Waiting area

 Here I am again.

I don’t know why my doctor wanted me to to do this thing. There was a list of radiology places to choose from and I made a random choice and it wasn’t until this morning I realized it was where Lori came for treatments for several years and I always came with her and now I am sitting here again.

Walking into this building again was a lot scarier than walking into the 9/11 Memorial.

Almost ten years ago what a scary difficult day. Her last petscan and then the ER and a hospital bed and then two weeks hospice at home and then death.

I don’t want to write about that day.

I feel stressed out just sitting here waiting for some kind of scan for bone density maybe to determine the extent of my white fragility I jest.

Just how brittle is the skeleton inside me? My bones are rattling from the vibrations of rumbling machinery in the building. 

Here I am again, like a forgotten survivor of an ancient disaster left buried under a million tons of invisible rubble.

There are things I should do today involving Medicare and Medicaid and things I want to do involving art, but no I don’t want to do anything at all.

A couple of days ago I went with a friend to the cancer center at Bellevue. Rode with her in the Access A Ride and pushed her wheelchair and waited like I am waiting now while they monitored the progress of her stage 4 cancer. 

And here I am again in a waiting area.

Let me describe the setting. It looks like a standard waiting area in a typical medical facility and the other people here look like they are waiting for the ultimate bad news.

I’m only here for a routine test but 

what would I do if I got bad news and I could only expect to live a few months longer?

What would make me feel good?

What fun thing could I do?

I would buy a chain saw and fix every Tesla I could find until they shot me.

I will be able to see the results of the scan online tomorrow,

I will get a barbecue sandwich tonight. And ice cream.

I’m depressed but I’m not really worried about my bones. They feel like they must have the density of lead when I pick up my body and carry it home.