Marshmallows

We like to lead with humor, a two-woman show to let the medical staff know how unflappable we are.

I’ve bullied the sonogram technician into revealing what he sees so we don’t drive ourselves crazy waiting for the radiologist.

The tech swivels his rolling chair to face us to say the lymph nodes in your gut are “the size of Jet-puffed marshmallows.”

Now I’m wishing I’d just left it alone. And I’ve got something new to add to my growing lists of forbidden foods. In the years to come, the smell of baking banana bread like yours will bring me to my knees. Just the thought of the too-green mint chocolate chip ice cream I coaxed you into eating that last summer will forever make my stomach turn.

“What did he say?” you elbow me, impatient.

I’m the filter for all medical news since your hearing was stolen by platinum chemotherapy two cancers ago. There’s a New Yorker cartoon in there somewhere—the professional violist rendered deaf overnight.

“The lymph nodes are in fact enlarged,” I yell, exaggerating each syllable as you study my lips, the blue mask pulled down.

My great fear is having to repeat myself.

Every time I’m called upon to translate, I struggle to decide which parts to reveal. You know me too well.

“Tell me every word,” you whisper. Your voice has a little less fight in it.

Maybe we could forget all about this. I’ll just lift your withering frame into my arms and we’ll escape through the sliding glass doors to the cold winter sun, just the two of us.

But you’re waiting, staring at me with those green-marble irises I have too.

“The technician said they are the size of jumbo marshmallows,” I say loudly, rolling my eyes so you’re aware how much I hate him. I’d like you to know it’s perfectly fine if you’d like to hate him too. He rises to his feet and leaves us alone in the room.

You and I know better than most what this news means.

Finally you speak but your voice is hoarse. I open a new bottle of water and bring it to your lips.

I move my ear close to your lips and you try again.

“A thing like this really makes you think twice about s’mores, doesn’t it?”