Last week my doctor convinced herself
that I had melanoma.
So she cut some tissue out of my skin
and stitched me up in a few places, panic flashing across her face.
(I was worried. Do I get to admit that?)
(Am I safe in parentheses?)
I waited two days for test results.
And on Friday, she called.
Caught early, pre-stage 1.
I’ll see a surgeon for more tissue excision
after I get home from Colorado in a few weeks.
It’s overwhelming, this carousel
of panicky doctors, always saying
There is something wrong with everything!
At night, I try not to wonder what it will be next.
There was no sun yesterday, so I was allowed out of my cave.
I don’t need much these days.
I don’t have much these days.
And yesterday it was fine—
Just a crappy waterproof camera, a blistering hangover, my sister
and this dangerous, unruly sea,
Nature’s brutal reminder that there is no use in fretting
about what we cannot control.
(I needed that.)