And I Tell Him
I stared at him, mouth hanging open. Is he crazy? EVERYTHING has changed! And I tell him so. A little too loudly.
"Stop. It's ok to be upset. But don't close your ears to what I have to say."
Close my ears? What kind of saying is that? It's a stupid saying. And I tell him that. A little too loudly.
"Prostrate cancer has a very high cure rate. Let's take it step by step."
I refuse to take it step by step; I want giant leaps. The first leap will be for me to grow up. About time at 46 years old. And I tell him that. A little too softly, but he hears me.
"Grow up? You are grown up. Just because I call you brat, doesn't mean you're a child. It's a personality trait."
Fuck personality traits. I will handle this like an adult! Like a Top! I'll show him. And I tell him. A little too harshly.
"The cancer's in my prostrate; not my hand."
Suddenly I'm across his lap. His hand slaps down. And again. And again. A little too accurately.
"We've made it through a lot. We'll make it through this too."
I'm not sure I believe him, but I trust him with all my heart. I love this man. And I tell him.