My husband’s biopsy results arrive tomorrow

Dear Delyara, My husband is asleep beside me with one hand under his cheek, and tomorrow morning a doctor will tell us whether the tumor is cancer. For nine days, we have lived inside the word “possibly.” Possibly benign. Possibly serious. Possibly early. Possibly nothing. The children know he had a scan but think it was for a stomach problem. Tonight, our youngest asked whether Dad would coach her game Saturday. He said yes without hesitation. I looked at him and wondered whether hope is courage or dishonesty when the future has already been sent to a laboratory. I have cleaned the entire kitchen, reorganized the medicine cabinet, and packed a hospital bag we may never need. My husband told me to stop preparing for disaster. He does not know that preparation is the only thing keeping me from screaming. The appointment is at 9:20. I have memorized the route, parking instructions, and questions to ask. What I cannot prepare for is the moment before the doctor speaks, when our whole life will still contain every possibility and then, with one sentence, most of them will disappear.