A Waiting Game
Time is such a strange thing. Despite its absolute nature, it seems to have the ability to slow itself down to a snail’s pace when all you want is for the anticipation of the worst to be over.
Ten days. Ten bloody awful days of waiting for my appointment and then another two weeks for the results to come in. Soph and Finn have become experts in managing me over the last couple of years and know the best thing to do is keep me busy. Very busy.
Jackson, on the other hand, has been very keen on talking things through, wanting to know all about the various tests and what they are looking for. And what it means if I have to have a colonoscopy. Eventually, Finn had to take him aside and tell him to shut the hell up, that he was just making things worse as my mood swings had become problematic. One minute I’m holding it together and the next I would become belligerent or argumentative. Then the tears would start, and I would become convinced that they will find something and that will be cancer and then…
Twice I started major arguments with Jackson in the weird, twisted hope that somehow, he would finally see sense and leave me. No need for him to suffer alongside me when I’m going to die anyway.
By the time results day comes around I haven’t slept in two days and am surviving on a combination of caffeine and adrenaline. This time it feels like I have so much more to lose. The waiting room appears like it’s closing in on me and I can’t stop my knee from bouncing as I watch the screen, hoping my name will appear next. When it finally pops up, I’m shaking like a leaf, and the short walk down the corridor seems like I’m walking to my execution.
“Kat,” my gastroenterologist says, once we have been through the usual greetings and pleasantries, “I’m pleased to say that your labs look good, even with this latest flare. However, I do think it would be worth us taking a closer look just to rule anything out.”
Dr. Griffiths looks at me in astonishment as I break down into tears. Large sobs push up through my throat as I frantically attempt to wipe away the moisture coating my face.
“Kat, this is nothing to worry about. You have been through this procedure before. I just make sure we are seeing the full picture here,” Dr. Griffiths says kindly.
“I know,” I respond as I try to catch my breath. “I’m not worried about the colonoscopy; I know the drill. I think I just built everything up in my head, you know? It’s just I thought that for sure my luck would have run out. Things have been going so great lately, apart from this flare. I’ve met this amazing guy who seems to really get me. He sees through all the bullshit…” I realise I’m rambling and cut myself off before I reveal too much. “I just thought it was all too good to be true and I’ve just been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sorry, I’m being a complete drama queen”
“Not at all,” Dr. Griffiths replies as she taps at her computer keyboard. “Let’s get you booked in, shall we?”
I let out a small laugh as I look at her beaming face through watery eyes as she hands me a tissue. “Sure. Nothing beats a laxative cocktail!”
My immediate reaction once I leave the hospital outpatients ward is to call Finn, Soph, and Jackson but none of them are picking up their phones. I’m loathe to share my news in a text message, so I decide to leave it until I can tell them in person.
The sun that I had so valiantly ignored this morning while in the midst of my depressive funk is still shining, so I decide to take a stroll to soak up the warm rays. I wander aimlessly through Canary Wharf until my feet guide me to the Crossrail Place Roof Garden.
I find a quiet spot and take my time to appreciate my surroundings. The sun filtering down through the stunning glass roof. The exotic plants that are creating amazing scents. I take the time to just sit and absorb the fact that I am okay.
Once again time seems to slip by far too quickly and it’s only when I pull my thoughts back to the present that I realise that the sun has slipped behind the tall buildings. I pull out my phone and quickly tap out a text to let everyone know I’m on my way back and then slowly get to my feet.
A wave of exhaustion swamps me as all the adrenaline that has been keeping me going for the past few weeks has disappeared. The walk back to the bar is sluggish as I weave my way through the commuters making their way home or out with friends and colleagues. As the familiar Cock&Tails sign comes into view, I can’t help the jolt of joy I feel. It’s only then I realise how scared I’d been of having to deliver bad news to the three people I love most in the world. Instead, I get to tell them that I’m good…for now.