Holding My Breath


It’s a beautiful spring day in North Iowa. Bright, sunny, very windy and warm. Lower 70’s are expected for this afternoon. So you’d think this post would be full of light and the splendor of spring.

It’s not.

As I write this post, I’m waiting with bated breath for Chuck’s call. He had blood tests done this morning. Could be serious. Very serious. Or it could remain a ‘watch it and see’ kind of thing.
We knew this day was coming. We’ve talked about it extensively. I think that’s what some of the urgency has been about the past couple of weeks. A serious case of the ‘What If’s’ looming out there.

He says he’s not nervous. I pretend I’m not nervous. We both are trying to be strong for the other. Full well knowing this day is a fork in the road. The results have some power here. Potentially, the big scary kind of power. Life and death power. Can’t hold it back or deny it kind of power. Damn it. I’m really scared.

I’ve been watching the calendar up until today. Today I’m watching the clock. Tick, tick, tick. I’ve checked my phone at least a million times. To make sure the ringer is on. To make sure I didn’t somehow become tone-deaf and miss his call.

I wanted to go to the appointment with him today. He insisted it was no big deal. We both knew that wasn’t true. I don’t know if he’s just scared and doesn’t want me to see him like this. Or if it’s really the ‘nothing’ he says it is. Or if he isn’t going to tell the doctors that he really is having pain. He has minimized the pain over the past two days to ‘discomfort.’ Liar. Brave, silly liar. I love him. I do.

After the blood tests he had to wait three hours for the consultation. He was gonna call me after the blood draw, while he ate breakfast. He didn’t.

Trying not to worry. Trying to be patient. I’m not good at patience. Horrible at waiting. Anticipation only belongs to the ketchup ads. Not to real life results. Somewhere, out there, at Mayo Clinic, some lab assistant knows the results.

The consultation was scheduled for an hour ago. Tick, tick, tick. Check the phone again. Breathe, in and out. It’s easy.

Damn it. I’m really scared.


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