Have you had any bone pain? Seven syllables strung together, seemingly innocuous incipiency. During our last visit to the oncologist, this was the resident physician's opening line. Suddenly, she is suspicious. Sometimes, she is silent.I'm tired, she confesses.... A few minutes later, I think I have bone pain, she authoritatively serves up. Seconds later, How do I know if it's bone pain? Maybe I just need a new pair of shoes? This interplay of assertiveness and self-doubt...of diagnosis and indecision is a curious art form of hers...sculpted abstractions. When she dresses her exhaustion in language, she also veils other distresses...affright at the prospect of metastasis in the marrow.
A few minutes ago she chiseled again, I have bone pain...or maybe I don't. My attempt to contain the smirk was amateurish...an awkward silence. So I interrupted, A paranoid hypochondriac...well, you always were an overachiever. She laughed. Her anxiety temporarily derailed.
As I type these last few sentences...she sleeps restfully. Now it is my turn to worry.
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