Here's a piece of my creative writing which no one seemed to like, but I'm damn well putting it up anyway!

Oncology

Up until recently he didn’t even know that word, now he sees it everywhere, on the posters and pamphlets around him, in the leaflets stacked on the desk, on the sign above the door. It has even invaded his home, nestled on top of letter heads and peeking menacingly at him through the little window.

He selects and takes a seat. They share a chair, him and it. His permanent lodger, who has taken up residence alarmingly close to the part of him which spawned his children. His uninvited house guest, who after a couple of months lying low is suddenly rearranging the furniture, hanging up paintings, laying out the eiderdown and pondering it’s choice of wallpaper for the room next door.

He glances to the filled chairs around him, their occupants indulging in muted conversation or staring ahead in sombre silence. He ruminates how the c word came to each of them, and at what point and why a little group of their cells decide to flip the bird to the rest of the body and have themselves a party.

A nurse enters and calls out a name. Not his.

 He nonchalantly picks up a magazine, casually flicking through and feigning interest. He puts it down. He wonders if he looks as sweaty as he feels. He’d like to wipe his clammy hands on his trousers, but that would be too obvious. Instead, he clasps them in his lap, twiddling his thumbs. He shifts in his seat. He clears his throat. He clicks his tongue distractedly. A woman close by gives him a disapproving look, he silences.

‘She’s definitely a breast’ he thinks.

‘Mr Adams?’ the nurse says, interrupting his thoughts.

Before he knows it, he’s on his feet. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘This way please’ He follows her down the corridor and she opens the door for him. She ushers him inside, a waxy smile on her lips.

And there he is, ‘the surgeon’, sitting there resplendent in his lilac shirt and no doubt 100 % pure silk tie. He momentarily muses over the price of the tie, and how much is too much to pay for a tie. 

‘Good afternoon, Mr Adams. Please, take a seat’

He sits, perched on the edge of his chair, the door swings shut behind. He looks at him, trying to read his face, attempts to scrutinise the professionally honed noncommittal expression. He’d like a head start in steeling himself. He clasps his hands between his knees and prepares to congratulate himself on his miraculous recovery.

‘We’ve had the results of your biopsy back’ he says ‘And I’m afraid it’s bad news.’