Calvin’s Cowboy

Chapter 2-4

The reception area was bustling; medical staff, patients, relatives and their children milled about in what Brock took to be total chaos. Who’d have thought the place would be this busy at Saturday lunchtime?

Calvin muscled his way to the front desk. “Hello, we need to see a doctor.”

“There’s a line, buddy!” someone behind them called out. Calvin ignored him.

The receptionist kept on typing at her computer.

“Excuse me,” Calvin waved a hand in front of her. “But we need to see a doctor immediately.”

The receptionist looked up, and, with a bored tone Brock knew she must have practiced, said, “You need to join the line.”

“Look, lady, there’s an emergency here, and you need to stop playing solitaire on your computer and register this patient, now!”

“Sir, you need to join the line,” she repeated.

“Calvin, come on, let’s do as she says.” Brock hated that everyone was staring at them.

“I don’t give a flying f**k about your precious line! I need a doctor, now! If his treatment is delayed because we’ve wasted time waiting in your stupid line, then I’ll sue this hospital, you, your children and your children’s children. By the time I’ve finished, you’ll be lucky to get a job scrubbing bedpans!”

Brock wanted the floor to open and swallow him up.

“Uh huh.” Sighing, she asked, “What’s the problem with your friend?” She still sounded bored, but this was at least progress.

“He has skin cancer. Melanoma.”

“Uh huh.”

“It’s on his wrist.” Before Brock could protest, Calvin had grabbed his arm, raised it, and pulled up his sleeve.

She took an uninterested look at it. “Go to the end of the line.” Turning to the next person she said, “Yes, can I help you?”

“This is not acceptable. I demand to see your supervisor! We’re not moving from this spot until we get some treatment here!”

“Calvin! Stop it!” Brock started to move away, but Calvin grabbed him.

Fortunately a doctor showed up just then. “Is there a problem here?”

“You could say that. This…this woman refuses to book my friend in, he’s got skin cancer and he needs urgent treatment.”

“Okay,” the obviously overworked doctor said. “Come through here and I’ll take a look.”

Despite the embarrassment, Brock was grateful for Calvin’s pushy attitude. He followed the white coat across the hallway and between a pair of curtains.

“Take a seat, Mister…?”

“Brockwell,” Calvin answered, following them through the curtains.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but would you please go to the desk and fill in the forms to register Mr. Brockwell, and then wait out there until—”

“No, I want him to stay with me.” Brock didn’t care how pathetic or needful that made him sound.

“Okay, let’s take a look. Your wrist did you say?”

“Yes, doctor,” Calvin put in. “The right one.”

The doctor shot Calvin a look of exasperation, but Calvin hardly seemed to notice.

Brock rolled up his sleeve. The doctor put on a pair of latex gloves, and picked up Brock’s hand to examine it.

“When did you first notice this?” the doctor shot Calvin a glare that kept him silent, for the moment at least.

“This morning. We were having brunch, Calvin noticed my wrist, he showed me a picture on his phone and—”

Calvin got out his cell. “Here, look. Classic melanoma. It could be a photograph of Brock’s wrist.”

The doctor took a brief glance at the screen, and then returned his attention to Brock’s wrist.