Brain Tumor (anglų k. leksikos namų darbas)

The moment Stanley had woken from his sleep, filled with explicit and dreadful nightmares, he was feeling a little off colour. Nothing frightened him more than reality itself: his low-paid job, his broken-down car and a pile of unpaid bills on the kitchen table. Sluggishly tumbling out of the bed, he knocked over a few empty bottles of cheap wine, lying on the ground. He drew the curtains and a bleak sunlight filled his empty room.

Instinctively following the course of his routine, he entered the bathroom to brush his teeth. He poured a palmful of cold water on his face, lift his head up and glanced into the mirror only to see a rather unpleasant sight: his face seemed to be unnaturaly peaky and the wrinkles, once merely visible, were now manifestly apparent. All that was left of the chirpy Stanley Bennet was his usual insolent stare.

- What the hell is wrong with me?, - he gasped silently.

He tried cleaning the mirror with his sleeve, but the picture didn‘t change – he still looked as if he was recently pulled out of the grave. The usual feeling of a ran down dog was nowhere near the condition he felt he was in now. He knew it was time to call his doctor.
He looked up the number of the local clinic, picked up the phone and occasionally missing the buttons with his trembly finger, slowly dialed the number.

- Good day, Dr. Lincoln‘s clinic‘s reception.
- Umm... Hello, my name is Stanley Bennet. I would like to see the doctor as soon as possible.
- Do you have an appointment? What seems to be the problem?
- No, I don‘t have an appointment. You see, my physical health was tip-top yesterday, but today, in addition to the regular grumpiness and the feeling of being down in the dumps, I look like a goddamn corpse and I certainly feel like one.
- Well, from what you have said, I‘d presume that it‘s more of a mental condition you are suffering from. Although, you can never be sure, so I can put you down for an appointment on the 25th of March.
- But... That‘s three days days from now! You must be kidding! What if it will get worse?! I already feel like my soul is drifting away from my body!
- Then we‘ll send the paramedics to pick you up, Mr. Bennet.
- What... I... Well, fine, the 25th of March will do.
- Goodbye, Mr. Bennet.

Stanley hung up the phone. He was completely cheesed off by the way the receptionist perceived his mournful cries.

-Then I guess I‘ll just have to wait and see what comes next, - he thought.

He spent the next few hours killing time - sitting in his living room, reading the newspaper. As time passed, he was beginning to feel blue: small glistening drops of cold sweat gathered on his pale forehead, never-ending headache seemed to have assumed the form of sharp needles, piercing right through the brain, his vision became blury and the sounds he heard echoed through his mind with utmost obscurity. It was getting serious. Stanley started surfing the net. He entered the symptoms he was facing and then found and accidentally came across the article about brain tumors. In a tremolous voice he started reading aloud:

- „Brain tumor symptoms vary from patient to patient, and most of these symptoms can also be found in people who do NOT have brain tumors. Therefore, the only sure way to tell if you have a brain tumor or not is to see your doctor and get a brain scan. The main symptoms are: a headache, nausea and vomiting, vision and hearing problems, shivering, constantly turning into seizures. “.

He stopped reading. This was enough to make him shed tears. A sudden feeling of weakness knocked him down on the ground. He crawled to the phone like a helpless slug, clasping his fists and cursing at the heavens. He somehow managed to enter the clinic‘s number and using the last bits of strength he had, roared into the phone:

- It‘s Mr. Bennet! To hell with the paramedics, send me a hearse, I‘m dying! I live in..., - not having finished the sentence Stanley passed out.

- Come into the light, Stanley.
- What...? Where am I?
- Can you see the light, Stanley?
- Wh... Yes, I do... I do see the light!
- Follow the light, Stanley.
- Yes Lord, I am coming...!
- Good, Mr. Bennet., - the doctor turned off the flashlight and stepped away from the patient.

Stanley came to and looked around. A doctor stood by his bed, writing something down in his papers.

- Doctor... Am I... Am I Alive?
- Of course you are, Mr. Bennet. If you were dead, you would be talking to god about your sins.
- I don‘t believe in god.
- That‘s a bad thing to say, Mr. Bennet. Having survived one of the worst cases of food poisoning I have ever seen in 17 years of work, one must be obliged to thank god.
- Food poisoning...? Check your papers again, all of the symptoms indicate that I have a brain tumor, I checked the internet for information, when that damn receptionist refused to let me see you without an appointment.
- We did all the necessary tests, Mr. Bennet. You might still feel a little sick and throw up a few times, but that is a natural response of the body. You‘ll be out and in the pink by tomorrow, I guarantee.
- But... You can‘t let me go... I‘m dying, doctor! Can‘t you see that? What kind of specialist are you?
- Don‘t question my competence, Mr. Bennet. Dying you say? Well, maybe just in spirit. But I can recommend you a few specialists, who‘ll make you feel full of beans once again, Mr. Bennet.

The next day he was back home, desperately trying to recall every detail of his „struggle“ for life. Why was he so certain of his death? Perhaps because deep inside he wanted this to happen? Every single day of his grotesque life he thought about suicide, and when a slight illness came, he turned it into a tragedy, wishing this was the end of his suffering. Stanley never got what he wished for. He continued living his meaningless life, cursing people, who never paid any attention to his problems, the neighbour‘s rottweiler, which kept barking during the night, when his owner was out and partying and the goddamn chinese food restaurant, for nearly costing him his life.