science, commerce, cancer
The scene is always the same: brightly coloured murals, rows of plastic seats, a television blaring somewhere just out of sight, crying babies, and shattered parents.
I'm forty years old and my medical care is still coordinated under the auspices of a children's hospital.
Sitting in the corridor waiting for my appointment in the cancer genetics clinic I wondered if I could just bolt, though I limited my actions to a refrain of "I don't want to be here." Repeated every two minutes.
