Hurry Up and Wait (Then All At Once!)

A journey through cancer—diagnosis, waiting, surgery, and everything in between.

Hurry Up and Wait

By: Tara Shannon

Appointments.

Scans.

Tests.

Biopsies.

Again.

And again.

A flurry of calls, a stack of papers,

dates circled, times noted,

questions scribbled down in the dark

because they only come in the dark.

And then—

a pause.

A breath.

A moment where everything stands still,

but only for a second,

because the storm keeps moving

and I am at the centre of it.

It’s strange, this waiting.

Knowing what’s coming but not quite yet.

Anticipation coils in my ribs,

sometimes quiet, sometimes crushing.

I plan.

I prepare.

But how do you prepare for this?

I do what I can.

I hold onto my person, my people,

the ones who show up,

the ones who sit beside me in waiting rooms

while time drags its feet.

The ones who text,

who ask,

who don’t need to be told how much this means.

And still—

ultimately, it is me.

My body, my fight, my path.

No one else can walk it.

But I don’t walk it alone.

Some days, I am okay.

Other days, I am not.

I break.

I cry.

I joke—dark humour my armour,

a sharp-edged comfort.

I breathe.

I keep going.

Step.

By step.

By step.

It feels like grief.

Loss of what was,

acceptance of what will be.

Denial, bargaining, anger, exhaustion, resolve.

A cycle I move through,

sometimes all at once.

And yet, through it all,

I look ahead.

Past the storm,

past the uncertainty,

past the waiting.

I look for light.

For the hope of healing,

for the promise of days where this is behind me.

For sun,

after all this rain.

Alt Text:

Illustration of a forest scene in autumn, with trees covered in vibrant orange and yellow leaves. The ground is scattered with fallen leaves, and a soft light filters through the branches. In the foreground, a large white bear sits with a small white rabbit, both facing each other. Bear holds up a lantern between themselves and Rabbit, illuminating their faces with a warm glow.

Handwritten text overlays the image, reading:

"I may no longer be at the beginning of my story, but neither am I at the end," said Bear. "I’m somewhere in the middle… broken but on the mend."

The artist's signature, Tara Shannon, is in the bottom right corner. The illustration evokes a sense of quiet reflection, healing, and companionship in a moment of transition.