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A/N: yall want depression? ill give you depression. 🥴 don't cry :) xx
Warning : Angst. Very Angsty.
You sat in the waiting room, shaking. Nervous and alone. You chose to be alone. You felt so vulnerable, because you knew that whatever news the doctor gave you, would determine your future.
You could've went to Bruce, but this was something you felt needed to be done alone.
The doctor exited the room, calling you in. They finished running the tests. "Y/N L/N?" A doctor called. You stood up from your seat, slowly inching towards the doctor.
You entered the room, closing the door behind you, before greeting her. "Right, Ms L/N. Good morning to you sweetheart." She spoke. She was formal, yet friendly.
"You already know about me, yes? Your previous doctor couldn't come in today, due to surgery. I'm Doctor Bartley." She smiled. You nodded in response.
"Now, you recently came here last week for testing, correct?" She questioned, clicking her pen once. You nodded again, and she began writing on a paper.
"Do you remember the date?" She asked. "Fourteenth of December." You replied. She soon began typing on her computer.
"Ah, I see. Can you describe the symptoms you had before coming here?" She quizzed.
"Well, I so suddenly started getting unexplainable bleeding and unexpected weight loss.. It has gradually been getting worse..." You explained to her.
She nodded, running a hand through her hair, before typing at the computer again. "Right.." She mumbled clicking her mouse a few times.
"Okay Y/N, I've got your results printed out on this paper, if you want to read them for yourself." She told you, handing you a neatly folded paper, warm and freshly printed.
You inhaled and exhaled, trying to steady your breathing. You were trying to avoid having a panic attack at a time like this. You unfolded the paper, reading the words in horror.
You blinked a couple of times to see if you were dreaming. This couldn't be real. You re-read the paper at least three more times to see if your mind was playing tricks on you.
But it wasn't a trick. It was one hundred percent positive, you were diagnosed with cancer. Not just any cancer. Terminal cancer. Your tears blurred your vision, soon falling on to the paper.
"I'm so sorry sweetheart. If it wasn't terminally diagnosed, I would've done everything in my power to help." She explained, handing you a tissue.
"I wish I wasn't the one to say this, but to the closest estimate possible, you have approximately three weeks left." She frowned, rubbing your back.
