Interpretation

It is amazing how differently we interpret words and gestures, sounds, a look. Listening carefully but only hearing a select few words which wrap themselves around our subconscious, and then lay silently waiting.

He walks into the room, flustered, and introducing himself takes the book from my hands.
"I am always interested in what people are reading." He holds the book at arms length to see the title, glasses perched precariously on a thin nose.
Polite chitchat, a discussion about the book. I am expecting no more than for him to quickly glance at my lab results, and send me away for a retest.

Nothing too serious. I am relaxed, tired of trips from here to there and back again; B12 and folic injections and blood labs. I am quickly overcoming my irrational fear of needles.

In a moment, his demeanour changes. He looks at the papers in front of him and fires a volley of questions, querying symptoms and tests, health history. I am caught off guard, trying to remain calm.

"Do you take medication? Anything at all?" He asks me this 3 times.

"No," I say, "I don't even take pain killers."

The words I hear before can I catch myself ring soundlessly through my ears.
I take a deep breath and listen again, for a few brief seconds I cannot hear anything, can only watch his mouth open and then shut, aware that there are sounds escaping from his lips.

"I'd like to send you for a head CT scan, I'd like to rule out the possibility of a tumour."
There is a ringing in my ears, I can barely hear what he says next. I know I ask a question, maybe 2. He reassures me. It is very rare, this condition. Precautionary measures.

I follow him through the corridors back to the nurse station, he shakes my hand and over the counter I can see the words STAT written beside the scan request.

Sometimes a word can be interpreted too carelessly, taken for granted its one dimensional persona, sometimes we do not take time to see past all layers its meanings hide.

Tumour, for example, literally means: a swollen part; swelling; protuberance.. It is the thoughts we associate with these words that cause our minds to race. I know I am a dramatist, I take for granted all the different miracles my body performs each day. I know that in my mind, a word hides many meanings.

I interpret tumour in a way that knocks the wind from me, replaces my calm assuredness with fear. I am not afraid to admit that I am frightened, and I am not afraid to admit that even after phone calls to my other doctor, to friends, to my sister and the reassuring tones that even if, if, there is anything it will be benign, I am still frightened.