Chapter 4
Three days later, Charlie sat in his primary care physician's office. Both Alan and Don had wanted to come, but Charlie asked them not to. "If I need to concentrate on what's being said," he had pleaded, "I can't do that if I'm worried about the two of you." Both men had started to protest, but Charlie held up a hand. "Look," he asked, "can we compromise? If the results are…if the results warrant it, my doctor will refer me to an oncologist. You can go with me then, all right?"
Now he looked at the doctor, who did not look back, but focused on the chart in his hands. "That's probably not a good sign," Charlie thought.
"I have the results of your cell surface antigen study and the bone marrow aspiration," the doctor was saying. Then he looked up, and caught Charlie's eyes. "I am sorry," he said, "but we are dealing with A.L.L." He waited for Charlie to speak, and when he didn't, the doctor continued. "I have a referral for you to Dr. Richard Stevens, a highly respected oncologist. His patient load was already full, but we went to medical school together, and I asked him for a favor – he's going to fit you in tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you," Charlie whispered, thinking, "I can't believe I just said 'thank-you' to the man who told me I have cancer."
The doctor was still talking. "You also have a low-grade systemic infection," he said, reaching for his prescription pad, "which is not unusual, given the circumstances. I'm going to put you on an antibiotic for that. How's your hip feeling? I noticed you were limping a bit when you came in."
Charlie wondered how long the room had been painted this color. Shades of red did not seem very soothing. He thought it an odd choice for a doctor's office. "It's okay," he answered, surprised at the concentration it took to utter those three syllables.
"Well, keep taking the ibuprofen," his doctor said. "It'll help with the fever from the infection." He waited again for Charlie to speak. After a few moments, he stood and walked around to the front of his desk. He leaned against it as he held out some papers to Charlie. "I know you're a man of education," he began. "Sometime soon, you'll want to read all this."
Charlie again whispered, "Thank you," and wondered when he had stood up, and why his voice didn't work right anymore.
The doctor walked with him to the door, and handed him the prescription for antibiotics. "Don't forget to get this filled," he said. "I want you to start taking them right away." He opened the door for his patient, then placed his hand on Charlie's shoulder as he passed into the hall. "And, Charlie?" he said, waiting until the Professor's eyes met his. He then handed him one last item. "This is my personal contact information," he said, "including my cell phone and e-mail address. Please get in touch when you have questions."
Charlie stuffed the business card in his jeans pocket, and stayed long enough to shake the doctor's hand. "Thank you again," he said, more strongly this time. "I appreciate all you've done."
Before the doctor could answer, Charlie turned on his heel and strode purposefully down the hall, towards the waiting area and doorway to the outside. Every fiber of his being concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and not dropping anything. He focused on the door, and somehow, made his hand reach out and turn the knob. The smell of the doctor's office was making him nauseous, and he all but lurched into the outside world again, grateful beyond belief to be out of that office. He kept walking, without thinking about where he was going; mostly, because now that he was moving, he didn't remember how to stop. Eventually, he felt a hand on his arm and heard a sound he didn't recognize. He stopped and turned. He looked into the eyes of his brother, who had waited for him in the doctor's office, and then followed him when Charlie had not seen him. Don recognized a small rectangle amongst the papers that Charlie clutched, and reached out to take it. "Got a prescription?" he asked. "Let's fill that on the way home." Charlie didn't answer, and didn't protest when Don began to guide him back towards the SUV they had walked right past. He opened the passenger door, guided Charlie inside, even fastened the seat belt for him. Then he walked around the front to the driver's door, got in himself, fastened his own seat belt and started the engine.
It was only then that he heard Charlie say, "Don? When did you get here?"
