Waiting for the doctor

I wait and time seems to slow down,
I look around,
at the others there,
but they just stare
ahead, in a world of their own,
waiting, like me to see the doctor,
to hear words of comfort,
and what to do,
some piece of news,
that it will get better,
some hope,
that things won’t be so bad,
but always knowing,
that even he,
wrapped up in his science and his books,
can’t hide the truth,
can’t change what’s happening inside me,
waiting outside the doctor’s room,
just waiting.