They said it’d take one to two weeks for the pathology report to arrive…
If benign, I would get a postcard in the mail.
If cancerous, I would get a call from the doctor.
And so, I wait…
And with each passing day, a trip to the mailbox becomes an ever more stressful ordeal… heart beats faster as I see the mailman arrive… then as I open that squeaky mailbox door… with the thin hope that a simple post card is waiting inside.
And with each passing day, my ringtone feels more and more like the jolt from a taser. Every time the phone rings during business hours, my heart skips a beat. I can feel my anxiety rise as 8 am approaches and feel it subside as 6pm comes and goes. But the reprieve is only partial… and only temporary.
The days come and go.
Nothing but junk mail and medical bills… and just the usual smattering of phone calls, none from the doctor.
All the while, I imagine a chunk of my nose being sliced, stained, and mounted on a microscope slide in some sterile laboratory.
Insomnia and nausea ensue.
Anxiety grips me head to toe.
Just talking about it years later makes my palms sweat.