Chapter 11
Dr. Brayer took his glasses off as he looked up from the papers he’d been studying and closed the file folder as he met Gavin’s eyes.
Shit.
The look on the doc’s face told him all he needed to know, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Gavin would listen to the all the explanations, and options, and eventualities that he was sure his doctor was about to lay out, but for all intents and purposes, Brayer’s facial expression had delivered the test results for him.
“I take it I’m not getting back up in the air anytime soon.”
“It could be worse, Gavin. This isn’t a death sentence. Nothing like that.”
“If I can’t fly, it’s as good as one.”
“Don’t talk like that. This is a condition that likely won’t affect your day-to-day life.”
“Except for the fact that my day-to-day life will be on the ground.” His voice had lost every bit of color. That seemed fitting to him. That’s what the future looked like, too.
“True,” Dr. Brayer said, not unkindly. “But you’re not going to lose your sight. Your depth perception shouldn’t even be affected enough to keep you from driving. If you weren’t a pilot, you may have never even known this tumor was there.”
“I get it. My tumor’s so benign it practically doesn’t exist. It’s a molehill, not a mountain. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Dr. Brayer sighed. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant. This is going to be a huge adjustment, and I understand that. It simply concerns me when I hear patients talk about life not being worth living. If you’re struggling, there are counseling services I can refer you to.”
Gavin barked out a harsh laugh. “No offense, Doc, but having to talk this out with a shrink is maybe the only thing that could make it worse.”
“I understand the mindset. I won’t say I agree. Please keep it in mind should you have a change of heart.”
Gavin looked at the floor. He didn’t know why getting this news was hitting him so hard. After all, hadn’t he known deep down this was coming? Hadn’t he been all but positive that this is exactly what the test results would say?
Still. Being even 99.99 % sure wasn’t the same as hearing the words. That cold, hard 100% final diagnosis. And, the topper, seeing that resigned look of compassion in the doctor’s eyes. That had been the nail in the coffin for that last vestige of hope. Gavin felt gray and empty inside, his chest a yawning cavern that threatened to swallow him whole.
He raised his eyes to meet the doctor’s again. Gavin wasn’t one to wallow, and he wasn’t one to make a scene. If this was going to be reality, it was time to face it. “All right, Doc. Let’s talk next steps. What do we do now?”