The Doctor

The Doctor sat in his room waiting. He sat in the chair behind his desk where he had filled out prescriptions and conversed over with his patients. The sun shone through the windows and the dust floated through the air as the light made it visible. The Doctor sat in the shadows as to avoid the light which was no easy task as the light broke through in all directions. It was now just dawn and the Doctor had been up the night pondering, staring blankly in one direction. The Doctor wasn't an insomniac, to the contrary, the Doctor was exhausted and yet he could not sleep. All he could do was think. Think. Think. Think. He had stayed up for a reason. That reason was that the Doctor had found out the previous day that he was dying. "The irony," he thought. For years he had helped countless patients with whatever illnesses that ailed them. For years he had given good news and bad. For years he had dealt with death, but never thought that one day he would also taste of the same cup that so many of his patients had. Cancer. How could he of all people get cancer? The Doctor had been on a diet for most of his medical life. College was the worst part of his life when it came to his diet, but surely that was forgivable as everyone lived off ramen and pizzas. Of course the Doctor had had his share of fast food, alcohol, and an occasional cigar, but in moderation. The Doctor didn't have a gym membership anymore, but rather worked out at home doing mostly calisthenics that wouldn't wear and tear his body like weights used to. The Doctor had no immediate family, no wife, no children, and therefore no stress. The cancer was a shock to all of his friends, well to the medical staff at the hospital who were not really friends, but mostly acquaintances forced to convene with the Doctor out of work ethics. The Doctor's friends had all married off and went their own ways. The Doctor did not bother to keep in touch, for what had he in common with them anymore? They were married, he wasn't. They had children, he didn't. They cared, he didn't. The Doctor wasn't a mean person, he was rather nice to the children that he treated, and treated everyone else with respect. The Doctor was just indifferent to many things. He had given good things without sounding happy and without a smile. He had given bad news with neither a sympathetic tone or even a merciful one. The Doctor did his work with diligence and did not converse unless spoken to. The Doctor was a ghost in the hospital, almost invisible to many of the staff members. Many did not know that he had worked in the hospital for years, but accepted that the Doctor liked to keep to himself and no one would refuse him that wish.
On this particular day the Doctor was overcome with emotion. No emotion came from his expression, but from his eyes. The eyes that have never glimmered or given a hint of satisfaction now revealed sorrow. The Doctor had always felt alone, but now facing death he was shaken by the fact that he was indeed alone. This was not the only thing that had kept him up all night of course, but everything else stemmed from this one fact. After realizing his death was a reality, the Doctor had realized that he had no one to tell. Well he had people to tell such as the people he worked with, but he had no one to care. There was no one that cared about what happened to the Doctor. He, in the first time in years, felt the overbearing loneliness that would consume him and he did not like it. The Doctor stayed up all night thinking and remembering his life. Life, is said, to flash before one's eyes right before death. The Doctor was not right before it, but was running towards it. So his life also will not flash before his eyes, but will be played as a film in his mind. The Doctor played all the times in his life that seemed important to him, all the times in which he was not alone. The first memory started playing several hours earlier the previous night. He was in high school then...