Having an idiot for a doctor is worse than having an idiot for a teacher.
The teacher will not say "Yes, it does usually kill people" and be serious about it.
AND THEN LOCK YOU IN A ROOM!
The the doctor’s office - just more comforting than the one I was in
Okay. Maybe I should explain.
I was feeling like Death - or how he feels in something I wrote for school - and if my temperature went any higher my brain would explode and then die. As in it would be even lamer than it already is. So, after much yelling at my father (he was telling me brains don't fry) I got my way and went to the doctor.
After waiting for an hour and falling asleep in the waiting room, the person finally called my name. Like a good little Death I shuffled and moaned my way into the room and sat on the table thing.
Until a thermometer was shoved in my face. 104.2. That means the brain I like was about to EXPLODE!!!
So, the good doctor left me in there for half an hour. Thank you so much. I just love being Death and feeling my brain die.
Then I began crying. My mother began laughing. Yes, I am a drama queen and was faking it. The crying. not the being Death.
Finally, the doctor showed up. She began digging her bony, cold fingers into my disgruntled abdomen. AND ASKED IF IT HURT. Then yelled at me because I kept saying "Of course it hurts!"
Turning to my mother she says, "The only thing I can think of is meningitis."
I sat up as fast as I possibly could and screamed "That kills people!"
"Yes. It does."
Then she walked out and left me in that stupid white room for another thirty minutes. I couldn't even pee!
So I began thinking about my death. And flipping out because I was working on Elaine's story now and I felt guilty enough about leaving Cleodentri and Dave in the dust. What would happen to my stories? What about all the one's I had yet to sketch out.
Dude! I need to get home to write!
So I was crying and frantic when the doctor sent me to the hospital. Not because I was dying.
Because I have characters that would haunt me as I haunt people myself.
Yes. I am a nutcase. But I am a writer. I write about people no one else had ever met before.
The good thing about my being told I would die is I now know who gets which book to finish.