Rustydust
Active member
The woman sat in the waiting room wringing her handkerchief in her hands. It was already soggy from the many tears that it had soaked up in the last 30 minutes or so. The worry was etched on her face as if it had been tattooed into it. Her blue gray eyes darted back and forth from the door on the examining room to the large clock on the wall. The tick of it’s second hand keeping tempo with the heavy thumping of her own heart. How much longer she wondered? What was taking so long? What could they be finding out that was forcing her to agonize all this time? Why didn’t someone tell her what was going on?
Finally the heavy wooden door to the examining room opened, startling her. The doctor was a small man as men go. Probably no more that five six or seven. He had a neatly groomed beard and wore his reading glasses on top of his baldhead when we were not peering through them. He looked over at the woman as she slowly rose from the cold plastic chair that had been her perch for the last half-hour. He walked over to her and held his hand out to her. “Mrs. Adams? The exam is complete. Perhaps it is best that we talk in my office.” She felt her legs turn to rubber and almost had to return to her chair but the doctor’s grip helped to keep her on her feet. “Doctor.....” she began. “In my office please Mrs. Adams” he interrupted. “We will talk in my office. Please come with me.” She felt her heart sink and felt a fear that she had never known before in her life. A fear that she could never have dreamed been so intense.
The Doctor closed the door behind them and sat the woman down on a heavily padded leather chair. He walked around her and sat down behind his desk and folded his hands in front of him on top of the pristine blotter. He offered her a glass of water but she just slowly shook her head. He cleared his throat and began. “Mrs. Adams, the test that we did on your husband was conclusive. I am afraid that we have some grave news for you. Do you think that you will be able to listen to what I have to tell you with the love and courage that your husband will need you to have right now? I can arrange for the nurse to bring you a mild sedative before we begin if you wish.” The woman sucked back a sob and shook her head again. “No, Doctor. Whatever you have to tell me, you can tell me now. Whatever it is, no matter how bad it is, I will be able to deal with it.” The doctor nodded his head and rose from his chair. Turning to look out the window he locked his fingers behind his back. He rocked back and forth on his heals and sighed softly. “Mrs. Adams, to begin, this is probably going to be even worse news than you expected to hear. It will be, simply put, devastating. Are you sure you do not want a sedative? It could help” The woman closed her eyes and felt a tidal wave of nausea sweep though her. She breathed in and out several times holding in each breath a bit longer each time. Finally she could once again speak. “I’m ready, Doctor. Tell me, is it...is it...cancer? Does he have.....cancer?” The doctor turned to face the woman again. He knelt in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “No. He is cancer free. But, I wish that it was cancer that he was afflicted with. Cancer we can treat. Some cancers anyway. But what your husband has there is no cure for. There never has been anyone ever cured of it, and other doctors and scientist much wiser than I say that there never will be a cure as well. It is an addiction. An addiction that is stronger and has more of a grip on a man’s will and his soul than all the other addictions known to man combined. Your husband, Mrs. Adams, your husband has......Whistlepigitis.” The woman uttered a garbled nooooooo! before she clutched her hands to her face and her eyes opened up in a flood of tears. The doctor held the woman firmly but gently as she moaned and cried. The doctor motioned for the nurse standing at the corner of the room to bring her the two blue pills in the shallow paper cup. He gave them to the woman and handed her a small glass of water to wash them down with. The woman gulped the pills and water and immediately returned to her sobbing. After several minutes she had gathered herself enough to stutter out a question. “How....how did this happen? How could this have happened? Why could I not see this happening