results

i'm glad i know
how hard it is to wait.
it can only make me a better nurse.
slightly more crazed and frayed, maybe
come to think of it though
that's how i'd describe some of the best nurses i know.

the hell of waiting for results
where against all psychic counsel, your heart rate rises and your breathing is shallow
and your bowels churn, threatening your comfort, as only they can do

you've done the emotional math
what's the worst they can find?
what's the best?
what will we do if....

you sit there making small talk
waiting for them to come deliver
your family's fate
in the form of scan results
on a piece of paper

a piece of paper that you know someone is probably carrying in their pocket right now
as they deliver the guy's fate next door

will this day be remembered?
will it be the start of the big sadness?
or will it be forgotten altogether

i will myself to the conclusion that whatever it is, we can handle it
we're close. we love each other. we take care of each other.
my non-zen alter ego whispers 'blah...blah...blah' in my ear.
alter ego knows the truth
the truth is that the thought of watching cancer strip my dad of his life, his pleasures, his limited body fat, makes me want to run from the building screaming.
sure, i can handle it
but i don't want to handle it

and just as i think i might implode from feigning casual
the nurse comes in with the results
and they're good
as good as they could've been, at least

my dad takes the paper
and my mom exhales
and my heart rate slows
and i give my bowels the 'as you were' nod
we hug
and make a few calls
and wave farewell to that bullet that just whizzed by

as we make an appointment to do it all again in three months
i could swear i felt my bowels roll their eyes

journey

it was only a few months ago when they got the news
when the months of nausea and strange pains and swelling made sense
when it appeared that nothing will ever make sense again

so begins the journey
the journey they never wanted to be on
their season tickets to the theatre are traded in for hospital parking tickets - lots of them

cue alison krauss and robert plant singing...
oh my darling
my darling
my heart breaks as you take your long journey

they'll come 2, sometimes 3 times a week.
and sit in the window seat
he'll get her water
and stroke her hair

he'll read to her
sometimes from the newspaper
sometimes from the bible

i'll offer him coffee, juice, a pillow
he'll say no thanks
maybe because he doesn' t want them
or maybe because he feels he's on duty

he'll watch her as she sleeps
i'll watch him look up, breathe deeply, then grab her hand and lower his head

oh the days will be empty
the nights so long without you my love
and when god calls for you i am left alone
but we will meet in heaven above

they'll come week after week
she'll get smaller and smaller

we'll get the call one morning from the hospice nurse
that she died overnight
those of us who cared for them will take a minute
just a minute in the back room to let it sink in
maybe to hug a little, maybe to swear a lot

god's given us years of happiness here
now we must part
and as the angels come and call for you
the pains of grief tug at my heart

there will be people and flowers and prayers and casseroles
all intended to apply pressure to that emotional hemorrhage

one journey ends and another begins
i hope there is someone there to get him water
and stroke his hair and read to him
as he embarks on his odyssey of grief