“Maybe this time will be different,” I whisper to myself, though the words ring hollow.
The memory of the last appointment surfaces, a blur of cold scales and clipped voices. The sterile smell, the impersonal touch, the feeling of being reduced to numbers and charts.
It’s the anticipation that gnaws at me the most, the not knowing what they will see, what they will say.
Will this new specialist see beyond the charts?
Will they hear me?
The questions hang unanswered, adding to the weight already pressing down.
I glance at the clock, time ticking forward relentlessly.
The days until the appointment dwindle, and the uncertainty grows.
Yet, beneath it all, a flicker of determination remains.
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