The door swung open, a nurse stepped out and called my name out loud. I gather my items and made my way to the door, I hesitated for a moment then walk through. The nurse introduced herself to me, Emily was her name, she continued to talk but I wasn’t hearing her words. I was thinking; ‘Emily, that is a nice name and what is with her over reaching smile she had plastered on her face.’ I’m sure she thinks I need to see a smiling face but I really don’t, it doesn’t help my situation nor does it make me feel any better. I wanted to tell her she could relax but I didn’t even feel like making sound come out of my mouth. As we walked down the long hallway I couldn’t help but glance into the rooms as we passed, most were empty but a few had people sitting on the edge of the exam table. Vulnerable is what they projected; a sense of vulnerability. We arrived at the door which would be my exam room, number 23, my new home for the next two hours at least. I walked in and made myself comfortable, well as comfortable as one can be in an exam room. The room smelled of antiseptic and the air conditioning was on way to low, I should have brought a sweater, I always forget my sweater. More waiting, I twisted and knotted my hands over and over as if this would suppress the mayhem inside me. I did my best, as I have been for the past months to swallow back the pain that brings me here. Even so, the room was filled with despondency. 

“My heart feels not so much in my chest as in my hands. I am carrying it along swiftly, as though I have become the messenger for what is going on inside me.” 
― Claire Keegan


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