My Attempt at Fictional Scene Writing

Waiting 

The wax paper on the bed stuck to my calves as I sat in the cold windowless room.  It probably stuck because I was sweating, while I waited for the supposed expert in the white coat to come back in the room.  I always hated hospitals and especially doctor's offices.  They're always so dark, windowless, and cold; so cold.  And since everything's made of metal or tile you always feel the chills running through your skin.  

I began to look around the cramped room for two reasons: boredom and the need to get my mind off of my present situation.  Besides the cold examination table/bed the room consisted of a seat and a small rolling doctor's stool.  You know, that tiny stool that they would roll back and forth on, writing down different observations on their charts and then coming back to get a better look at you.  By the door I could see the bio-hazard box where used needles go, and next to that a bottle of hand sanitizer and paper towels.  It's always interesting to see the different posters on the wall.  In this particular office there was one featuring both a male and female anatomy.  There was also an advertisement for flu shots beginning in the fall.  Going for my Flu shot was the last thing on my mind at that point, who even knew if I would make it to winter.

And then there was the smell; that consistent smell that every doctor's office has.  It's so artificial, synthetic, and even unnatural.  All of the linoleum, latex, and soap combined into that unnaturally clean smell that makes you so uncomfortable that you're self-conscious over a sneeze or a cough.  Besides the fact that hospitals usually mean that there's something seriously wrong with you, the smell always bothered me the most.  It's almost as if the synthetic smell of the hospital is a metaphor for the unnatural facade that is a hospital.  Doctors always act like everything's going to be fine when it's not, it's never going to be just fine.  They act like they have all of the solutions, when in reality I knew that ultimately I was screwed.  

Plus there are all of those stupid regulations.  For instance, I'm surprised they even let you enter the building without insurance credentials.  The second you enter the office they take your card and your copay, as if to say ,"We don't care how sick you are, no money means no care."  I often wonder when the day will come that uninsured people will enter the Emergency Room only to be left to die on the hospital floor in order to save the hospital a couple thousand dollars.  And then there are those stupid gowns.  I looked down at mine wondering why I even threw the stupid smock on.  The doctor's going to part it anyway to take a look at all of my parts so why not just sit there naked, behind a curtain or something.  If their rationale is that the gowns are supposed to keep you warm that's a joke.  How is a table cloth with holes for my arms that's about 1/2 millimeter thick supposed to keep me warm?  The goosebumps covering my body would argue with that rationale.  And just as I was about to say "forget it" and take the stupid thing off the doctor walked in.

He was a youthful looking man, probably in his mid forties.  He wore glasses and had his hair combed back in what I always considered the stereotypical doctor's haircut.  They always give you this smile-well usually unless they're so burned out that they no longer care about bedside manner.  You know it's a fake smile too; a smile that says, "I'm supposed to stay positive but in reality you're screwed, just like me, we're all screwed in the end."  Doctors usually stick their hand out too for the usual handshake greeting, but it always seems like they hate doing it.  I don't blame them, I wouldn't want to touch a sick person.  At least, not without gloves on.  The interaction is always so forced and stiff that sometimes I feel like doctors will be the first people to be replaced by robots.  At least robots wouldn't have to deal with the emotions of getting to know someone, caring for them, only to eventually see all of their patients meet their end.  It must be tough being a doctor; if I wasn't expecting to hear the news of my soon to be demise I might have felt for this guy a little bit.  

"So I have here the test results from your biopsy..." and then he just looks at me like, "do you really want to hear this?"  Obviously I want to hear this, that's why I'm here.  

"Just give it to my Doc; don't beat around the bush."  Just by the look in his eyes I knew that was the beginning of the end for me.  

*To those of you who read this it is completely fictional and not about me so don't panic and contact me.  I'm just attempting at writing something deep, with plenty of sensory details.*