The disease of our age

The disease of our age

Allan D. Parker, a middle-aged man with a slightly protruding belly and a fair amount of graying hair was walking down Azalea Street in a rather hasty pace. The weather was particularly hot this Saturday morning and the stream of salty sweat running down all over his chubby face was not making the situation any better – he just wanted to get to the doctor’s office and be done with his checkup as soon as possible. He definitely had better things to do in a sunny day like this and wasting his morning stuck in the GP’s office was not exactly what he’d like to be doing. But unfortunately, his usual headaches had gotten a lot more intense than they had been two years ago, when they first kicked into his everyday routine and visiting Dr Lawson was the only option he had left. Only he hoped this visit wouldn’t last long; his comfy armchair and his TV were waiting eagerly at home for his return.
The stairs to the first floor were the doctor’s office was, were much more tiring than Allan had expected. When he finally made it to the door with the bronze plaque that read “Doctor Edward M. Lawson, GP” the stream of sweat down his face had became so overflowing that it soaked the collar of his white shirt. Fortunately for him, the waiting area was empty and right after the old lady was gone, the doctor called him inside the examination area in his clear voice.
“Please, have a sit Mr. Parker.”
Allan crumbled on the leather armchair with a sigh of relief. It took him a couple of seconds to catch his breath and start to explain to the GP what accursed reason had forced him to climb all this hell of a staircase to his office at 9:30 in the morning.
“Hello, Dr. Lawson. I am Allan D. Parker, owner of Parker Real Estate Agency… You have heard of it before, right?”
The Dr. shook his head with a polite smile.
“A-anyway… I am here because I’ve been having a bad case of headaches lately and my children have insisted on my visiting a doctor, just to make sure that everything’s alright. That I’m pretty sure I am” he chuckled. “I’ve only had my last annual checkup a month ago and the doctors said I’m as healthy as a man my age could be”.
“I can see…” the GP muttered as he was glimpsing through the charts and papers Allan had sent him with his secretary just the day before. He had taken all the tests necessary from scratch in the local hospital but his lack of faith in his former doctor had set him on a search of a new, more reliable one; therefore, he had ended up visiting doctor Lawson. Now, his new physician was checking the MRIs and X-rays thoroughly, with a slight frown upon his young face; he seemed to be at least ten years younger than Allan was. Despite the only recent confirmation of his well-being, Allan felt several beads of cold sweat running down his face as the other man gave him his health record file back with the frown upon his face only deeper and more serious than before.
The middle-aged man felt his heart sinking at the doctor’s sigh.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, his voice kind of shaky as he clutched the file. Dr. Lawson didn’t answer; he only made himself more comfortable in his own armchair. This is going to be a long day, Allan thought miserably, and waited for the physician to announce his upcoming doom.
“Mr. Parker, how many hours do you work per day?”
Allan raised his eyebrow in surprise.
“Is this part of the examination?” At the doctor’s nod, Allan decided put his feelings of surprise and disbelief aside. “Well, I work from eight o’clock in the morning to six in the afternoon –I am always the first to arrive at my office and the very last to leave. You see, I am the actual owner of the Real Estate Agency and I have to make sure every single day that the project of my life is going perfectly fine”.
He chuckled awkwardly, but deep inside Allan was overwhelmed with pride and joy. His job was one of his life’s most important aspects and the fact that he was directing and managing it all by himself with so much success for the past thirty years was something he felt he had the right to brag about. The doctor gave another nod and scribbled down something on his notebook before he asked:
“Do you find that you have been stressed out a lot lately?”
“Well, of course I have been put under some professional pressure, but it’s only expected, isn’t it?” retorted Allan. “I mean, one day this Agency will be left for my son to take over, so I don’t mind spending a little more time at work for the sake of my son’s future professional success.”
Dr. Lawson took a couple more notes and lifted his gaze back to his patience plump face.
“You just mentioned you have a son… how old is he?”
“Oh, Tommy is a proper young man to begin with. He is currently studying business administration and is one of the brightest students of his year. He is twenty one and a half; I’m expecting him to graduate so that he can work at my side quite soon.” Tommy’s steady and admirable upbringing was something more for Allan to brag about. “You know, doctor, Tommy is such a responsible young man that he studies constantly, no matter the place and time. Even during the Holidays, he is usually closed in his bedroom working on an essay or something. He is such a hard-working lad…”
“So, you don’t really see your son often, do you?”
