It’s the night before my appointment and the fear is here.
It’s that time of the year.
Time to go see the oncologist.
I am fine.
I know I am fine.
That knowledge, tonight, doesn’t ease the fear.
I’ll be sitting in the waiting room.
My appointment isn’t until 3:30pm
but I’ll be early.
If I get there early maybe they will call me back sooner.
Then I’ll know I’m fine.
Still sitting in the waiting room.
My pulse will be beating hard enough for me to notice.
The anxiety will step up to be noticed.
I will have sweat on my upper lip.
I will be crossing and uncrossing my legs.
Sitting in the waiting room.
I will have already flipped through all the old Redbook, Good Housekeeping and Better Homes and Gardens magazines
on the coffee table.
I will need to go to the bathroom.
They will weigh me – I must go to the bathroom.
Why haven’t they called me?
I came in before him.
Why does he get to go back before me?
Should I check to make sure they remember I’m here?
I have checked the email on my phone.
I have sent text messages to anyone I thought might message me back to take my mind off of where I am.
I have started reading a boring book for work.
I can’t focus.
I am biting my nails.
How did my heart get in my throat?
I am watching the receptionist.
If I make eye contact
she will have to call me back.