jenny twisted her hands in her lap, "Means I'm gonna die," she muttered.