Gemotions

The air in the sterile room felt thick and suffocating. Eleanor had to fight the urge to rip off the thin paper gown. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. She had come to have a growth on her skin checked. The doctor had been friendly enough, until she flipped open the file and blurted out "Oh, this is odd."

The "odd" part turned out to be a terminal cancer diagnosis. Not hers. The name on the chart was unfamiliar. This was the third appointment she had attended.

"This is not my chart," she stated. Her voice was ice. She had spent a year battling a divorce and was now facing this. This was all just too much.