Gemotions

The waiting room felt like a sauna, the air thick and stale. Sarah tapped her foot against the cold tile floor, a rhythmic beat that matched the frantic thrumming in her chest. She glanced at the clock for the tenth time in as many minutes. Each tick of the second hand felt like a deliberate taunt. Her palms were slick, and she rubbed them on her jeans. This whole process felt needlessly slow.

She’d been expecting a simple procedure, a routine check-up. But now, after the nurse’s hushed whispers and the doctor’s furrowed brow, she was trapped in a whirlwind of paperwork and reassurances that weren't nearly soothing enough. The longer she sat, the more the gnawing feeling in her stomach grew. What if something serious was wrong?

"Finally," she muttered under her breath as a harried clerk called her name. The clerk’s slow movements were infuriating. Each document felt like an eternity to process. "Can we hurry this up?" Sarah asked, her voice tight. The clerk flinched.