G) Chapter 6

6.

It made sense to get himself checked out, if he was to be killed by
something in a few days he could at least remove any internal factors
from the equation by a trip to his GP. What troubled him though was
what exactly he would say. He certainly couldn't explain his situation.
How then could he best prompt the doctor to give him a thorough
examination?

By the time he reached the doctors' surgery he still had no clear idea
of what exactly he would say. He considered listing a number of aches
and pains that would require the GP to check various body parts.
Stomach ache, chest pains, headache, shoulder pain, general joint pain,
at one stage or another he planned to use all of these and more. One
area he wasn't sure about getting checked out were his nether regions.
What if some problem 'down there' was going to kill him? It would
certainly be an embarrassing way to die. Less embarrassing than
discussing it and getting it treated? The jury was still out on that
one.

'Richard Querulous, appointment at four?' He queried upon reaching the
reception desk.

The receptionist, whom Richard happened to know was called Brenda, was
a middle-aged woman with very short, grey hair and a scowl so abrasive
it genuinely hurt the eyes to look at her. She scowled at everyone, but
saved up her best glares for Richard.

'Richard Querulous doctor' She deadpanned into the intercom. Richard
went through into the waiting room.

The thought occurred to him (as it always did when he visited the
doctor) that although he may or may not at that moment be ill, entering
the waiting room with its huddled clumps of depressed looking elderly
citizens was a sure fire way of becoming so. He was relieved therefore
to find only two pensioners in the waiting room, an old couple sitting
in the corner who were far too talkative and jovial looking for
Richard's liking. He believed people that age should be miserable
looking, it was only right considering their position so close to
death. They were practically on first name term's with the Grim Reaper.
Added to his usual resentment of anyone that didn't behave as he
thought they should though, was a feeling Richard had never felt toward
old people before, jealousy. He didn't like to admit it, but he did
indeed feel envious. He simply wasn't prepared to die yet, and though
he had often boasted of the opposite, he was terribly afraid to
die.

Ten minutes later and Richard was sitting opposite his doctor with
still no real idea as to what his fake reason for being there should
be.

His GP, Dr.Mckenna, was a tall middle-aged man with spindly limbs,
greying hair and a stern serious countenance that belied a very
sensitive disposition. People often told him he resembled Art Malik.
Richard had been told of this resemblance during a painfully protracted
and highly unwelcome conversation with an old woman in the waiting room
on a previous visit. Richard found the doctor's resemblance to the
actor very reassuring. It made him seem incredibly authoritative.

'Hello Richard, how can I help you today?' began Dr.McKenna, with all
the enthusiasm of a complaints line call centre worker.

Richard had to think on his feet (hardly his home turf) 'I um, I have
this err? pain'

'Pain?'

'Hum, pain ,yes.'

'What kind?' Dr.McKenna began to stare out of the window as if only he
knew what the meaning of the word 'pain' meant.

'It's in my um, chest.' (Richard thought this could be a good place to
start.)

'Right,' the doctor stood up quickly and took hold of his stethoscope.
'Please stand up and pull up your shirt for me so I can have a
listen.'

Richard knew the drill.

'Breathe in' the doctor commanded, pressing the cold metal instrument
onto Richard's pale pigeon chest.

'And out.' For some reason an action so simple and humdrum as
breathing became ridiculously stressful in this situation. Richard felt
as if he were not so much being examined as taking an exam.

'Now breathe in as fully as you can.' Richard thought he detected a
slight wheeze as he did so, could that be it?

'And out again.' Richard emptied his lungs with a pained
self-consciousness usually reserved for his rare forays into house
parties or nightclubs.

'Ok, this pain of yours, where is it exactly?'

'Um?here' Richard replied, trying to sound convincing as he touched a
random part of chest.

'Uh-hum. And how long have you had it?'

'few a a, a few days. I think.'

'Right, and is it there all the time or does it come and go?'

'Comes and?goes' Richard hoped this all made sense.

'Does it appear at any particular time, after meals or before you go
to bed? After exercise?'

'No, no it's no. Pretty random.'

'Okay.' Dr.McKenna made a few notes on a piece of paper, probably
'Lying hypochondriac fuck wasting my time' Thought Richard, and he was
probably quite close.

'Well?.' Dr.McKenna paused and swivelled his chair round purposefully
so that he was facing Richard directly. He made direct and unremitting
eye contact, interlocked his hands and said: 'I've checked your chest
and there's nothing wrong with your heart or lungs as far as I can see.
You seem quite healthy and I don't think there's anything physically
wrong with you. Maybe just a little muscle cramp that's all. Was there
anything else?'

Now's your moment! Richard thought to himself, ask him for a full
check-up, ask him for blood tests, ask him for scans!

'Well there?I mean err? no. That's that's it.' Another part of
Richard's brain took over and reversed him out of the situation, half
out of cowardice and half out of sanity. The doctor would not just give
him tests for no reason, they cost time and money. He had absolutely no
rational reason to believe or make anyone else believe there was
anything physically wrong with him. Making such a show of himself in
front of Dr.McKenna would be extremely embarrassing. He might even
section him or something, he looked like the kind of man who might do
that, and then recommend a partial lobotomy. Perhaps that was how he
was to die?

Dr.McKenna swivelled his chair back to face his desk and began typing
something up on his computer. Richard's appointment was over. He left
the surgery with an odd mixture of feelings. He felt disappointed in
himself that he had not done what he had gone there to do, but at the
same time he felt quite elated to have it over and done with and not to
have made too much of an idiot of himself. Could have been a lot worse,
he thought.

On getting outside the surgery he was about to head into work when,
checking his phone he saw that he had missed a call from Lance. He
called him back.

'I've got some interesting news for you' Lance announced as soon as he
answered.

'Oh?'

'Yes, I found where the publishers are based.'

'You mean they're actually a real publishers?' Richard was
astounded.

'They're real alright. Whether or not they actually published this
book of ours is a different question. They have an office in the
Serpentine building on Water Street. Can you meet me there?'

'Of course' Richard had no desire to go back to work.

'Good, how did it go at the doctors? Did they find anything?'

'Nothing more than usual.' Richard sighed.