One week and so many new words: mediastinoscopy, adjuvant chemotherapy, hilum, labulated, adenocarcinoma. The language of disease feels foreign in my mouth, the metaphors strange, the translations insufficient. I wonder if a new voice will begin to emerge.
One week and new places: the University of Chicago, the back room of a radiation lab, a pulmonary procedures waiting room.
One week and 1200 miles of driving and more to come. The days are blending together underneath the low and gray midwestern skies. I feel without revelation, without air, without lightness. But a lingering bit of hopefulness remains on the edges of my mind, on the edges of the horizon.
