Yes, I make it hard for people to understand me. Because I feel that people who ought to know me will 'know' me. It should be a given, without me having to speak out... or appear to be begging for attention. Why make it more miserable than it already is?
Don't give excuses about "you don't speak out", "we don't know what you are thinking". If you care enough, you will find ways to reach out... Or are you just afraid of getting too intimate with a freak like me?
The journey to the hospital. The waiting. The loneliness. The cold, hard, matter-of-fact looks on the medical staff's faces. The revelation of the scan results. The moment of truth... or whatever you call it.
Anxiety. Hope. Fear. Helplessness. Distrust. Denial - all rolled into one. Trying to stay rational, yet hoping I was more emotional.
Hoping I could let it all out by bursting into tears on the journey home, in the privacy of the car. That would have left me feeling better, I thought.
The car had become my new favourite on-the-go private space.
But nothing. As hard as I tried to indulge in self-pity, the tears welled behind my eyelids but I could squeeze nothing out. I couldn't comfort myself in the warmth of tears that should have flowed down the contours of my cheeks. Have I lost the ability to cry for myself?
"You should seriously consider it," said the doctor.
"What's the worst case scenario we talked about," he probed.
"It may explode anytime," I answered, void of emotions, except for that queer expression on my face that I tried to pass off as a smile. Perhaps, rupture would have been a more appropriate and technically-correct word to use.
He just stared at me, as if waiting for an answer from me. I just looked back, having nothing to say. He knew what my answer was and we kept it as that.
"It has gotten bigger..." blah blah and he proceeded to play a numbers 'n' alphabet game with the other doctor in the room. 6.2, 6.4, 6.6... interweaved with acronyms and jargons.
He went on to explain the case of another young man to me. A recent case. For this young man, it came too sudden, too late. He was alive after an emergency procedure but "he still had problems walking 6 months after".
This is blackmail... He wants me to do it now - That was the first thought on my mind. I won't succumb to it just yet.
"I will see you in three months time."
"Thank you, doctor."
I stretched my arm to reach for the handle when he spoke again.
"If you decide to do it earlier, you may arrange for an earlier appointment," he said stoically, or some may say professionally.
"Do inform Dr. T too for an early appointment if you do decide to do it. He may need to adjust your medicines."
He must have sensed the fear in me this time. He had never said these things during previous meetings when I told him I wasn't ready.
He knew that I knew... perhaps time really is running out for me. And my heart is hinting both of us.
