Read More Short Fuses (Four Free Short Stories) Page 21
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The doctor unscrewed the cap off the tube of KY Jelly and smeared it over the rubber glove, making sure there was plenty over the first and second fingers.
His patient hitched his gown up around his waist and bent over the examination couch. “I had hoped that by the time I became Vice President I’d be past the stage where I’d have to let people shove their hands up my backside,” he joked.
The doctor smiled thinly and put down the tube. He knew how concerned his patient was, but he also knew that there was nothing he could say to put him at ease. The examination was purely routine, and neither man was expecting a change in the prognosis. “Okay, Glenn, you know the drill. Try to relax.
The patient chuckled dryly and opened his legs wider. “Relax, says the man. You know when I last relaxed?” He grunted as the doctor inserted two fingers into his rectum.
“Try to push down, Glenn. I know it hurts.”
“Pete, you have no idea.” The patient forced his backside down on to the probing fingers, biting down on his lower lip and closing his eyes. The doctor’s fingers moved further in and a long, low groan escaped the patient’s mouth. “I can’t believe that some men do this to themselves for pleasure,” he said.
“No accounting for folk,” agreed the doctor. He moved his fingers gently, feeling for the hard mass that the Vice President’s prostate had become. The patient tensed and gripped the sides of the couch. The doctor continued to probe the mass for several seconds and then slipped out his fingers. He stripped off his gloves and dropped them into a bin before handing his patient a paper towel to wipe himself with.
“How’ve you been feeling, Glenn?”
The patient shrugged. “As well as can be expected, considering I’ve got terminal cancer.” He forced a smile. “Sorry, shouldn’t let the bitterness creep in, right?” He finished cleaning himself and changed back into his clothes. “It’s the unfairness of it, you know?”
“Yeah, I know. There’s nothing fair about prostate cancer, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t believe the speed of it all. Six months ago, I was fine. Now . . .” He smiled ruefully. “Now I’m not so fine, right?”
The doctor made some notes on a clipboard. “It’s bigger.”
“A lot bigger, right?”
The doctor nodded. “It’s just about doubled over the past month.”
“That’s what’s so unfair,” said the patient. “Mitterand’s cancer took years to kill him. Hell, he even stood for re-election knowing that he had it. But mine . . .”
“There’s no predictable pattern, Glenn. I told you that.”
“I know, I know.” The patient adjusted his tie and checked his appearance in the mirror above the washbasin. “So what do you think?” he said, his voice matter-of-fact but his eyes fixed on the doctor’s reflection. “How long?”
There was no hesitation on the doctor’s part. The two men had known each other for many years and had developed a mutual respect that the doctor knew merited complete honesty. “Months rather than weeks,” he said, “Nine, possibly.”
“Nine productive months?”
“That would be optimistic. Four would be more realistic.”
The patient nodded. He turned around. “Enough time to get my affairs in order,” he said. “Ensure a smooth transition and all that.”
“How’s Elaine taking it?”
A sudden sadness flashed across the Vice President’s face. “She’s only just gotten over her father,” he said. “I intend to spend as much time with her as possible before . . .” He left the sentence hanging and gave a small shrug. “I’ll see you next week, then, Pete.” He headed for the door. “Give my love to Margaret.”
Two Secret Service agents in dark suits were waiting for the Vice President in the reception area. They escorted him to the elevator, one of them whispering into a concealed microphone as they walked.