The First Axe Falls

I enter the waiting room in white jeans, 
Tailored linen jacket.
It is August 10 of Covid 2020.
I’m terrified in disbelief,
Suffocating tears, shocked and scared,
After a quick Google search
To understand what the radiologist’s terms
Plasmacytoma and myeloma meant.
Soon I will face the doctor, the scan snare.

I choose a chair near an open window,
Masked though we are
I cleanse my breath with a balmy breeze,
Then outside see a misplaced visitor,
Pileated, red-crested woodpecker,
Drumming the low end of a spruce trunk.
The more I dwell on his drilling cacophony
I observe no one else notices his presence,
Noisy knocking in a silent waiting world.

Surely he will fly off
Yet my uncanny companion
Lingers a long time at his bugs,
Head jerking and pecking,
Dedicated to his task, to me,
Does not leave before I’m called in,
Begin my agony.

Tears well, I break open.
I am not alone in this moment.
Your percussive assurance
Reminds me, Remain present,
Let go of gut tension,
Breathe into the body’s
Beating, determined cells.
I am not a tumor,
I am the life giver.

©️ 2024 Laura E. Garrard

Laura E. Garrard is a multiple myeloma thriver and published author living in the Northwest. Her poetry and prose have appeared in journals like The Madrona Project, Amethyst, Silver Birch, TulipTree Review, and others.