LOST
Hope For the Best and Expect the Worst

Stew and Marc sat in the reception area of the Charlotte Neurology Center waiting for Stew’s name to be called for his appointment. Marc flipped through an Entertainment Weekly; Stew chewed his nails, nearly to the quick, in anticipation of whatever news the doctor had for him.

“Did you read this thing about Britney Spears?” Marc asked, trying to take Stew’s mind off things.

“I’m sorry. What?” Stew replied, apparently just back from his own little world.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about this, Stew. You had your CT scan, what, a few days before you left the hospital?” Stew nodded in response. “I’m sure if it was going to be bad news, they’d have brought you in sooner.”

“Maybe.”

“Unless it’s taken them this long to figure out how to give you the bad news.”

“Thanks. That’s a huge help.”

“Sorry.”

“Stewart Kasey?” the receptionist called out from behind her desk.

Stew stood up and approached the reception desk. “Dr. Livengood will see you now,” the receptionist told him. Stew thanked her and then turned to Marc, “Hopefully it won’t take too long.”

“Don’t worry about it. Good luck.”

Stew opened the door to the hallway and stepped inside to see a half dozen office doors. To his left was a window to the reception.

“Straight down and it’s the fourth door on the right. Room seven,” the receptionist pointed out.

Stew nodded and headed down the hall, anxious to hear the news, good or bad, but afraid it would be even worse than he thought. As Stew knocked on the door, he felt his stomach churn like an automatic batter mixer.

“Come in, Mr. Kasey,” a voice cam from inside the room. Stew opened the door slowly and peeked in. “Have a seat, Stewart,” Dr. Livengood said comfortingly as Stew sat in the chair across from a large, walnut desk. “Do you go by Stewart?”

“Stew, actually.”

“Okay… Stew.” The look on the doctor’s face quickly transformed from serious to sympathetic. “Expecting bad news?”

“Hope for the best. Expect the worst. That’s what my grandfather always said.”

“Well, I didn’t see much hope in your eyes when you walked in. Anyway, perhaps I can send you out of here a bit better than that. First, I need to ask you a couple of questions. Have you been seeing anything strange since you woke up? Hallucinations… anything?”

Stew thought of the faerie flying alongside the van, and the brownie that tried to walk off with his dad’s keys but decided that it would be better if he didn’t consider those. “No. Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Huh-uh.”

“How’s your vision? Any spots, darkness or dimming?”

“No.”

“Have you blacked out at all?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Okay, well, the results from your CT scan were a lot better than I thought they’d be. I sent them to another neurologist friend of mine at Duke just to get a second opinion. She said it looked excellent considering the damage your occipital lobe sustained.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Yes. It is. I had considered forbidding you to drive, but seeing how quickly you’ve recovered… I’ve changed my mind. Although, I would like you to refrain from driving yourself for another two months, just to be sure. Plus, you’re still on pain medicine, anyway.”

“That… is really good news.”

“I thought it would be. Now, if anything changes—hallucinations, blackouts—you let me know right away.”

“I will. Thank you, Dr. Livengood.”

“You’re welcome. We’re done, as long as you don’t have any questions.”

“I can’t think of any right now.”

“Well, if you do have any later on, just call me. Here’s my card,” the doctor said as he pulled a business card from the wooden holder on his desk and handed it to Stew.

Stew emerged from the hallway into the reception area, glowing like he had just won the spelling bee.

“Good news?” Marc asked as he stood up.

“Yep. In two months, everything will be back to normal.”

“Did you tell him about the…” Marc began to make discreet fluttering gestures with his hands.

“No! Are you kidding?” Stew said as he walked toward the door. “Hallucinations are bad and things would definitely not be back to normal in two months if he knew about them.”

“So, your definition of normal includes punk faeries and wallet-stealing brownies?” Marc was less quiet as they walked across the parking lot to his car.

“It was a set of keys—not a wallet, and yes, I can live with faeries as long as I can drive and I don’t have to live with my parents for the rest of my life.”

“Alright. Then, I can, too. What’s for lunch?”

“You are constantly thinking about food.”

“Yeah. And? I’m working on my abs,” Marc said as he patted the extra padding on his belly.

“Abs? What abs? And how does eating help your abs?”

“Actually, I’m working on the protective layer covering my abs,” Marc said, matter-of-factly, as he unlocked the car door.

“Ah, I see,” Stew replied as he got in. “Wait a second. I’m supposed to meet Alex and Wiz for lunch at Kristy’s. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Marc said as his phone rang. “Marc Massey,” he said after flipping open his phone. “Hey, Gretchen. What’s up? All right. I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Give me about thirty minutes. Okay?” He flipped the phone shut and put it in his pocket. “Damn. Lunch is not going to happen for me today. My projectionist is sick and can’t come in. The first show starts in forty-five minutes.”

“Okay. Just drop me off at Kristy’s, if that’s all right.”

“Sure. I will meet Alex someday. I promise.”

“I know. It’s okay.”