Something felt off,
Not with my emotions,
I'm used to that.
But with the way my body was functioning.
Test after test,
Poking and prodding,
The doctor finally walks in.
You are terminal, she says.
I laugh, scoffing at her solemnity.
She looks confused.
I speak out loud, not to her,
Not particularly to myself either.
I knew she'd be the death of me.
The poor doctor looks concerned.
I tell her, Don't look so worried,
You've given me the best news I've had in years.
I'm ready to be done.