to him? What could I have done to prevent this from happening to him?” She implored him with eyes for an answer. The doctor turned back to the window. “Tell me Mrs. Adams, over the last year or so, did you notice that your husband was starting to lose interest in the things that he used to enjoy? Have you noticed him starting to have a greater interest in going out early in the day with small caliber rifles, and then not coming back until after dark? When talking to his friends, is he always making mention of splatter, gut piles, and carnage?” The woman took in a deep breath. “Yes.” She said. “Yes, that and more. Much more.” The doctor again faced the woman. “More? In what way, Mrs. Adams? Please tell me.” She thought for a moment and began again. “Well, he stared buying .22 ammo by the box, then by the brick, then by the case, then later by the pallet. When not out shooting, he was spending countless hours at his reloading bench turning out thousands of rounds of ammo. If we were out in the car going somewhere and he saw a small animal run across the road, he would always point his finger at it and make......make this sound” The doctor’s brow furrowed. “ Sound?” he asked “what sort of sound?” She pointed her finger at a painting on the wall. “Sort of, you know, sort of like this: Bang! Thock! Bang! Thock!” she said. The doctor looked at the painting that she was pointing her finger at. “’Thock?” he queried. “You husband is going ‘Bang’ followed by a ‘Thock’?” she nodded. “Yes, whenever a small animal is in sight. And then, THEN he always says ‘Didja see that? Huh? Didja see that? Did you see that? Didja? Didja?’” She began to weep once again. The doctor turned once more and faced the window wishing the pills would hurry and take effect. The doctor cleared his throat. “Mrs. Adams, this is a difficult question that I am going to ask you. A very difficult question, but it must be asked. Mrs. Adams, are you willing to sign the papers to have your husband committed? We need to have your husband institutionalized as soon as possible if there is to be any hope whatsoever. Do you think you can do that? Are you brave enough to do that?” Mrs. Adams looked up to the ceiling, then down at her shoes then over to the doctor. She let out a long sigh and wiped away more tears. “Yes, doctor. If you think it is for the best. I will sign the papers.” The doctor helped the woman to her feet. “Good.” he said “Very good. I will have Nurse Brown help you with the paperwork. Oh, and Mrs. Adams? You will need to get all of your husband’s guns together and bring them to my office. I will look after them until you husband is deemed cured. If that day ever comes that is.” The woman dabbed at her eyes with the hanky again and smiled at the doctor. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much. I will do it today. Bless you.” The nurse put her arm around the woman and led her down the hall. The doctor quietly closed the door behind them. Again he went to the window and gazed out at the lawn. He saw a squirrel darting across the grass and stop to nibble at a small flower. A broad grin slowly spread over his face and he raised his finger to the glass, cocked his thumb and pointed at the rodent. “Bang. THOCK! I gotcha you little bastard!” he laughed to himself “And soon I will have even more guns to kill you guys with! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Boowhahahahahaha!”
Finally the heavy wooden door to the examining room opened, startling her. The doctor was a small man as men go. Probably no more that five six or seven. He had a neatly groomed beard and wore his reading glasses on top of his baldhead when we were not peering through them. He looked over at the woman as she slowly rose from the cold plastic chair that had been her perch for the last half-hour. He walked over to her and held his hand out to her. “Mrs. Adams? The exam is complete. Perhaps it is best that we talk in my office.” She felt her legs turn to rubber and almost had to return to her chair but the doctor’s grip helped to keep her on her feet. “Doctor.....” she began. “In my office please Mrs. Adams” he interrupted. “We will talk in my office. Please come with me.” She felt her heart sink and felt a fear that she had never known before in her life. A fear that she could never have dreamed been so intense.
