THE DOCTOR USED THE WORD AGAIN

Dear Delyara, Recurrence. The doctor said it gently, as if a softer voice could make the word smaller. My breast cancer has returned in my liver. I nodded while she explained treatment options. My husband took notes. I stared at a framed photograph of a sailboat on the wall and wondered who chooses artwork for rooms where lives are divided into before and after. We have not told the children. Tonight my daughter complained that I bought the wrong cereal. I snapped at her so sharply that she cried. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and pressed a towel over my mouth because I wanted to scream, I may not be here to buy your cereal next year. I apologized to her. She asked if I was mad because of work. I said yes. The doctor gave me folders, phone numbers, and a treatment schedule. No one gave me instructions for how to sit at dinner while the people you love continue talking about summer as if you will definitely be there.