Gemotions

He stared at the document, the print swimming before his eyes. The diagnosis – a rare and aggressive form of cancer – was not his. His name was there, his date of birth, everything else, but the devastating information belonged to someone else. He felt a cold sweat break out, plastering his shirt to his back. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

The air in the sterile waiting room felt thin, insufficient. He stumbled to his feet, knocking over the flimsy magazine rack. The clatter seemed impossibly loud in the suddenly silent space. He clawed at the collar of his shirt, as if to rip it open and find some air.

He fumbled for his phone, his fingers clumsy and unresponsive. The numbers seemed to dance on the screen. He needed to call someone, to confirm this was a nightmare, to make it all go away. He felt utterly and completely adrift.