Plague

I am afraid.

I have a pain in my left side — a burden that I’ve carried for three months easily, a burden that is now unyielding. I experience such intense pain that sometimes I am overcome by nausea, or my eyes flutter a bit and I’m sure I’m doomed to faint. I told my mother about the pain and was met with information about her foster child and inquiries into my holiday plans. I told my husband about my pain as a bit of a cry for help, I think — help to find the right sort of medical treatment, help with the children so the treatment could be sought. Instead of sympathy, I get statistics.

I feel very alone in my fear.

Tomorrow, I undergo an abdominal CT scan. I am afraid of going to the doctor and hearing that this pain that plagues me is a plague that will kill me.

I’m not at all afraid of death, but rather I am afraid of the wake that my death will create. I’m afraid of my children bearing an unbelievable burden of grief with no one (no one like me, at least) around to help them process it.

As for tomorrow, I hope there will be answers. I hope someone will see something that can be removed or repaired or replaced. I hope there is need for neither sympathy nor statistics. I hope someone makes promises about this pain going away. I long to look into the face of this fear and laugh.