Suspiciously July

I find my mind pacing,

Back and forth,

Between my MRI results,

And any other thing possible.

What will they be today?

I am sweating through my clothes,

Not from the July heat,

But from the rapid circulation,

Within my body.

I do this every time.

Between the MRI and my appointment,

There is an hour and a half window.

To maintain the little flame,

Of sanity and hope in my mind,

I plan to go to a cafe,

A few city blocks away,

To quiet my intrusive thoughts.

My Mom scurries with me,

Like a shadow.

I am on edge,

And could blow at any point.

I wish I was not like this,

However I am trying to maintain composure.

This edge is not from rage,

Nor pity,

But from anxiety of the unknown.

My post traumatic stress disorder floods in,

Every MRI day,

As a tsunami,

Drowning all rational,

Positive thoughts,

With anxiety and dread of discovering,

Diagnosing,

And removing the tumor,

All while in a fog of disbelief,

Overwhelmed to the point of numbness.

My past lived experiences.

I feel awful for my Mom,

To see me on edge,

Especially if I unmeaningly,

Take my frustration out on her.

Okay enough of that.

These intrusive thoughts must go.

I am not placing pity on myself.

As I open the door of the cafe,

The flame grows a little bigger.

It is going to be a great day,

I need to manifest it.

I grab my Mom and I both a donut,

And coffee.

Life is good….

Right?

We sit at a table by the window.

As I’m drinking my cold brew,

I start reading my book,

To escape into the story within the pages.

A notification appears on my phone,

*You have a new test result*,

Ah.

Already?

Cool,

No more waiting.

I open to the results,

As I skim the results,

I see the words,

2MM FOCUS OF ENHANCEMENT.
IN RIGHT OCCIPITAL LOBE. 
SUSPICIOUS.
CONTINUE TO MONITOR.

Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!

I cannot do this shit all over again.

A new spot of my brain too?

This has to be a fucking joke.

The tears start to swell,

And snuffs the flame.

My cold brew is sloshing,

In my unsteady hand.

I look up at my Mom.

Before she can utter a word,

I blurt out,

It might be back.
The fucking tumor. 
I refuse to do this again.
I cannot do it all over again.

Be bold.

*disclaimer – do not worry, story will continue, I am currently healthy & continuing to be.