by Michael C.
Harold Carpenter sat
nervously in the waiting room for his appointment
with the oncologist. He had been administered a
series of tests for his inexplicable weight loss
and the dark area spotted in his chest. Its
probably pancreatic cancer, he thought,
growing impatient for his meeting with the doctor.
Jesus, I hope not . . . anything but that. Its
such a miserable thing to go through.
Mr. Carpenter, the
doctor will see you now, said the
Oh, God, here we go.
Brace yourself, ol buddy. Gird your loins.
This could be the worst news ever, he brooded,
as he entered the specialists office.
Mr. Carpenter, please
have a seat. We do have the results of your tests
and were ready to deal with it.
So, its what I
thought . . . pancreatic cancer? said
Harold, exhaling deeply.
Im afraid so.
So that means . . .?
Yes, youll have
to take two of these pills a day for the next
week and youll be cured.
But I hear they leave
such a bitter taste in your mouth, Doc!