“Oh, but we talk on the phone at least twice a week!” exclaimed Allan. “My wife and I, we make sure to keep in regular contact with our only son, we can’t wait for him to graduate and get back to us…”
The tenderness Tommy’s thought had spread through Allan’s mind disappeared as a rush of pain overtook his head. The pain was so sharp that Allan had to press a hand against his temple, as if he was trying to prevent his brain form breaking out of his burning skull. He took a few seconds time before answering Lawson’s question about his wife’s profession.
“My wife, Sarah, is a lawyer. We have been married for twenty five years…” the doctor encouraged him to keep talking with a move of his hand. “We met while we were in university and we quickly became inseparable…” the fondness in Allan’s voice was quite evident; it felt as if a velvet veil had covered –even if temporarily- the pain that was plaguing his head. The memories of his university years and more specifically of the ones he had passed with Sarah had always had some kind of relaxing effect on him; he would often think of all the happy, carefree moments they had spent together when work, stress and the overall hustle and bustle were getting too much.
Dr. Lawson coughed, forcing Allan back into reality.
“Despite our little free time, Sarah and I are on good terms. We might not go on dates anymore but we’re sharing our quite family life, we watch TV every night, we talk about our days at work, we sometimes even eat together… But why are you asking all these things, anyway?” the man snapped, tired of his doctor’s inquisition. If there was something wrong with him why couldn’t the accursed charlatan just tell him and let him be in his misery? Why was he interrogating him as if Allan was a superstar and the doctor was a tabloid journalist? But before Allan could express his irritation in some other less polite way, Dr. Lawson ripped a page of his block and scribbled down something before handing the page to his patient.
“Mr. Parker, I officially confirm that your physical health is top notch. Other than losing some weight and exercising a little more, there is nothing more to be done for your physical health to improve; everything is just fine.”
“Really?” Allan couldn’t believe his ears. He was going to live; no horrible illness was going to shorten his lifespan, he was going to spend the rest of his life ding his job and spending quality time with his beloved wife and son. He felt lighthearted like a twenty year old, as if he had gotten back to the days were he would spend endless hours daydreaming, hand in hand with Sarah, making plans for their future lives without a single concern in mind. He happily unfolded the page the doctor had given him with trembling hand in order to read what was written in Lawson’s terrible, doctor-ish handwriting.
“Prozac? What is Prozac? Is it for my headaches?”
Dr. Lawson cleared his throat.
“Prozac is not a painkiller… but it might help you with your headaches. Mr. Parker, I suspect that your headache is a symptom of a combination of stress, anxiety and lack of general interest… I would suggest you to see a psychiatrist, you don’t have to hesitate or feel uneasy about it at all, lots of people…”
“Hey, wait.” exclaimed Allan in a half-joking voice. “I don’t have depression, if this is what you’re trying to say. I am perfectly fine; I have no reason to be miserable. It’s maybe the stress, but I don’t think it is actual depression.”
“Mr. Parker” the doctor sighed with a bitter smile “depression is an illness just like the others. The patient is not always in the place to realize what he’s suffering from. Anyway, there is nothing for you to feel uneasy about, as I’ve already mentioned; depression is quite common in our days.”
The doctor’s words kept echoing in Allan’s head while he was walking home. He was so skeptical that it took him time to realize that he was finally set on his favourite armchair and that the remote control was being held weakly in his hand. He followed his usual routine like a sacred ritual. He defrosted his meal, ate it while starring at the TV screen without watching and talked with his son on the phone for about ten minutes –Tommy was too busy to waste more time and Allan was lost in his own thoughts. A few minutes later, Sarah came home from work. She kissed him on the cheek and had a shower before falling sound asleep next to her husband, without wishing him goodnight.
Due to his safe, peaceful routine Allan would have forgotten the talk he had had with the doctor back at the latter’s office. But after he took his second tablet of paracetamol of the day without enjoying any relief from the raging pain in his skull, he started to reconsider the other man’s words. As he lied next to his sleeping wife, Allan took a glimpse of what looked like a piece of paper lying on his bedside table in the dark; despite the faint moonlight that was coming through the window Allan could still read the little word - Prozac- written across the page.