The Waiting Room

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.

Tomorrow.

At 3:00pm.

I’ll be sitting in the waiting room.

My appointment isn’t until 3:30pm

but I’ll be early.

I’m always

 early.

If I get there early maybe they will call me back sooner.

Then I’ll know I’m fine.

Tomorrow.

At 3:15pm.

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.

Tomorrow.

At 3:25pm.

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.

Tomorrow.

At 3:30pm.

It’s time.

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?

Tomorrow.

At 3:45pm.

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.

Tomorrow.

At 3:50pm.

Cathleen Reid?

It’s time.

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4 thoughts on “The Waiting Room

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