Cynthia Anderson
Diagnosis
Standing at the far end of the tiny exam room, the cardiologist is silent, eyes averted. All four walls display poster-sized photos of exotic tigers. The doctor appears to be sniffing us out—my husband, the patient; and me, the worried wife. He delivers a one-word pronouncement: Emotions. Startled, we’re unsure we heard right. He doesn’t elaborate.
bracing
for what hasn’t
happened yet—
will a sundowner
blow us away
Though Bill’s EKG is normal, the doctor goes on to inform us, in as few words as possible, that his recent episode of gasping for breath warrants an angiogram. A stent may be needed. Or, he adds, glancing sideways at me, a bypass. This last, Bill doesn’t hear. Apparently, it’s meant to steel me for the worst.
4 am
a fleeting shadow
in the shape
of my husband
lying next to me
A week and one stent later, we’re back in the same exam room for a follow-up. Eyes still averted, speaking only in answer to questions we ask, the doctor surprises us by offering a complete sentence before he bolts out the door—You’re going to be fine.
waking before dawn
ready to pick up
where we left off
how many more days
like this one
About the Author
Cynthia Anderson has published 13 poetry collections, most recently The Far Mountain (Wise Owl Publications, 2024) and Arrival (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions, 2023). She has lived in California for over 40 years. See more of her work at www.cynthiaandersonpoet.com.