anxiety

My doctor propped her elbow on the exam table and rubbed her temple with her thumb. “Life is hard,” she said. I was sitting in a chair across from her, elbows on the exam table, too. “Yeah,” I winced, “and I don’t know if the pills are helping.” We shared a silent moment, looking each other in the eyes. She’s a cancer survivor. A mother. My doctor for two years, and the first physician to ever treat me like a friend. “I’m cutting the prescription in half until the specialist gives you a diagnosis.”