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The following morning, Mom called Dr. Hoult, as planned. He said he had an opening at 3:30 that afternoon. Since it was a Monday, I went to school and was able to get my homework done just before we had to leave.
Mom had come home early from work to accompany us to the appointment. She knew that Dad hated dealing with every kind of doctor, even a family friend, and that he probably wouldn't be capable of providing very much moral support for Johnny. I'd kind of gotten that from him.
When we entered the waiting room, Mom confidently strode up to the front desk to check us in. Johnny immediately collapsed in the weird blue thing resembling a couch. He had slept in the car the whole way there.
I went over and sat next to him. I never did this for my own doctor's appointments; I was always too nervous, added to the fact that sick kids had recently been there.
Johnny reached out a hand to me, and I intertwined my fingers with his. His hand felt hot, but that made sense because of his fever. Besides, my hands were always cold.
Staring at the fish tank directly across from where we were sitting, I was suddenly hit with a wave of depression. Whenever I had to come here, I'd always noticed the fish. So it shouldn't have affected me the way it did that one of them had a massive tumor. I just couldn't seem to get over the fact that these people who tended to sick children all the time didn't even seem to care that one of their fish was dying. It made me both sad and angry in a way I couldn't label, understand, or explain.
"Johnny?" The medical assistant calling us in was brunette, with skin and eyes the color of coffee mixed with milk, moles speckled lightly across her face, arms, and neck. She was donning pale pink scrubs covered with Disney characters. It looked like she'd stolen them from my older sister, who also worked as a medical assistant.
We all went inside room three, Johnny and I still having our hands locked.
"Okay, Johnny," the assistant said. "I'm going to have you hop up on the seat here, so I can take your temperature."
Johnny complied, and she stuck the thermometer in his mouth.
"103.2," she read, and I internally groaned. My mom's eyebrows were furrowed; even she didn't seem too calm at that moment.
"The doctor will be in to see you soon," the medical assistant said in her kind, clear voice.
"I'm sorry you're so sick, sweetheart," Mom said to Johnny. "Now at least we'll find out what's going on."
Johnny just sat there, not fully awake, eyelids drooping. When he started shivering, Mom came over and wrapped him in her jacket. I wished I could've done the same, but I wasn't wearing one.
Then we could hear the doorknob turning, and in came Dr. Hoult. Six feet tall, with kind of an everyman appearance, he greeted us all with a wan smile and a hello, and then quickly got down to business, which I was grateful for. I wasn't exactly small talk's most dedicated fan, even with Dr. Hoult, one of the few people who didn't annoy me.
"So, Johnny, I heard that you haven't been feeling too well lately," he began.
Johnny limply shook his head.
"What symptoms have you experienced?"
Since Johnny was so accurately mimicking a zombie at the moment, Mom spoke for him.
"He's frequently exhausted, has lost a frightening amount of weight, he's been sick constantly, and yesterday he was throwing up."
"He's also had back pain, and he has these random bruises," I finished for her, knowing she didn't have any knowledge of these symptoms. This was proven when her facial features rearranged themselves into a deep frown.
"Johnny, can you take off your shirt for me?" Dr. Hoult asked, jotting what we'd said down on his clipboard.
Johnny took the jacket off, and then proceeded to lift his shirt up gradually, like it was made of iron instead of cotton.
Seeing Johnny's emaciated upper body caused Mom to nearly let out a gasp. Even Dr. Hoult seemed like he had to briefly struggle to keep his expression serene and professional. As soon as he'd found the bruises however, he couldn't prevent a grim look from breaking out across his face.
"Alright, you can put your shirt back on," he said to Johnny, who sleepily did so. Then, Dr. Hoult scribbled something on a notepad, passing it to Mom.
"Look," He said, placing a hand on my mom's shoulder, his face a mask of solemnity. "They probably won't find anything wrong. On so many occasions, this is just a false alarm. I want you to go right now, though. We need to find out either way."
I craned my neck to get a look at the paper and realized that it was directions. John Muir Hospital Oncology Ward. Mom and I locked eyes, both immediately grasping what that meant. My heart sank as my worst suspicions became reality. Oncology. Cancer.
I know this chapter was relatively uneventful, sorry about that. Things will speed back up soon. Please review!
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