DANIEL HERON: BECOMING

32 - I wish people just stopped asking me questions

Daniel was walking behind Eugene as if he were half asleep. People in the hallway, nurses, several doctors in white coats – Daniel didn't notice any of them. Staring directly at Eugene's back, he let his feet carry him deeper into the building he began to dread.

Eugene soon came to a stop at the door with the word neurologist written on the metal plate. He went in alone, leaving Daniel in an empty hallway. It wasn't until he closed the door that Daniel realized he stopped breathing for a moment.

When the door opened again, Eugene asked Daniel to enter. Inside, at the desk opposite the door, sat a gray-headed doctor in a white coat. His glasses sat low on his nose as he read the medical chart. He only briefly lifted his head to tell Daniel to sit down.

Plastic white chair in front of the desk was anything but comfortable. Then again, Daniel doubted that even a soft armchair would have been comfortable at that moment, when he felt like a convicted man waiting for his sentence to be carried through.

Eugene stood by the desk, his hands in the pockets of the blue uniform he wore. His gaze rested on Daniel, but he failed to notice it since his own eyes were glued to the floor.

"Uh-huh," the doctor mumbled and lifted the paper to look at the black and white images of Daniel's brain.

Either the passing of time decelerated, or the doctor read incredibly slow, Daniel wasn't sure which of the two was true, but it seemed like forever until the doctor took the glasses off his nose and said, "Um... yes. How are you feeling?"

Daniel lifted his head and met doctor's unusually light eyes. "Fine," he said hesitantly, knowing it was a lie.

"Are you sure? According to these images," the doctor lifted the chart, "you should be experiencing some symptoms, such as dizziness, loss of balance, headache."

"Yes," Daniel replied. "I've had headaches for some time now."

The doctor gazed at Daniel with compassion, then he added, "Yes, unfortunately, a tumor like this can cause quite strong headaches."

Daniel felt sudden effect of gravity on his blood. He went pale, and his mouth became dry. A tumor. Although he expected to hear that word, once he heard it from the doctor's mouth, it had an unexpectedly profound effect on him.

Eugene walked up to the chair Daniel sat on and, placing a hand on his shoulder, he asked, "Would you like some water?"

Daniel just shook his head.

The doctor leaned on his elbows and interlaced his fingers while he kept his eye on pale Daniel. "I'm sorry, young man. I was under the impression you knew about your diagnosis."

"I did, I guess." Daniel's stare lowered to the hands resting on his lap. He clenched his right fist so hard that the bones stretched his skin. "So, what now?" he asked the doctor.

"Well," the doctor started, "the position of the tumor gives us limited options." He looked at the images of Daniel's brain again. "The most effective approach would be to remove it. However, the location of the tumor in your case makes the surgery very risky. It would be impossible to reach it without cutting into the healthy tissue."

"Is that kind of surgery very expensive?" asked Daniel, thinking about his current financial situation.

The doctor took off his glasses. "We're looking at tens of thousands."

"Wow!" Daniel gasped. "I should probably tell you that I don't have tens of thousands. I don't even have a thousand."

"Most of the expenses would be covered by your health insurance," the doctor said and continued before Daniel got a chance to tell him that he doesn't have health insurance. "As I was saying, in your case the operation would be very risky. There are no guarantees that it would be successful. Cutting into healthy tissue might cause loss of some important functions. Survival isn't guaranteed either."