For a couple of months I’ve had a recurring sore throat and the reason for it occurred to me just the other night: cancer. It’s so obvious. I didn’t sleep much after that, what with the writing of my last will and testament and choosing who among my friends will replace me as M’s wife. And the next day was…hazy. I did visit the doctor; when I explained over the phone that I had to come and get my cancer checked, they fit me right in.
The visit was short. As it turns out, I have strep throat, the kind that is accompanied by no symptoms. Which is… good? My doctor reassured me that it’s probably not cancer, that I may live to see my youngest graduate from high school, that yes, I still have to worry about retirement accounts.
While we were waiting for Dr. Amy, I noticed B had his pants on backwards. This isn’t unusual. It happens often enough I consider it his own personal brand.
I noticed Dr. Amy hasn’t put updated photos of her kids on the walls in about eight years. Still her daughter sports chubby baby legs poking out of a pink frilly bathing suit; still her son is twig skinny and showing off the abbreviated muscles in his arms.
I noticed that despite my certainty that death-by-cancer was only weeks away, I was still agitated about the work coming due. You’d think I’d be concerned at some higher level – the question of God, sorrow to be abandoning my boys. But no. The Mascoma Savings Bank newsletter won’t get written without me!
Later in the day B and I had snacks on the porch. The carpenters banged hammers and laughed at muttered jokes around the corner while we sat two in the rocking chair and swung our feet. It was warmish, sweetish, quietish, delish. Glad to be around for another round.