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| Issue 26: | 1 Jan. 2025 |
| Haibun, braided: | 217 words |
By Tracy Royce
Returning to the Oncologist
After the Mask Mandate Is Dropped
For the first time in years, you can see the receptionist’s smile. She asks for the usual identification, nibbles her acrylic nail, then accepts your driver’s license without a glance at the hand sanitizer displayed atop her reception desk. Waiting for your co-pay to clear, you gaze at the infusion room door, behind which the best positioned chairs offer a view of swaying treetops, a welcome distraction from the drip of the red devil. You watch as a barefaced nurse bursts through the door of the infusion room, grinning as he announces his departure for lunch.
caution cast aside
Adjusting the straps of your N95, you find a seat in the waiting area, where a video loop of a mountain stream fails to soothe. Soon you’re joined by another patient, who sits across from you. Your eyes lock above your masks, and she whispers, What the hell? You only have time to reply, I know, before you’re summoned to the examination room.
a medical mask
Submitting to the blood pressure cuff, you look up and see the medical assistant has lipstick smeared on her incisor. Moments later, you are unsurprised when your oncologist enters, smile on display, and asks, So, how have you been?
among fallen leaves
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