I sit in the waiting room anxiously, scuffing my toes on the linoleum floor. I am the only one waiting, my mother sits beside me, pretending to read a magazine, but I can see her glance at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
She’s worried.
Nurses feet clack down the corridors, click clack, click clack.
There is a hushed silence as the nurses return to their stations, they quickly become immersed in their tasks. There is a faint smell of bleach in the air, it burns my nose everytime I breathe in.
I glance at the clock, we’ve waited twenty minutes already. I watch the seconds had make its way around the face, tick tock, tick tock. I could almost swear it is circling in slow-motion. A distant door clicks open, our heads snap up at the same time. He walks calmly down the corridor to greet us.
“Hello Miss McLaren, won’t you step into my office?” says he, I nod silently, I’m too anxious to speak. We follow him quietly and the door snaps shut behind us. It is thirty minutes later before we take out leave, tear tracks staining our cheeks. He gives us a feeble reassuring pat and then leaves us in peace.
I slowly turn to face my mother, a my lips form a half-hearted smile…
“What if I only had one year to live?” I ask, searching her face for the answer.