Breathe

This room is the smallest one yet

with only four chairs

for the women who have been told to wait

sometimes I wonder if it’s the waiting that does the worst damage

waiting too long to seek help

waiting to find out the results

the door opens and a tiny lady enters with her husband

and approaches the reception desk

with the all too familiar large envelope of assorted scans in her hands

I recognise everything about her

the flat chest

the grey, buzz cut hair

and I think, dear god, will that be me standing there

she’s clearly come from bad news

it fills the small room

and she says to the receptionist

in a voice shaken but attempting to be bright

“well, this one will be a challenge”

and I don’t want to hear a word she has to say

I have lived this nightmare for too long in real life

and whilst asleep

she takes the seat

next to me

and I can tell right away she wants to chat

and I don’t want to hear a word she has to say

her husband, well versed in the endless waiting

has already opened his paperback

and I recognise everything about him

the husband, in sickness and in health

and I can tell he’s supportive but on auto-pilot

“I looked at it like it was a job I had to do” my dad would say

he tells her to read all the information she has

so she can have her questions ready for the doctor

she is taking deep breaths

“just read your notes” he says

she starts to sob quietly

“I'm allowed to breathe” she replies

driving to find out the final results

my phone alerts me to a message

it’s my sister

and it reads ...