By J Cassidy
These chairs are uncomfortable. I hope we’re not here too long. I mean, all he’s doing is staring at those x-rays. He looks shocked. Hey, don’t put them away I want to see them… no don’t sit so close I can see right up your nose. Lean back, please. That’s better, it’s never comfortable to have someone that…
Well shit. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Am I going to die? Can they fix it? Will I get chemo? What if they can’t fix it? Am I going to die What’ll happen to the little one? He’s just little. Am I going to die What about my hair? It’s going to fall out. Can they treat it? Am I going to die Was he just talking? What did he say? Did he say if I was going to die? Why is he standing up? Am I going to die Maybe he’s wrong. I hope he’s wrong. He barely glanced at the x-rays. What does he want now? Has he been talking all this time? I should have listened am I going to die and then I’d know where he wants me to go. Ask him again. Why did I get cancer why me? What’ll happen to the little one? Why can’t the doctor tell me if I’m going to die, damn it, he was talking and I missed it again. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?