The report felt heavier than it looked, a pile of papers stapled at the corner with my name printed in bold at the top. Dr. Stevens handed it to me without meeting my eyes, and the silence in the room stretched. « You have to take this seriously, » he said, his voice a mix of concern and something else—perhaps frustration. I nodded, but my mind was already processing what this meant for my daily routine, for my public appearances. The walls of his office seemed to close in, the ticking clock on the wall counting down the seconds of a life that felt suddenly fragile.
« I’ll review it, » I said, knowing full well that I had ignored similar advice before. As he left the room, I turned the first page, the words blurring into a mess of medical jargon and dire warnings. My phone buzzed with a notification, a reminder of the meeting scheduled in an hour. I sighed, stuffing the report into my briefcase, resolving to read it later. But later never came. Instead, the days fell into a rhythm of avoidance. The next time we met, Dr. Stevens’ tone was less forgiving.
It was a brisk Monday morning when I walked into his office again. The air felt colder, and the nurse at the reception gave me a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes. As I sat down, I noticed a new picture frame on the shelf behind Dr. Stevens’ desk—a family portrait, his kids smiling brightly. It reminded me of the personal stakes doctors must juggle alongside their professional duties.
« Did you look at the report? » he asked, his eyes finally locking onto mine. « Some of it, » I lied, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. His expression didn’t change; he must’ve heard that excuse countless times. « We need to discuss this seriously, » he continued, pulling out a pen and marking specific parts of the report. The reality of my inaction began to sink in, each tick of the pen feeling like a countdown to an ultimatum.
His explanations were clear, but my mind wandered to the speech I was supposed to give later that day. The weight of public expectation clung to me like a second skin, making the prospect of focusing on my health feel like a betrayal of duty. « There’s still time to make changes, » Dr. Stevens insisted, his voice cutting through my haze of thoughts. « But you have to start now. »
As I left his office, the report felt like a ticking time bomb in my briefcase. I paused at the hospital entrance, watching the city hum with life outside, people rushing past, unaware of the battles being fought behind the hospital’s walls. It was then that something shifted within me, a resolve slowly forming. But resolutions can be fragile, easily broken by the day-to-day demands of life.
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