Travels

Driving to New York City through a hailstorm, through swirls of sleet. Not easy to drive down this wet winter highway, but who expects the diagnosis of breast cancer to be easy? Cramped in our car’s back seat, I breathe stuffy air and long for a cold drink. My husband drives; our good friend navigates. The two of them talk continuously: will parking be available at Sloan-Kettering? Will we have time for a pilgrimage to Ground Zero? I stare out the window. Tense, eyes dry, I think about the books I read last night when I should have been sleeping.