The Space Between Knowing and Knowing For Sure

Live there when you get there.

(Yes, in between mammograms, I had a brain MRI for kicks. It’s been a month)

There’s a strange kind of time that opens when you finally know that something might be wrong, but are not yet sure if it is. It isn’t ordinary clock-and-calendar time. It’s slower, heavier, and strangely elastic; moments stretch into long, suspended silences, but days can vanish in a blink. It’s like living in a pause between heartbeats, aware of every tiny sound and shift around you. Like nerves connected to empty tin cans on a tile floor.

Last week, I wrote about my mammogram, the one that came back abnormal. Two days ago, I went in for the follow-up diagnostic mammogram. This time, I didn’t have to refresh the patient portal in the quiet hours of the evening, looking for news in the glow of a phone screen. At the end of this week’s appointment, the technician asked me to sit down in the exam room. The radiologist stepped in, white coat moving softly as she closed the door, and told me directly, but kindly:…