Gemotions

The doctor's office always smelled of disinfectant and sterile hope, a combination that made her stomach churn. The doctor, a well-meaning man, was explaining, again, the parameters of her condition. Each sentence was a hammer blow to her already fragile composure. She felt the urge to lash out.

He paused and said, "There's a…colleague of mine. She might offer some support. She, too, has the condition." He offered a card.

She took it. She felt a surge of something she didn't recognize. She ripped the card into pieces. The doctor stammered. She excused herself. She didn't want the empathy. She wanted to be left alone.