diagnosis is an ugly word.
it sounds cold and curvy, like a moldy metal straw.
my mom cried that day, when the doctors said "i'm sorry" and maybe they were sorry, but not as much as me.
can you picture it?
a cold hospital chair, the room smelling of hand sanitizer.
everything seemed so big, then.
gloved hands, the faces attached to them looking concerned, my mom looking more than concerned, and I felt like I was drowning in diagrams and technical-talk, and the hand sanitizer smell was washing over my nose in waves, and the doctors were telling me I would be deaf - can you imagine how I felt?
they say there are five stages of grief, but I think it's like a color spectrum, like red and orange and yellow blending and blending together.
they told me a big word, and they said here, this is what is wrong with you, and I was scared like I had never been before, a creeping stagnant fear, and maybe that is why hospitals make me a little anxious now, and maybe that is why my ears feel delicate and sensitive and I am a little bit scared if what secrets they are hiding.
it really is an ugly word.
huh.