the air is heavy. tangible.
the smell of stale cigarettes cling to it,
like the tendrils of ivy climbing up a forgotten brick wall.
thunder rolls from the East, up and over the sea,
it came just for me.
This is the man who I largely credit to saving my life six years ago;
the one who stood by my side through every hard treatment and side-affect that was thrown my way
and the one who I felt genuinely cared about me as a person, and not just as another patient.
This man is my oncologist, and has been a critical part of my life for over six years.
And he is transferring to Chicago in September, which means that I will be transferred to a new oncologist.
and I'm terrified at the thought of not having him on my team anymore.