Sandra Brennan (08/07/65 / Omaha Nebraska)

I don't really feel connected to it
This weird lump I found on my body
Seems like a foreign object that
Somehow got planted here when
I wasn't paying attention.

It has my attention now.

They don't like to tell you bad news
Over the phone, the nurse just says
The doctor wants to talk to you in person,
To schedule surgery, she tells me.
But she won't tell me why-

The unknown is a terrifying thing.
I lie in bed and feel this thing,
Like a marble planted deep under my skin
And wonder if this tiny growth
Has the power to kill me.
Seems impossible, that something so small
Could lead to my demise.

I read the copy of the report again
Neurofibroma, possible sarcoma.
That sentence still leaps off the page
And even my uneducated mind knows
That those words are not good.
I google the diagnosis and wish I hadn't.

The doctor does not try to make light of it
Just tells me it has to come out
Tells me within the week he will cut me open
And scrape this thing out of me,
No way to know if it is malignant until then.

So now I play the waiting game.
Spend my hours wondering if this...thing,
Is like a missile gathering speed
Targeting me, ready to blast my world apart.
Or if it is just nothing at all
A benign little growth that just popped up
Out of no where, no harm done.

Until then, I just pray.