I’ve been here before, in exactly this place, sitting on the upholstered bench with a book in my lap. As if, while waiting for my name to be called, I might become engrossed in Chapter 3 of  The Imperfectionists instead of staring stupidly at the fake philodendron in the blue ceramic vase.

It’s a Charlie Brown with the football kind of thing.  A setup. You go in for the scan and scare yourself to death while you’re waiting on the bench, staring at the ugly fake plant. You just know that when you lie down on that skinny table in there – the table  moving slowly through the big plastic donut going clickclickclick as you hold your breath – your spine is going to light up like an airport runway.  The technician will think, “holy crap, look at all those tumors! Glad I’m not the one who has to let her know…” 

It’ll be your oncologist who first delivers the “M” word, and you just know she will. You practice, roll it around on your tongue, say it in your head until it sounds matter-of-fact. “Yep. Metastasis. Just the way it goes, not unexpected…”

The call won’t come for a few days so you spend those days on cancer’s magical thinking highway. You buy clothes because dying people do not need new clothes. Sexy underwear, because they certainly have no use for lacy black camisoles. You order from Amazon the novel you could never get through if you knew your cancer had spread --  the limit of your focus would be two, maybe three pages. You plan that vacation for next year.

At some point the phone rings and you let it ring twice as if you really weren’t waiting at all. Your doctor says, “Nothing out of the ordinary. A little arthritis in your toes.” 

You feel like a chump, at first, more than relieved. Like Charlie Brown, falling for Lucy’s football gag again.  Guilty for buying all those clothes and for giving Anthem an excuse to raise everyone’s premiums by 30 percent all at once.

 I’m not falling for it this time. Really, I know it’ll be fine. It’s just that I can’t concentrate on The Imperfectionists, even if it is a light, funny read. I stare at the fake philodendron instead.