1261. Terminal

Look, said the doctor, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Your cancer is terminal.

Oh but doctor, said the patient, how long have I got?

You haven’t got too long, said the doctor. Maybe a month, six weeks. During that time we’ll make you as comfortable as possible. There will be days of discomfort, but nothing that can’t in the main be relieved.

But doctor, I don’t want to die yet. Can’t they operate or something?

There’s very little can be done. It’s too advanced, said the doctor. Would you like me to tell your wife, or is that something you’d prefer to do yourself?

I don’t know. I’m just bewildered. Shocked and bewildered. I don’t feel that sick. Maybe there’s a mistake?

I’m sorry, said the doctor.

OK, said the tutor at the Med. School. Times up! Swap roles now. The one who played the patient now plays the doctor. This time, you are to role-play breaking the sad news of terminal cancer to the spouse.

633. Outside it was raining

© Bruce Goodman 5 July 2015

Outside it was raining. Delilah sat down to write a letter. She would write it by hand.

My Dear Roland, she began.

She screwed up the letter and began again. My Dear Roland was too personal; too intimate.

Dear Mr. Shrewsbury. No. No. It was still not right.

Dear Roland, I have some sad news.

How was it best said? How could she put it into words?

Tears fell down her check. Tears echoed the rain on her window. I have some sad news. No! No! A teardrop stained the page.

Dear Roland, I have such sad, sad news. Delilah gasped with grief.

“Why bother at all?” she thought.

She stood. She screwed up her efforts. No, she wouldn’t bother. She wouldn’t bother at all.