As soon as the doctor walked through the door I knew I was in for bad news. He made that face, the aggressive teeth-showing frown that people usually wear when witnessing something revolting. The face that is generally followed by the sound of breath being sharply inhaled through the bared teeth. Then, the final nail in the coffin, the slow head shake. "Is it bad, doc?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. My palms were sweating like crazy, my fingers twisted together like they did when I was a kid and I was trying to work out how my uncle did that thing where it looked like he had one, long continuous finger wriggling through the palms of his hands. "Yeah," the doctor finally exhaled, his eyes lowered towards the chart resting on top of his tablet. I tried to sneak a look at it, but the numbers and acronyms, the results of my blood test, meant nothing to me. "It's ok," I assured him. "Just tell me." He nodded very slowly for se
What fills the eye, fills the heart