The nurse called for the soldier and I went in the office with him but not without having asked him earlier what he preferred. I figured he might be getting told he had cancer at any minute and I just didn’t want to do anything wrong in this sort of circumstance. Do you want to be alone when they tell you that you have cancer? Who knows? We hadn’t talked about it very much. He only had a few days notice, we’d been very busy since and besides that there is not that much to say.

He told me that they told him if he had oral cancer it would be disfiguring and that it was very aggressive. Would I still love him if he were disfigured? He asked and I told him I would. I also researched this before he got to town and confirmed what he said. Oral cancer does not seem particularly survivable and even if this is managed, how would it be? What about kissing, I wondered. What would happen if we could no longer kiss? How would that be? Could we stand it? Just exactly how would they cut his face and how would we get around it? What were the fates going to do?

I had thought about this over the days prior but I didn’t dwell on it because come on. There is no use facing something before you know what you are facing but I did think about it and took it as a reminder to enjoy him immensely always. If you have three more days to kiss, then you better kiss, eh? Kiss now, worry later, don’t dwell. That was my instruction to myself and I stuck to it.

I followed the nurse back into her office and the soldier followed me because you know. Ladies first. We sat down and she asked pronounced his name… correctly.

“Is that right?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” he said.

“Sound like you lost a letter somewhere,” she said, grabbing my attention.

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

She pronounced his name with the correct dropped letter in tact and I raised my eyebrows. “Pretty smart,” I said. “I don’t think many people figure that out. They’ve not idea what to make of that name.”

The soldier grinned because he claims every nationality on the planet. Whatever you say he is, he is. The nurse said, “It helps to be old. You pick up some things along the way,” she said.

“Yeah, especially if you’re smart,” I said, causing the soldier to glance at me and smile for a reason I could guess.

The nurse went on to pepper him with questions about why he was there and I watched in awe as she took fast, accurate and detailed notes. She went on to take his health history and I started to swirl some because he has a long and complex list of complications where I have none at all. So this is what it is like for some people, I thought. Jeez Lousie. I felt a mixture of horror and gratitude. Gratitude for my own good health and horror at his which seemed like Swiss cheese in the moment. How do you plug all these holes, anyway? How do you work around all this crap? I also kept an eye on the nurse.

I tried to read her but there was nothing to read. She was a total professional. Obviously the man could have cancer so she is not going to say otherwise because chances are he probably does. She must see it every day, right? Once a week? In whatever case she was extremely perceptive. Sensing our bond, she addressed both of us as if we were the same person and this is when I realized when they tell you that you have cancer, there is more than one scenario and we were exactly that. A scenario.

In this scenario, the nurse could see if the soldier had cancer, he would have someone with him every step of the way. We would go through it together, regardless and I thought about the people who find out they have cancer and have no such support. It’s got to be pretty common, don’t you think? But the soldier and I have strong emphasis on the 8^th house and if you’re dying, we’re staying. The nurse seemed relieved.

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