I am sitting in a doctor’s office. That is far from new for me. But I am not the patient. I am the cheerleader. I am the supporter. The patient, my support system, the love of my life is wary. His eyes are dull. He is fearless every day, today he is afraid. I cannot fix it. This is new to him, the prep, the wait, the repeated forms and questions. The IM antibiotics and more waiting. The procedure still to come. The stoicism. I ask him if he wants me to be there. A cock of the head and a meek OK. His look confused as why would I want to do that? I smile the biggest smile I have. I love him. This is so easy for me. I am a caregiver. It is natural, all mushy hugs. I stifle my fears, my illness and my pain to be here. Narcotics help. But truly, Love makes that easy. Why is it so hard for him to understand? We laugh at the medical assistant, her warm, effervescent personality a scene from All in the Family. We wait some more. And We wait some more. I am so used to this. He becomes more uneasy. I notice it takes forever to read the same page in the magazine. I place a reassuring hand on his knee. I make no promises that all will be OK. We both know that remains an unknown at this point.

I realize that years of emotional wariness and upbringing has taken its toll. He does not do hearts and flowers. He does brass tacks. Hard and sharp. We wait some more.