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May 20, 2024

There Is No Cure

By Pete Armetta

Jacob sat in the doctor's office, waiting. He was filled with worry and fed up. His symptoms had only worsened, and kept him up at night, too. When he called on Tuesday for an appointment and they told him the earliest the doc could see him was Friday, he knew he was in for a rough few days. Now he sat in his chair and his mind raced with all kinds of thoughts. After what seemed like an eternity, the nurse finally appeared.

"Jacob, the doctor will see you now."

"Oh that's great. I hate to wait."

The nurse led him down the little hallway to an even smaller room. She took his vitals and made some chitty-chat, but Jacob sat silently. He could feel the sweat on his face. He wondered what this doc would say. And would he do some good today?

The nurse left him with a magazine which he flipped through mindlessly. He sat as patiently as he could.

The doc appeared with his clipboard and stethoscope and in his full doctor regalia. Jacob always thought he looked like Trapper John MD or some other TV doctor he could never put his finger on.

"Hi Jacob, what seems to be the problem? Tell me what's been going on."

"Well, Doc, it seems that I just rant. I try to stop but I just can't. No matter what, all day and night. It's given me the biggest fright. I really don't know what to do. Can you please help? I've got no clue."

"What do mean you rant?" the doc asked. "What exactly is happening? It's okay, Jacob. Try to be specific about your symptoms and we'll see what we can do." The doc looked perplexed. He'd always known Jacob to be a quiet and low-key sort of fellow, not one to rant about anything.

This was out of character.

"Doc, it seems I've lost control. Inside of me, deep in my soul." Jacob was close to tears and looked at the doc appealingly, wanting and needing a glimmer of hope.

The doc flipped through the pages on the clipboard and looked at Jacob with thoughtful eyes. What in the world? "Jacob, I can see you're out of sorts." He scribbled down some notes with a pencil.

Jacob watched the doc writing and lost patience. "Doc, what is it, tell me please. I've tried real hard. I'm ill at ease. My head, it hurts like every day. From how I think and what I say. See, it won't stop, the raves and rants. Please, can't you hear? I'm in a trance."

The doc stepped back and suddenly it was as if a light bulb went over his head. "Jacob, I've got it." He reached up on the shelf and pulled down his old and dusty Doctor's Book of Unexplainable Diseases and quickly started to leaf through it. "It sounds like you have a very rare syndrome Jacob, and one I've never witnessed personally. Unfortunately from what I know, there is no cure. I'd give you a pill if I could, but only rest will help. There's not much else we can do."

Jacob stood up and was now eye to eye with the doc. He clutched and pulled on his white lab coat and pleaded:

"I need a breakthrough, can't you tell?
My life's become a living hell.
Please tell me what you can right now
There is no cure?
That's crazy wow
Doc, yesterday I saw a cop
I really tried to make it stop
He asked me what the hell was wrong
I answered him but sang in song
Please tell me now what can I do?
Please make it stop, I'm begging you!"

"Jacob, you have what's called Rhyme Disease. You're gonna have to learn to live with it."

Article © Pete Armetta. All rights reserved.
Published on 2014-04-07
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski. All rights reserved.
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