I sit within four silent walls,
Waiting for answers
That may never come.
The clock moves,
The sun rises and falls,
Yet the questions remain.
Uninvited companions occupying
Every corner of the room.
What is happening within me?
Why does this pain cling so tightly,
Wrapping itself around muscle, bone,
Thought and spirit?
I try to escape it.
I call upon memories of laughter,
Of loved ones gathered around a table,
Of morning birdsong
And summer breezes moving through trees.
But pain is stubborn.
It follows me there,
Casting its shadow over every pleasant thought.
And fear, fear is its closest friend.
It sits beside my bed at night,
Whispering possibilities I do not
Wish to hear.
What if this is the beginning of the end?
What if this pain is the messenger
Of something I cannot overcome?
What if I leave this world before I have
Finished the work I was meant to do?
Before I have spoken the words that remain unsaid,
Before I have loved enough,
Before I have become
Who I was meant to be?
The fear saturates my spirit.
It seeps into tomorrow,
Stealing the color from the future,
Turning hope into uncertainty.
I carry both burdens,
Pain in my body,
Fear in my heart,
And together they become a prison
With walls no one else can see.
Then the door opens.
My doctor enters quietly,
Extending his hand.
A simple gesture.
A human gesture.
“How can I help?” he asks.
And suddenly the tears I have held back
Can no longer be contained.
Where do I begin?
How do I explain the ache
Beneath the ache?
How do I describe the weight of wondering,
The exhaustion of uncertainty,
The loneliness of carrying fear
That never seems to sleep?
Yet he does not rush me.
He does not glance at the clock
Or hurry my words.
He listens.
Patiently.
Carefully.
As though my story matters.
As though I matter.
So, I tell him.
I tell him about the pain.
I tell him about the fear.
I tell him about the nights
When sleep will not come,
And the mornings
When hope is difficult to find.
And he listens to it all.
Then he says something simple:
“You do not have to face this alone.”
Not a promise that every answer will appear today.
Only a promise that he will walk beside me
Through the uncertainty.
And somehow, that is enough.
The pain may still remain.
Tomorrow may still be unknown.
But the fear loosens its grip.
Just enough for me to breathe.
Just enough for me
To lift my head.
Just enough to find the strength
For whatever comes next.
Sometimes healing begins
Not when all answers are found,
But when another soul
Steps into the darkness
And reminds us
We do not have to
Walk through it alone.
Michele Luckenbaugh is a patient advocate.
