Chapter 3
"Hi! I have an appointment with Dr. B.L. Desai," I spoke to the pursed lipped receptionist seated behind the barred area.
"Yes, Ms. Rathore. You can leave your documents here and take a seat in the lobby. Dr. Desai would be with you in a moment," she spoke with her usual stoic expression.
"Okay. You look good, by the way." I smiled at her.
It has been four years since I have seen her work here. But I have never seen her expression go beyond two phases: stoic and pursed.
When she did not express or say anything in reciprocation to my comment, I took her leave and occupied a seat near a lady with the green purse and worn out eyes, seated next to her distressed husband.
Hospitals depress me. This was no place for art or an artist. Being here just reminds me of the reason why I am here in this very seat, waiting on this very doctor.
Four years ago, I came down here with a tiny problem of common cold and fatigue referred by our family doctor. I didn't even know why my physician would recommend my mom's cardiologist to me.
He merely said, "Just to be on the safer side, I would like you to meet Dr. Desai."
And now, here I am.
"Ms. Arya Rathore. The doctor would see you now," the receptionist announced my name interrupting my thoughts.
"You know I could have waited for my turn. You did not have to buzz me in before the other appointments." I complained lightheartedly as I entered Dr. Desai's cabin. "I appreciate it though; since I am running on a thin timeline today," I added and smiled at the grey-haired cardiologist, also a family friend, seated in his chair engorged in my files with his gold-rimmed spectacles on.
"Hello, Arya. Please take a seat." He gestured me towards the chair and continued to scan through my files, my ECG this time. His severe expression made me nervous already.
"So, what do my reports say? Everything all right there, uncle? How long do I need to be on these medicines now? At least, you could prescribe me less nauseous meds. for starters." I sported in apprehension gawking at him for any clue.
He finally lowered his spectacles, clenched his fingers together at the top of his desk, and looked at me.
He did not even have to say the preceding statement. Deep down, I already knew.
"I am sorry, Arya. I am afraid that we have some bad news," he stated.