God Whispers

  That awful pain     1984 Heavy set-in rain beats against the side of the grimy old plastic and metal phone booth. Water gushes in filthy streams down the sides. I shiver and try not to breathe in the stink of cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes.   Outside the world is grey.   Everywhere I look there’s pouring rain, gloomy skies, bodies huddling under poking umbrellas. Damp people scurry across the puddly road, horns blare irritably. Car headlights splash smudges of light through the driving rain.   Everything seems depressing outside – and inside. Pain nags at my back, drags down my leg. The doctor’s words clang in my mind, over and over. I’ve just come from the appointment. He frowned as he poked and prodded my sore stomach, then called his doctor-wife to prod some more.   They disappeared behind a screen, then he emerged, serious-faced. His words shattered my heart. Handing me some forms, he announced, ‘You need to have these tests. I’m sorry to say, you probably h