The Doctor closed the door behind them and sat the woman down on a heavily padded leather chair. He walked around her and sat down behind his desk and folded his hands in front of him on top of the pristine blotter. He offered her a glass of water but she just slowly shook her head. He cleared his throat and began. “Mrs. Adams, the test that we did on your husband was conclusive. I am afraid that we have some grave news for you. Do you think that you will be able to listen to what I have to tell you with the love and courage that your husband will need you to have right now? I can arrange for the nurse to bring you a mild sedative before we begin if you wish.” The woman sucked back a sob and shook her head again. “No, Doctor. Whatever you have to tell me, you can tell me now. Whatever it is, no matter how bad it is, I will be able to deal with it.” The doctor nodded his head and rose from his chair. Turning to look out the window he locked his fingers behind his back. He rocked back and forth on his heals and sighed softly. “Mrs. Adams, to begin, this is probably going to be even worse news than you expected to hear. It will be, simply put, devastating. Are you sure you do not want a sedative? It could help” The woman closed her eyes and felt a tidal wave of nausea sweep though her. She breathed in and out several times holding in each breath a bit longer each time. Finally she could once again speak. “I’m ready, Doctor. Tell me, is it...is it...cancer? Does he have.....cancer?” The doctor turned to face the woman again. He knelt in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “No. He is cancer free. But, I wish that it was cancer that he was afflicted with. Cancer we can treat. Some cancers anyway. But what your husband has there is no cure for. There never has been anyone ever cured of it, and other doctors and scientist much wiser than I say that there never will be a cure as well. It is an addiction. An addiction that is stronger and has more of a grip on a man’s will and his soul than all the other addictions known to man combined. Your husband, Mrs. Adams, your husband has......Whistlepigitis.” The woman uttered a garbled nooooooo! before she clutched her hands to her face and her eyes opened up in a flood of tears. The doctor held the woman firmly but gently as she moaned and cried. The doctor motioned for the nurse standing at the corner of the room to bring her the two blue pills in the shallow paper cup. He gave them to the woman and handed her a small glass of water to wash them down with. The woman gulped the pills and water and immediately returned to her sobbing. After several minutes she had gathered herself enough to stutter out a question. “How....how did this happen? How could this have happened? Why could I not see this happening to him? What could I have done to prevent this from happening to him?” She implored him with eyes for an answer. The doctor turned back to the window. “Tell me Mrs. Adams, over the last year or so, did you notice that your husband was starting to lose interest in the things that he used to enjoy? Have you noticed him starting to have a greater interest in going out early in the day with small caliber rifles, and then not coming back until after dark? When talking to his friends, is he always making mention of splatter, gut piles, and carnage?” The woman took in a deep breath. “Yes.” She said. “Yes, that and more. Much more.” The doctor again faced the woman. “More? In what way, Mrs. Adams? Please tell me.” She thought for a moment and began again. “Well, he stared buying .22 ammo by the box, then by the brick, then by the case, then later by the pallet. When not out shooting, he was spending countless hours at his reloading bench turning out thousands of rounds of ammo. If we were out in the car going somewhere and he saw a small animal run across the road, he would always point his finger at it and make......make this sound” The doctor’s brow furrowed. “ Sound?” he asked “what sort of sound?” She pointed her finger at a painting on the wall. “Sort of, you know, sort of like this: Bang! Thock! Bang! Thock!” she said. The doctor looked at the painting that she was pointing her finger at. “’Thock?” he queried. “You husband is going ‘Bang’ followed by a ‘Thock’?” she nodded. “Yes, whenever a small animal is in sight. And then, THEN he always says ‘Didja see that? Huh? Didja see that? Did you see that? Didja? Didja?’” She began to weep once again. The doctor turned once more and faced the window wishing the pills would hurry and take effect. The doctor cleared his throat. “Mrs. Adams, this is a difficult question that I am going to ask you. A very difficult question, but it must be asked. Mrs. Adams, are you willing to sign the papers to have your husband committed? We need to have your husband institutionalized as soon as possible if there is to be any hope whatsoever. Do you think you can do that? Are you brave enough to do that?” Mrs. Adams looked up to the ceiling, then down at her shoes then over to the doctor. She let out a long sigh and wiped away more tears. “Yes, doctor. If you think it is for the best. I will sign the papers.” The doctor helped the woman to her feet. “Good.” he said “Very good. I will have Nurse Brown help you with the paperwork. Oh, and Mrs. Adams? You will need to get all of your husband’s guns together and bring them to my office. I will look after them until you husband is deemed cured. If that day ever comes that is.” The woman dabbed at her eyes with the hanky again and smiled at the doctor. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you so much. I will do it today. Bless you.” The nurse put her arm around the woman and led her down the hall. The doctor quietly closed the door behind them. Again he went to the window and gazed out at the lawn. He saw a squirrel darting across the grass and stop to nibble at a small flower. A broad grin slowly spread over his face and he raised his finger to the glass, cocked his thumb and pointed at the rodent. “Bang. THOCK! I gotcha you little bastard!” he laughed to himself “And soon I will have even more guns to kill you guys with! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Boowhahahahahaha!”
