Exhale

I got up and got into the shower. I am ok.
Washed my hair with the new shampoo. Thought about getting back into bed.

I chose my clothes. I am ok.
I dried my hair. I sang to myself.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

I am ok.

I drank coffee. Rode to work. Listened to the radio. I am ok.
I checked my email. Had a meeting.
I said, bravely, "I will be out of the office this afternoon. I won't be back till tomorrow." I am ok. My voice didn't even shake.

I made phone calls. Sent email. I am ok.

My hands started to shake at about noon. I felt like I might throw up. I'm still ok.
I left the building. Said goodbye to the people around me. What will I know the next time I see them? The next time I walk through these doors? They can't smell this fear on me? This terrible not-knowing?

I have to be ok.

I went to lunch. I ate croutons. I am ok.
I teared up. I looked at my Mother's face. Her purse. The breast cancer ribbon on it. I am not joining this club. I am ok.

(It could be you. You could be next. Why not? Why not you? All those compliments on this beautiful hair and you will be bald and oh my god you will never have children why haven't wehadchildrenjohnwillbealoneandthelumpiskindofgonenowyouarelyingtoyourselfandwillyoucry whenyoudieandwillithurtandwherewillyougothisisn'treal)

I am ok.

I bought a book. Where will I be when I finish this book?

I held his hand. Felt the rain on my face. We found a parking spot.

I stopped breathing. I read "Cancer Center". I wondered if I had to throw up, how embarrassing it would be. I felt faint. Do people often faint here? They must.

Breast care center. I am ok.

hi I have an appointment. I see it in her eyes, "she's so young." She smiles at me, hands me a clipboard.

there are a lot of questions. I am ok.

There is construction happening. A man next to us jumps. Mom laughs at him. Everyone laughs. We are all ok.

I go into the room. Mom and John come with me. I am ok because they are here.

I put on the gown. It is too long and I feel like a child.

I am less ok.

I can't breathe.

The doctor walks in. He has a full orange mustache and no hair on his head.

Just lie back.

We're going to turn the lights off so it is extra terrifying.

In tv and movies ultrasounds look gentle. That is a lie.
They push hard. The gel is hot. I look at the ceiling tile.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

"Ok this all looks normal... (Pause) Hmmmm...."

I want to grab him by his mustache. What is this HMMMMM? I am dying. I am not ok.

I begin to cry.

He looks silently at the screen. I die a million deaths in my mind. I look at the ceiling. I'm dying. We should just start chemo now. No, that's a lie, there's no time for chemo because you're dying. You have two weeks. You have two minutes.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

I can't stop the tears from leaking out the side of my eyes. He does not look at me.
My stomach is quivering.

"Ok, everything looks great. You can stop worrying. You can breathe now."

I laugh, through my tears. I exhale. I am ok. I am really ok. I am totally ok.

Every little things gonna be alright.

Thanks Bob.