The Death Walk

I have been strong so far, but now, I see a chemotherapy infusion room in an oncologist's office. I don't want to have to be in there again. This time, my grandmother is no longer alive and can't hold my hand every day as she did the first time that I had chemotherapy. Later in the day, I am in another oncologist's office. A patient representative introduces herself as if we will be seeing a lot of each other. All of a sudden, my eyes water up. I can't believe that I am going through this again. The nurse calls my name. As she guides me down a long hallway to the patient room, I feel as if I am making the death walk to an electric chair. Instead, my chair will be the chemo infusion chair. My PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is kicking in. The geneticist and my cousin see that I am not handling this well. I need to pretend that I am okay. Remember Kim, you don't cry.