I scratched my nose until it bled, worrying about cancer, hopelessly.
I craved a drink and a smoke, but that wouldn't help with the disease distress, obviously.
I focused on anything but the anxiety.
But it always came roaring back — the uncertainty.
Then — in from a window propped open with a book about JFK — a gentle, early summer breeze wafted onto my skin, and for a moment I was free.