It’s been a harrowing three days in no-man’s-land.
I’m sitting in the waiting room of the hospital now. Cliff is having a biopsy procedure.
We received a call earlier today from his normal G.P., who offers excellent advice. ‘No point in worrying until you know what you’re worrying about.’ So we try to put it out of our minds. The best we can manage is to tread water and go through our day feeling nothing. We have to shut off our emotions and just wait.
It’s like we have flattened ourselves up against our bedroom wall because we’ve heard a monster in the hall. We try not to breathe, not to make a noise or blink. We listen hard for the monster, acutely aware he is in the house. But all I can hear is the deafening drum of my heart in my ears. If I let myself think, even slightly, about the possibilities of what that monster might be like, my brain wants to walk out into the hall and investigate. Like those stupid idiots in horror films who go toward the danger. Back, back, back. Back against the wall. Just wait. It’s safe there. Our curious brains want to demystify the fear, so we can deal with it better. It’s a different kind of frightening, not knowing what to be afraid of. We will meet with the oncogolist on Tuesday for the results.