A beloved tradition at a local hospital disappears.
BY Laura Yeager
PUBLISHED July 26, 2019
As well as being a cancer blogger, Laura Yeager is a religious essayist and a mental health blogger. A graduate of The Writers’ Workshop at The University of Iowa, she teaches writing at Kent State University and Gotham Writers’ Workshop. Laura survived cancer twice.
On July 25, I go see my oncologist for a routine six-month checkup. All of the stores are featuring "Christmas in July" sales. I'm going to avoid these. I have enough things. What I need is peace of mind.
I am planning to ask my oncologist about the possibility of my two prior cancers metastasizing. I am feeling a little like a ticking time bomb, wondering if either of the cancers is going to reappear. I am seven years out from the first breast cancer occurrence and three years out from my second. I don't always feel like this, but for some reason, today I am pessimistic and scared.
After a brief time in the waiting room, a nurse takes me back and puts me in room number 5. "Please don't shut the door," I tell her after she's taken my vitals and updated my medical history and medication list. I've inherited claustrophobia from my maternal grandmother. The nurse obliges me.
I am planning to ask my oncologist about the possibility of my two prior cancers metastasizing. I am feeling a little like a ticking time bomb, wondering if either of the cancers is going to reappear. I am seven years out from the first breast cancer occurrence and three years out from my second. I don't always feel like this, but for some reason, today I am pessimistic and scared.
After a brief time in the waiting room, a nurse takes me back and puts me in room number 5. "Please don't shut the door," I tell her after she's taken my vitals and updated my medical history and medication list. I've inherited claustrophobia from my maternal grandmother. The nurse obliges me.
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