The tremor started gradually.

Hardly noticeable to anyone but me.

But it spread beyond my hands and now threatened to swallow my entire body.

 

Doctors, tests, needles, scans, and then waiting.

The waiting is the worst part.

The not knowing; the wondering if my life is over or if I will be cured.

 

Today the wait is over.

I struggle to put on my jacket as I walk out the door.

It is early, before sunrise, and I trip over a bucket I forgot to put away the day before.

 

I finally make it to the other side of the carport.

My hand quakes as I try to buckle my seatbelt.

Even in the dark, I know my elbow is bleeding from the fall and my mood darkens further.

 

I watch the sun begin to stretch across the bayou as I drive past.

Knowing will be worse than the waiting.

I turn my focus back to the road ahead as I draw nearer to my death sentence.

 

– Diana Kristine