On having no one to lean on

My cell phone rang. It was the nurse.

I had honestly forgotten about my appointment from two weeks before. Blinking, I shifted my attention from my work emails to the woman on the other line.

Test results came back. Abnormal. Positive for something bad, too.

I’m glad no one else is in the room with me. Didn’t realize this conversation was going to go this direction. I listen in as she re-explains what this means. I’ve heard similar news before, years ago. But my memory sometimes doesn’t serve me and I want to be sure I have it all straight.

“I’ll transfer you now so you can make the next appointment.”

A notification pops up on my calendar. I’m going to be late for a meeting if this receptionist and I aren’t able to find a magical time when the doctor, the room and I are all free.

Pulling cords out from the side of my laptop, I grab that and my iced coffee and head into a nearby room.

Metrics. Insights. Numbers. I type as the person on speaker rattles off information about impressions and clicks.

Not much for numbers, my attention drifts. It wasn’t scary, last time. Not really at least. It was just enough of a health scare to make me grateful for my well-being, but not enough to be considered serious.

My mind drifts back to the last appointment. Out patient. No big deal, but painful. He sat patient in the waiting room. Then he walked me to the car, made sure I felt alright before we drove off. Double checked, triple checked that I was okay.

Who is going to walk me to the car this time?

I suddenly feel tears well up in my eyes and remember that I’m in the middle of a damn meeting and need to be paying attention. Feverishly type notes to catch up. Sip from my coffee and attempt to get my bearings straight.

The rest of the morning I’m in a bit of a daze. Not because of the nurse’s call. Not because of possible procedures or worse outcomes. But because I won’t have anyone to walk me to the car.

Yes, I could have a friend go with me. Or I could even, a woman in my late twenties, call my mother and request her assistance. My mother. But it’s not the same, not like it would be with a true companion.

I’m usually not upset about being alone, because I’m not lonely. I enjoy my solo decisions and singularly focused life.

But now I don’t have anyone to walk me to the car.