All the way to the hospital, Phraser avoided his own reflection. He was aware that it was his own decision to shave his head so that when he went bald, it was by his own choice. That it was his own decision and not something which was forced on me. Still, it was hard for him to bring himself to look at it.
The wheel only stopped rolling once they arrived in the waiting room.
"We are ready for him," a nurse informed Marc and he began to push the wheelchair again, following closely behind the nurse in white uniform, into a spacious room with two more nurses on standby.
He pushed himself up and sat on the comfortable one-seater sofa while the nurses were getting ready. They had done the blood test, now it was the chemotherapy itself, something he had been dreading for the last few days.
