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Cold Feet

Tags: numbness

My feet are cold.

I wiggle my toes in my new brown boots and realize they are very cold. I wish I could take them off and warm them under my blanket. That is all I want right now, to crawl in under my blanket and not move for a long time. Not until this is all over and done with.

“Are you okay?”

My attention is brought back to the doctor in front of me. His dark brown eyes are looking at me with genuine concern. He doesn’t move, just watches me for a moment.

“I know this is a lot of information to take in,” he continues.

I nod.

“Do you have any questions right now?”

I sit quiet for a while and try to think clearly. Questions, I have a million of them and I desperately try to grasp one of them and try to find a way to formulate it properly.

“Should I be worried?”

I can see him tilt his head slightly and look at me. I will give him credit, he does not look away or hide. I can see him take a deep breath.

“This is cancer, so yes, this is serious and we need to treat it as such.” He does not smile but his eyes are warm.

I wish my feet were warm.

I nod again and pick at an imaginary spot on my blue shirt.

“You are young and this is very treatable,” he says while he sits perfectly still in front of me.

I want to scream.

There is a long silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels okay not to say anything.

I smile, but I know it does not reach my eyes.

“When will we do the surgery?” I ask tentatively and go back to picking at the imaginary spot on my shirt.

“I would like to get it done in the next few weeks.” He goes back to look at his notes and scribbles something. I wonder what he is writing. He puts down his pen and looks at me again. “I would like to do one more scan before we do the surgery.”

I don’t say anything, but the question is hanging in the air. I feel it and I grab it.


"I want to make sure it has not spread any further.” He does not look away. “Sometimes it moves to other parts, like your lungs.”

There is not much more of a rug left to pull out from under me. Then again, I don’t think I am standing on that rug anymore; at this point, I am kneeling.

“Oh,” is all that comes out of my mouth. Not a question, just acceptance.

I don’t want to scream anymore, I want to cry.

And my feet are still cold.

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