The man in the white doctor’s coat looks down on me in my hospital bed and sadly shakes his head. The dour-faced nurse with the syringe walks right through him.
Lifting up, up, up off of the crinkly papered bed, she floated aboard the majestic, wooden air ship, where she slow-danced with Prince Charming’s handsome son, wearing a flowing ball gown that sparkled like diamonds in the melting lip-gloss gold sunset that the circus animal crew – elephants and zebras wearing colorful hats and silly shirts – was working to sail into, paddling their oars rhythmically against tufts of cumulonimbus clouds as if silently marking the beat of her dance. This was her favorite place to go whenever Mommy and the doctor started talking about her cancer.
“So you need to take it every day, preferably at the same time each day, and some of the possible risks include stroke, blood clots, high blood pressure, and heart attack.”
“Gee, I don’t know about some of those side effects Doc – I think I’d rather have a baby.”
Tim bit furiously at his nails, teeth marks making way for a bloodied mess beneath. He stopped as the doctor walked in and said, “We’re not just sure, we’re HIV positive.”
The Jewish wedding and someone faints.
No one calls out “is anyone a doctor?”