Oncology.
The referral had been to see a blood specialist. She said,”
blood.” The sign
plainly reads Oncology. The door, that belongs to the sign,
leads in to
a waiting room, half full of sallow faces. A
dozen
un-asked for words now crowd their way into our
heads to wait with us.
As we enter, the receptionist speaks on the
phone with
a funeral home in full earshot of all. Everyone
hears
the details
she blandly discusses. We sit down
as her
words sink in. We hadn’t thought past the word, anemia.
Lots of coughs,
some wear masks but not many.
It’s the
lottery. We all will be returning for new. The weight
is so
real and so enormous, breathing is hard.
It’s
agreed: tricked is how we feel. Misled or un-led. Oncology was
not the
word used by the doctor. Perhaps
in kindness,
to not cause worry, stress or simply panic.
I can now
see
two
presenters at an awards show on TV. They seem to be fondling the envelope
while bantering
a bit to stretch the time. Finally, one of them slides their finger
into the
sealed flap
and withdraws
the card from inside and begins to read the determination for
all to
hear. The camera cuts away and the announcers reveal
there is nothing
until next time. See
you next
month.
