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Fuck.
Fuck. fuck. Fuck.
My breath is shaky. Shallow. "You can tell me now."
"There was a spot on the scan. It's probably nothing."
Of course. It's always probably nothing. It's nothing until it's something.
"It looks like a cyst. But we want to do a needle biopsy to be sure."
All the breath leaves my body at once.
His words don't make it into my ears.
Probably isn't enough.
Maybe isn't enough.
This is…
I can't…
"When can you come in?" he asks.
The room is spinning. My head is fuzzy. Light. I…
I grab onto the wall for support.
It's just barely enough.
"I can have reception call you back when you've had time to process it. I know this can be scary, Chloe, but the odds of relapse after your procedure are low."
"And the odds of beating a relapse are worse."
His voice drops. "If it is cancer, we'll have options. At the very least, we'll be able to make you comfortable."
That's oncologist for you're fucked but we'll drug you until you don't care.
I try to process his words. To believe that the odds are low, that it's probably a cyst, that it's probably okay.
But I can't.
It screams in my brain.
You're sick again.
You're dying.
You're a noose around everyone's neck.
"Chloe? Do you want Amelia to call in a few hours?"
"I can come in anytime. As soon as possible."
"Wednesday at noon," he offers.
That is soon. "And we'll know then?"
